“Don’t talk to her,” Alaric warns.
“I’ll talk to my fiancée whenever I choose. We have years of history together—much more than your few months of whatever this is.” He gestures dismissively at the space between Alaric and me.
“She’s my wife.”
“She’s carrying your bastard, I’ll grant you that. But marriage certificates can be annulled, pregnancies can be terminated, and confused women can be reminded of where their loyalties should lie.”
The casual way he discusses eliminating my baby makes my blood freeze. This is the Dante I remember from our worst moments—clinical, and utterly devoid of empathy.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“I’m focused. There’s a difference.” He approaches slowly, hands visible but somehow threatening anyway. “You left me, Kasimira. Abandoned everything I gave you, everything we built together.”
“You tortured me.”
“I shaped you into perfection. Destroyed the confusion and weakness that held you back from your true potential.” His voice takes on the hypnotic quality I remember, the tone he used to use during his worst manipulations. “Remember how good it felt when you stopped fighting me? How peaceful life became when you accepted your place?”
“That wasn’t peace. That was prison.”
“It was clarity. And we’re going to find that clarity again.”
Footsteps echo from the hallway. Alaric’s hand moves instinctively toward his weapon as a familiar figure fills the kitchen doorway.
I’m shocked to see Marco after weeks of absence. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, stopping short when he sees Dante. “You’re back from the dead just like the rumors.”
“Hello, cousin,” Dante replies with that predatory smile. “Surprised?”
“Where have you been?” Alaric demands. “You disappeared without a word.”
“Business went sideways. Messed with the wrong people, and they wanted my head. Had to lie low until things cooled down.” Marco straightens his jacket. “Came back as soon as I heard there was trouble here.”
“Trouble is an understatement,” I mutter.
“The important thing is we’re all family here,” Marco says, his tone diplomatic. “We can work out arrangements that benefit everyone.”
Dante scowls. “The only arrangement I’m interested in involves my wife returning to her proper place.”
“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Alaric says through gritted teeth.
“You’ll try. But you forget, Father—I learned everything I know about violence from you.” Dante yawns. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion tomorrow after I’ve rested?”
“Where exactly do you plan to rest?” Alaric asks coldly.
“My childhood bedroom. Unless you’ve converted it into something else during my supposed death?”
“Fine. But you stay in your wing. Away from my wife.”
“Our house has plenty of room for family,” Dante replies with that cruel smile before disappearing up the stairs.
Alaric’s phone buzzes immediately after Dante disappears. His brows furrow as he reads the message on his phone.
“Marco.” Alaric turns to his nephew, pocketing his phone. “Stay with Kasi. Don’t let her out of your sight, and don’t let Dante anywhere near her. Benedetto needs me.”
“Of course.”
After Alaric leaves, I sink into the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. “Everything is fucked up.”
