Chapter Five: The Legacy Of Blood
After dinner, he showed her parts of the house.
A library with first editions that made her literature-loving heart race.
A terrace overlooking the churning ocean below.
A room filled with art that belonged in museums.
Always with Giovani following at a discrete distance.
Always aware of where exits were. Who might be watching.
In a study lined with books and dominated by a massive desk, Dante paused.
“This is where I began,” he said, almost to himself.
“After my family was killed. Sitting at this desk. Planning how to survive. How to ensure no one could ever hurt the people I cared about again.”
The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
He said it simply.
“The oldest son. The only survivor.”
She couldn’t imagine it. The weight of such loss. Such responsibility at that age.
“You were just a boy.”
“Boys become men quickly when necessary.”
He turned to face her.
Something fierce in his gaze.
“Remember that, Adriana. Whatever else you hear about me. Whatever truths you discover as we work together. Remember that everything I’ve built began here. With a promise to protect what’s mine.”
The possessive way he said it sent a shiver through her.
On the drive back to the city, she watched the lights of other lives blur past the tinted windows.
Dante sat beside her. Silent.
But present in a way that filled the space between them.
Not touching. Yet she felt him everywhere.
“Why did you really bring me to your home?” she asked as they neared the city limits.
“You could have told me all this at the penthouse.”
He considered the question for a moment.
“I wanted you to see where I come from. Who I am when I’m not performing for others.”
“And who is that?”
He turned to look at her.
Moonlight casting half his face in shadow.
“Someone who recognizes himself in you.”
The word stayed with her as they ascended to the penthouse.
As he showed her to the guest suite where she would spend her first night.
Gilded, comfortable captivity.
But captivity nonetheless.
“Rest well,” he said at the door.
“Tomorrow your real work begins.”
“Dante.”
She called as he turned to leave.
He paused, looking back.
“May I call my mother? To say good night?”
Something softened in his expression.
“Of course. Use the secure phone I gave you. It’s already programmed with her number at the facility.”
When he was gone, she sat on the edge of the obscenely comfortable bed.
Turning the phone over in her hands.
This small concession—allowing her to call her mother—seemed significant somehow.
A gesture of understanding, perhaps.
Or just another way to remind her of his power over the things she cared about most.
Her mother answered on the second ring.
Her voice stronger than she’d heard in months.
“Adriana, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I just wanted to hear your voice. How are you settling in?”
“This place is unbelievable, honey. The doctor spent an hour with me today. A whole hour. And the food—”
She laughed softly.
“I actually have an appetite for the first time in months.”
Relief washed through her. Momentarily drowning out her doubts.
“That’s wonderful.”
“But I’m worried about you.”
Her mother’s tone shifted.
“This new job. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Her mother had always seen through her.
“It’s complicated,” she admitted.
“But it’s a good opportunity. Really good.”
“Is it safe?”
Her mother asked directly.
She thought of Dante’s watchful security.
Of the way his mere presence commanded respect. Or fear.
“Yes.”
She said it, not entirely a lie.
“I’m safe.”
“And this boss of yours. What’s his name?”
She hesitated.
“Dante. Dante Russo.”
The silence that followed stretched too long.
“Mom?”
“Russo.”
Her mother repeated, her voice suddenly tight.
“From the Russo family? The ones who control the east side docks?”
Ice slid down her spine.
“You know of them.”
“Oh, Adriana.”
Her mother sounded exhausted suddenly. Old in a way that had nothing to do with illness.
“What have you gotten yourself into?”
“It’s not what you think.”
She said it automatically. Though she wasn’t sure what her mother thought exactly.
“How do you know about the Russo family?”
Another long pause.
“Your father.”
Her mother finally said.
“The gambling debts that got him killed. They were to the Russos.”
The world tilted beneath her.
“What?”
“Not directly to them,” her mother clarified quickly.
“To one of their associates. A man named Vega.”
Vega.
One of the men in Dante’s penthouse earlier.
The one with the silver at his temples and the heavy watch.
“Are you sure?”
She whispered.
“I never forget a name like that.”
Her mother said wearily.
“Not when it cost me my husband.”
Her mind raced.
Did Dante know?
Was that why he’d chosen her?
Some twisted game of revenge or atonement?
“Adriana, listen to me.”
Her mother’s voice grew urgent.
“You need to get away from them. Whatever they’re offering. Whatever they’re paying you. It’s not worth it.”
“I can’t.”
She said it. The truth of it settling like a stone in her stomach.
“Your treatment. This facility—”
“I would rather die than have you caught up with those people.”
Her mother said it fiercely.
“Don’t say that.”
Her voice broke.
“Please don’t say that.”
They were both silent for a moment.
The weight of revelation heavy between them.
“Be careful.”
Her mother finally said.
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
She whispered.
Though she had no idea what “careful” meant in Dante Russo’s world.
After they hung up, she sat motionless on the bed.
Her mind spinning with possibilities.
Dante had said he’d been watching her for months.
Had he known about her father all along?
Was she part of some elaborate scheme she couldn’t yet see?
Or was it truly coincidence?
The cruel kind that seemed to govern her life.
She wouldn’t sleep tonight, she knew.
Not with these questions burning through her.
Tomorrow, when she faced Dante again, she would have to decide.
Confront him with what she’d learned.
Or keep this knowledge to herself.
A small piece of power in a game where she had none.
For now, she sat in the luxury he’d provided.
Feeling more trapped than she’d ever felt in her life.
