Dante was seated at the grand dining table, absentmindedly twirling a glass of wine between his fingers. Isla sat across from him, watching as Amara giggled over her plate of food, trying to stab a piece of broccoli with her tiny fork. It was one of those rare evenings when peace seemed to blanket their household. The calmness of the moment almost lulled Isla into believing that things were finally falling into place.
But then, Dante’s phone buzzed sharply, slicing through the serene atmosphere. His jaw tightened when he saw the name on the screen. Without a word, he pushed back his chair and stepped away, his movements brisk and calculated.
Isla glanced at him curiously, sensing the tension radiating from him. “Who’s calling at this hour?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.
“Just business,” Dante replied curtly, already walking toward his study. The sharp edge to his tone made Isla pause, but she didn’t press further.
Inside the study, Dante answered the call, his voice low but menacing. “What is it?”
The voice on the other end was smooth and commanding. Dante’s expression darkened further as he listened. “I told you I don’t want to see you,” he hissed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk. “Stay out of my life. Stay out of my family’s life.”
Isla, curious and slightly worried, tiptoed closer to the study door. She could only hear faint snippets of the conversation, but Dante’s tone sent a shiver down her spine. She held Amara close, whispering to her to focus on finishing her dinner.
Inside, Dante continued to argue with whoever was on the line. “You think you can just waltz in and pretend everything’s fine? After everything you’ve done?” His voice was icy, yet there was a crack of vulnerability beneath the anger. “No, you’re not welcome here.”
After a few moments of tense silence, Dante growled, “Fine. But don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet.” He ended the call abruptly, throwing his phone onto the desk with a resounding thud.
He remained in the study for a while, his hands buried in his hair as he tried to compose himself. Memories from a past he had tried so hard to bury threatened to resurface, and the thought of his father showing up uninvited was enough to make his blood boil.
When he finally emerged, Isla was sitting on the couch, Amara nestled in her arms. She looked up at him with a mixture of worry and curiosity. “Is everything okay?” she asked tentatively.
Dante sighed, running a hand down his face. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Dante,” she pressed, “you’re clearly upset. If it’s about business or something… maybe I can help?”
His eyes softened momentarily as they met hers, but then his usual guardedness returned. “It’s not business, Isla,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s personal. Something I need to handle on my own.”
The vagueness of his answer only fueled Isla’s unease, but she knew better than to push him when he was like this. “Alright,” she said quietly, turning her attention back to Amara. “But if you ever need to talk… I’m here.”
Dante stood there for a moment, watching her cradle their daughter with such care. A flicker of guilt passed through him. He hated keeping her in the dark, but the idea of dragging Isla and Amara into the chaos of his past was unthinkable.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if trying to shake off the tension, he added, “I need to step out for a bit. Stay with Amara.”
“Where are you going?” Isla asked, frowning.
“Just out,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “I won’t be long.”
Isla wanted to question him further, but something in his expression stopped her. Instead, she nodded and watched as he disappeared out the door.
—
Dante drove aimlessly for a while, his grip on the steering wheel tight. The city lights blurred past him as his mind raced. He couldn’t believe his father had the audacity to call him, let alone suggest a visit. For years, Dante had worked tirelessly to distance himself from the shadow of his father’s sins, to build his own empire and create a life free of the toxicity that had once consumed him.
And now, just when things were beginning to stabilize with Isla and Amara, his father wanted to show up and ruin everything.
He pulled over at a secluded spot overlooking the city and stepped out of the car. The cool night air did little to calm him. He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag as he stared at the skyline.
Memories of his father’s harsh words and manipulative games flooded his mind. The man had always been a master of control, using everyone around him as pawns to further his own agenda. Dante had sworn never to be like him. And yet, there were moments when he feared he was more like his father than he cared to admit.
He thought of Isla, her gentle nature and the way she had managed to soften him in ways he never thought possible. She deserved better than the mess he was dragging her into. And Amara-his precious daughter-he would protect her from the darkness of his past at all costs.
Dante crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and returned to the car, determined to handle this situation before it could reach his family.
—
Back at the mansion, Isla put Amara to bed and lingered in the nursery for a while. She traced her fingers along the edge of the crib, her mind drifting to Dante. His behavior earlier had unsettled her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was bothering him was more serious than he let on.
“Why won’t you just talk to me?” she whispered to herself.
As much as she tried to ignore it, a part of her still doubted Dante’s intentions. He had changed, yes, but the scars of their past were not so easily forgotten. And now, with his mysterious phone call and sudden departure, those doubts began to creep back in.
She sighed and returned to her room, wrapping a blanket around herself as she sat by the window. The mansion felt eerily quiet without Dante’s presence, and she realized how much she had come to rely on his steady, if often frustrating, presence.
Hours passed, and just as Isla was about to drift off to sleep, she heard the faint sound of a car pulling into the driveway. She peeked out the window and saw Dante stepping out, his expression still clouded with anger and frustration.
She quickly moved back to the bed, pretending to be asleep as he entered the room. He paused by the door, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he sighed and moved to the other side of the bed.
As he settled in, Isla could feel the tension radiating off him. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, to bridge the distance between them, but fear held her back. Instead, she closed her eyes and hoped that whatever storm was brewing in Dante’s world wouldn’t tear theirs apart.