Chapter 5

The forty-story drop beyond Dante's office windows made the room spin. I gripped the back of a leather chair, my knuckles white against the black surface. Below, cars crawled like insects through the morning gridlock. The sun hadn't properly risen yet—just a grey suggestion of dawn that made everything look slightly unreal.

I hadn't slept. The ring box had sat on my nightstand all night, its presence like another person in the room. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I'd seen Luca's face when he realized who exactly I'd kissed at that party. The thought should have frightened me. Instead, I felt a dark thrill of anticipation.

"Coffee?" Dante's voice came from somewhere behind me.

The scent wafted over—rich, dark roast from the small Italian café downstairs. My stomach rolled unexpectedly. "I'm fine."

The office breathed wealth, but quietly. No gold-framed paintings or crystal sculptures like the ones Luca collected. Just clean lines of chrome and glass, everything arranged with precision. A single orchid sat on the glass desk, its white petals stark against the cityscape beyond. The morning light caught its edges, making them glow.

The door opened with a soft click. A man in a charcoal suit entered, carrying a leather portfolio. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, and his cufflinks caught the morning light as he arranged papers on the conference table.

"Ms. Caldwell." He extended his hand. "Richard Chen. I handle Mr. Moretti's legal affairs."

His handshake was firm but not aggressive. Professional. Everything about him spoke of old money and discretion. The kind of lawyer who knew where all the bodies were buried because he'd helped dig the graves.

"Shall we begin?" Richard opened the portfolio. "The prenuptial agreement is straightforward, but we should review each section carefully."

I moved to the table, scanning the first page. Years of corporate law had taught me where to look, what phrases to watch for. My eyes caught on specific clauses, highlighting them mentally.

All assets acquired prior to marriage shall remain separate property...

In the event of dissolution, joint acquisitions to be divided equally...

Neither party shall make claim to inheritance or family trusts...

"This is..." I paused, my finger tracing a particularly elegant clause about intellectual property rights.

"Fair?" Dante suggested from his position by the windows. "Unlike some, I don't need legal chains to keep someone close."

The implied comparison to Luca hung in the air. I remembered the weight of his prenup—how it had stripped me of everything, wrapped in language that made it sound like protection. Like love.

"And the other provisions?" I turned to page six, where the language grew more specific.

Richard shifted in his chair. "Mr. Moretti has outlined a cooperative strategy that would benefit from your... unique insights into certain business operations."

"You want me to tell you what Luca's planning." The directness made Richard blink. "So you can get there first."

"Among other things." Dante finally moved from the window, his reflection fragmenting across the glass table as he approached. "Your knowledge of his patterns, his weaknesses—"

The door burst open.

A woman entered like she owned the space, her red dress a slash of color against the monochrome office. Everything about her was sharp—cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes like laser points, legs that went on forever. Her dark hair was twisted up elegantly, emphasizing the perfect angles of her face.

"Dante, darling." Her voice dripped honey and arsenic. Then her eyes found me, and something predatory flickered in them. "Oh. This is your replacement?" A laugh like breaking crystal. "She looks like she'd shatter if you touched her."

The air changed, became electric. Dangerous.

"Get out, Louise." Dante's voice was quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you want to run.

She took a step closer instead. "Now, is that any way to talk to your wife?"

"Ex-wife." The correction came with knife-edge precision. "And if you ever walk into my office unannounced again—"

"Security will escort me out?" Her smile was all teeth. "Please. We both know you won't make a scene." Her attention shifted to me, head tilting like a cat studying a mouse. "Did he tell you how we met? No? Ask him about Paris. About the promises he made—"

"Louise." Just her name, but it cracked across the room like a thunderbolt.

Coffee dripped from Dante's crushed paper cup, staining his fingers dark. I hadn't even seen him clench his fist.

She raised her hands, all elegant surrender. "Fine, fine. I'm going." At the door, she paused. "But sweetheart"—her eyes locked on mine—"do be careful. Dante has such a habit of breaking his toys."

The door whispered shut behind her.

The room started spinning again, but differently now. Sweat prickled along my hairline. The air felt too thick, too close. The coffee smell from Dante's crushed cup turned my stomach inside out.

"I need a moment." I pushed back from the table, trying to stand normally. The bathroom door felt miles away. "Just one moment."

The private bathroom was all marble and chrome, cool and impersonal. I pressed my forehead against the mirror, watching my breath fog the glass. My reflection looked back at me, pale but composed. Professional mask still in place, even as my insides rebelled.

When I emerged, Dante was at the windows, phone pressed to his ear. His shoulders were rigid, the line of his jaw sharp enough to cut.

"Non mi interessa quanto costa." I don't care what it costs. His voice was low, controlled, but with an edge that made me pause in the doorway. "No. Ascolta bene. Non la voglio più qui." No. Listen carefully. I don't want her here anymore.

A pause. His reflection in the glass darkened as he listened to whatever response came through the phone. His free hand curled into a fist against the window.

"Se devo ripeterlo, non sarà al telefono." If I have to repeat myself, it won't be over the phone. The threat in his voice needed no translation. Another pause, shorter this time. "Capito? Bene." Understood? Good.

He ended the call with a sharp tap that echoed his words. When he turned and saw me, something in his expression shifted, smoothed over. Like watching ice refreeze after a crack. The man who had just issued veiled threats in fluid Italian disappeared behind the polished corporate mask.

"Everything alright?" I moved back to the table. The contrast between his two personas—the ruthless man speaking threats in his mother tongue and the controlled businessman before me now—made me wonder which was the real Dante Moretti.

"Perfect." He reached for the contract, but I caught the tension still lingering in his hands, the way his fingers pressed too hard against the paper, betraying the lie. "Shall we finish this?"

I met his eyes in answer. He held out the pen, and when our fingers brushed, electricity skittered up my arm.

My signature flowed across the paper, steady and sure. Richard witnessed it with practiced efficiency, then gathered his things and disappeared with perfect discretion.

"We should do this quickly," Dante said into the silence that followed. "Next week. Small ceremony. Private."

I nodded, collected my purse. The room had settled somewhat, but I didn't trust it to stay that way.

"Vivian." His voice caught me at the door.

When I turned, he had moved closer, silent as smoke.

"When I kiss you at the ceremony," he said, voice dropping to something dark and honeyed, "it won't be for show."

The promise followed me into the elevator, lingered as I descended forty floors. In the mirrored walls, my reflection looked back at me—composed on the outside, chaos underneath. Like the city behind Dante's glass walls. Like everything in my life now: a perfect surface hiding turbulent depths.