Chapter 3 - I Don’t Do Favors

Lucia's POV

As expected, Dante’s meeting had turned out to be more than just a meeting. It involved a shady deal regarding illegal drugs. I had been prepared for something like this. Everything about him screamed danger, from the sharp edge of his presence to the piercing intensity of his gaze.

He had to be at least 12 years older than me, based on the rumors I’d heard, yet he still looked youthful—and undeniably handsome.

I caught myself, mentally scolding myself for even entertaining such a thought. What was I thinking? Dante was nothing but a cold-blooded jerk—a man who made it clear that no one crossed him and lived to tell the tale.

After the meeting, he took me to a small warehouse where I witnessed something that solidified my fear of him. He interrogated a man with a ferocity that left no room for mercy. I stood frozen, unsure of how to react. When we left the warehouse, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man he’d left behind in a pool of blood.

My instincts told me to turn back and help him, but I reminded myself of the reality I was living in. I was on Dante’s side, like it or not. If I stepped out of line, my actions wouldn’t just cost me; they’d cost my father dearly.

By the time we arrived back home, it was late—nearly 10 p.m. Dante’s men were busy running background checks on someone, though he refused to share any details with me. Not that I wanted to know. I had enough on my mind already.

I sat stiffly in the living room, alone with Dante. He hadn’t dismissed me yet, so I stayed silent, trying to read his mood. My thoughts drifted to my father, and my heart tightened. He was struggling—lonely and battling demons I couldn’t even begin to understand.

I wanted to ask Dante if I could visit him. But I knew better than to blurt out my request without gauging Dante’s mood. The wrong timing could land me in serious trouble.

I chanced a glance at him, only to find his eyes already on me. My breath hitched as our gazes locked. His intensity made me feel small, like I had no choice but to look away.

“Do you have something to say?” His rough, gravelly voice broke through my thoughts.

I swallowed hard, watching as he poured himself a glass of tequila.

“Lucia?” he called again, his tone calmer than I expected. “If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time.”

I nodded hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed. “Yes, Dante—I mean, yes, sir,” I corrected myself quickly, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor.

He raised a brow but didn’t comment on my slip-up. “Go on. What is it you want to discuss with me, Lucia?”

I hesitated, fear and anxiety creeping in. What if he didn’t approve of my request? What if asking upset him?

“You see, my father…” I started but paused, taking a deep breath. “My father isn’t doing well. He’s not emotionally or mentally stable. We’ve been through a lot, and I’m afraid that being separated from me is making things worse for him.”

Dante adjusted his posture on the couch, his sharp eyes narrowing as they stayed fixed on me. “Been through a lot? What exactly have you and your father been through?” His curiosity was evident.

I stiffened. I wasn’t ready to revisit the painful memories of my past, let alone share them with him. Speaking about them always left me on the verge of breaking down, and I couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of Dante.

I laughed nervously, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing too serious, sir. I just hope you understand my concern for him.”

Dante leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “No, tell me, Lucia. What kind of trauma has your father been through?”

I bit my lip, knowing I had no choice but to answer him. Dante obviously wasn’t the kind of man who let things go once his interest was piqued.

“There was a robbery at our home,” I said quietly, my voice trembling slightly. “It happened a long time ago, but… it took the lives of my mother and sister.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. He simply nodded, as if tragedy was a language he understood.  “What happened after that?” he asked, his tone sharp and unrelenting.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to share. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, sir.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze pinning me in place. “How did you cope after losing them? Did you drown yourself in alcohol? Weed? Drugs?”

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly as his words slowly replayed in my head. He wanted to know about me all of a sudden, Why? Was he suddenly interested in me? I scolded myself and pushed away the strange thoughts about Dante.

I realized I hadn’t responded yet and cleared my throat. "None of those,” I replied firmly. “I started writing. It became my outlet—my way of dealing with the pain.”

For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes, something that almost resembled understanding. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You can see your father tomorrow,” he said abruptly, leaning back against the couch.

I blinked, caught off guard. Did I hear him right?

“Thank you, sir,” I said softly, still stunned.

As I stood to leave, I felt his gaze lingering on me. “Don’t mistake this for mercy, Lucia,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t do favors. Everything comes at a price.”

The warning sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever softness he had shown tonight was only a mask, and I couldn’t afford to forget it.

But as I left the room, a nagging thought lingered in my mind. Why had he granted my request so easily? And why did it feel like there was more to this than met the eye?