Dante sat at his desk, staring at the address scribbled on a slip of paper. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of his study, but it did little to lighten his mood. The night had been restless, filled with memories of his father and the anger that came with them. And now, he was here, debating whether to go to this meeting.
He knew it wasn’t a request. When his father summoned someone, it wasn’t optional. With a deep breath, he pocketed the address, grabbed his coat, and headed out.
—
The meeting location was as lavish and imposing as Dante expected-an estate sprawling with wealth and power. It was a reminder of everything his father represented and everything Dante had tried to escape.
He stepped into the grand foyer, his jaw clenched as he was greeted by a butler. “Mr. Dante, your father is waiting for you in the study.”
Without a word, Dante followed, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The butler opened the door to the study, and there he was-Vincent Moretti. A man whose very presence commanded attention, with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through you.
“Dante,” Vincent said, standing as his son entered. “You’re late.”
“I didn’t come here to indulge your games,” Dante replied, his voice cold. “What do you want?”
Vincent smirked, gesturing for Dante to sit. “Always so impatient. Sit. We have much to discuss.”
Reluctantly, Dante took a seat across from him. The air between them was thick with tension. Vincent poured himself a glass of whiskey, offering none to Dante, who waved it off with a glare.
“I hear you’ve been busy,” Vincent began, swirling the glass in his hand. “A wife, a child… quite the domestic life for someone like you.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Leave Isla and Amara out of this.”
“Ah, Isla,” Vincent said, leaning back in his chair. “Such a beautiful name. And Amara-your daughter. I’ve seen pictures. She’s… remarkable.”
Dante’s fists clenched. “You don’t get to talk about them.”
Vincent raised a hand as if to placate him. “Relax, Dante. I’m not here to harm them. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to meet them.”
Dante stared at his father, disbelief and anger flashing across his face. “Meet them? Are you out of your mind? After everything you’ve done, you think I’d let you anywhere near them?”
Vincent’s expression hardened. “Watch your tone, boy. I am still your father.”
“You stopped being my father the day you treated me like a pawn in your twisted games,” Dante snapped. “And now you want to involve Isla and Amara? Forget it.”
Vincent leaned forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “This isn’t a request, Dante. I will meet your wife and child. You can bring them to me willingly, or I will come to you.”
Dante stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “You think you can threaten me? I’m not a scared little boy anymore, Vincent. I won’t let you anywhere near them.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Vincent said, his voice calm but dangerous. “You know how this works. Family is everything, and Amara is my blood. I have a right to see her.”
Dante’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He had spent years keeping Isla and Amara away from the darkness of his past, and now his father was threatening to drag them into it.
“Stay away from them,” Dante said, his voice low and deadly. “This is your only warning.”
Vincent chuckled, a cold, hollow sound. “You’re bold, Dante. I’ll give you that. But boldness won’t protect your family from me. You have one week to arrange a meeting, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
Dante turned and stormed out of the study, his anger boiling over. He couldn’t let Vincent anywhere near Isla and Amara. He had to find a way to protect them, even if it meant going to war with his own father.
—
Back at the mansion, Isla was in the garden with Amara, enjoying the crisp morning air. Amara was toddling around, chasing butterflies with her tiny hands, her laughter filling the air. Isla watched her with a soft smile, momentarily at peace.
When Dante arrived, his expression was dark, and Isla immediately noticed. “Dante?” she called, her brow furrowing. “What happened?”
He glanced at her, his heart aching at the sight of her and Amara. They were his world, and he would do anything to keep them safe. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice tight.
“Don’t lie to me,” Isla said, stepping closer. “I can see something’s wrong. Talk to me.”
Dante hesitated, torn between wanting to protect her and knowing she deserved the truth. “My father wants to meet you and Amara.”
Isla froze, her eyes widening. “Your father? I thought… I thought you didn’t have a relationship with him.”
“I don’t,” Dante said, running a hand through his hair. “But he’s… persistent. He found out about you and Amara, and now he’s demanding a meeting.”
Isla’s stomach twisted with unease. “What does he want? Why now?”
Dante shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t trust him. He’s manipulative and dangerous, and I’ve spent my entire life trying to keep his influence out of mine.”
“Then don’t let him near us,” Isla said firmly. “You’ve kept him away all these years. Why does that have to change?”
“Because he’s not giving me a choice,” Dante admitted, his voice laced with frustration. “If I don’t arrange a meeting, he’ll come here. And I can’t let that happen.”
Isla’s heart raced, fear creeping in. She had always known Dante’s world was complicated, but she hadn’t expected this. “What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Dante stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll handle this, Isla. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you and Amara. I won’t let him hurt you.”
She searched his eyes, seeing the determination there, but also the weight of the burden he carried. “I trust you,” she said softly. “But please, don’t shut me out. We’re in this together.”
Dante nodded, pulling her into his arms. “I promise, Isla. I’ll keep you safe.”
As he held her, he glanced at Amara, who was now picking flowers and giggling to herself. His resolve hardened. He would protect his family, no matter the cost. Vincent Moretti wouldn’t get what he wanted-not this time.