Valentina's POV:
Valentina's day began with the familiar hum of her alarm clock. She stretched, blinking against the morning light filtering through her curtains. Another day, another lecture. She quickly dressed in her college attire—comfortable jeans and a cozy sweater—and grabbed her essentials: notebook, pen, and a thermos of coffee.
The campus was bustling with students, each absorbed in their own world. Valentina navigated the crowd, exchanging brief smiles with friends and acquaintances. Her first lecture was on modern literature, a subject she was passionate about. She found herself lost in discussions about narrative structures and character development, her mind alight with ideas.
After the lecture, she met up with a few friends at the campus café. They chatted about assignments, weekend plans, and the latest campus gossip. Valentina enjoyed these moments of camaraderie, the laughter and shared experiences grounding her in the present.
By late afternoon, she made her way to the bookshop. It was a quaint little store nestled between a café and a florist, its windows always fogged with the promise of adventure within. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, greeted by the familiar scent of paper and ink.
Her manager, Mrs. Arora, nodded a greeting as Valentina clocked in. The shop was quiet, the perfect ambiance for her to immerse herself in the world of books. She shelved new arrivals, assisted customers in finding their next read, and occasionally lost herself in the pages of a novel during slow moments.
As evening approached, Valentina prepared to close the shop. She tidied the counter, arranged the display of bestsellers, and turned off the lights. The day had been fulfilling, a balance of academia and her love for literature.
At home, she unwound with a warm shower, letting the water relax her muscles. She prepared a simple dinner—pasta with marinara sauce—and sat down to eat while scrolling through her phone.
A message from Marco popped up: "Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. It's my birthday, and I'd love to spend it with you."
Valentina smiled and typed back: "I'd love that. I'll wear something special."
She pondered her outfit for a moment, then decided on a black satin dress paired with black heels. It was elegant yet understated, perfect for a birthday celebration.
After dinner, she slipped into bed, the soft sheets enveloping her as she drifted into a peaceful slumber, dreams filled with the promise of tomorrow.
Dante's POV :
The blade slid through flesh like silk, no resistance. No noise—just the muted gurgle of a dying man's last breath.
Dante watched, expressionless, as crimson pooled beneath the body. The concrete floor drank it hungrily. He leaned closer, gloved fingers brushing the man's jaw in a mockery of tenderness."You should've known better," he murmured, voice low, Italian-laced. "Tradimento non resta impunito—betrayal doesn't go unpunished."
The body hit the ground with a sickening thud. One glance to his men was all it took. They would clean up the mess.
He didn't look back.
The night sky yawned overhead as Dante climbed the steps of his private jet, blood already drying under his cuffs. Inside, the lights were dimmed, the scent of expensive whiskey lingering in the air—his sanctuary in motion.
He sat down, unbuttoned his shirt at the collar, and poured himself a drink. But the burn of the alcohol didn't reach the hollowness in his chest. Not tonight.
His fingers tightened around the glass.
She haunted him.Not like a memory.Like a pulse.
Her smile. The way her brows furrowed when she was focused. The sound of her voice—innocent, untainted, everything he could never be.
"She doesn't belong in my world."
He exhaled harshly. And yet, here she is… bleeding into every inch of it.
"Mr. Romano," a soft voice cooed.
A hostess—young, attractive, far too eager—walked in, her shirt a button too low, her gaze a little too bold.
"You seem… tense," she purred, stepping closer with a rehearsed smile. "Would you like some company on the flight? I could make things… comfortable for you."
Dante looked up slowly, eyes cold and still as ice on marble. He didn't blink.
A long pause. Then, he said quietly, "You're fired."
The woman blinked, faltered. "S-Sir?"
"Get out of my sight."No explanation. No second warning.
She left in a hurry, heels echoing across the floor like gunshots.
A shadow shifted near the bar, and Luca stepped forward, arms crossed, having witnessed the exchange.
"You didn't even let her breathe," Luca said dryly. "That's the third one this month."
Dante poured himself another drink. "She touched what isn't hers, even in thought."
Luca arched a brow. "She doesn't even know that another girl exists."
"She doesn't need to," Dante snapped, then added quieter, "Valentina's mine. Even if she doesn't know it yet."
Luca gave a half-smirk, shaking his head. "Obsession doesn't look good on you, brother."
"It's not obsession," Dante muttered, his gaze fixed on the dark sky beyond the window. "It's inevitability."
Dante stood by the window, whiskey untouched in his hand, his gaze distant, locked on a world below that no longer held his interest. Not without her in it.
His jaw flexed. Something inside him snapped back into place—not gently, but with the sharp edge of decision.
"I've waited long enough," he said quietly, almost to himself. "I've watched. Planned. Burned."
He turned, facing Luca with a dark stillness that carried weight. "È finita. It ends now. I will have her."
His voice dropped, grave and certain.
"By any means necessary."
The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Luca tensed. "Dante—"
"I don't care what stands in my way," he continued, stepping forward. "Time. Distance. Her fear. Even her love for someone else, if it exists. I'll destroy it. Replace it. Rewrite the way she sees the world until there's only me."
Luca stepped in front of him, voice low but firm. "Don't do anything that will make her hate you."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Dante laughed—dark, hollow, almost broken.
"She can hate me," he said, eyes gleaming like obsidian. "As long as she's mine. Hate is just a thin line away from obsession. And I can work with obsession."
Luca's voice softened, a rare flicker of concern breaking through. "And what if you break her instead?"
Dante's expression faltered.
Only for a second.
Then his mask returned.
"I won't break her," he said. "I'll bend the world around her. But she stays whole. Perfect. Mine."