C139 Let Her Know

Dante watched the door click shut behind Annabelle, the faint thud echoing in the quiet hallway.

For a moment, he stood rooted in place, staring at the wooden frame, his mind churning. He turned sharply, his movements decisive, and strode toward the main living area of the safe house. His men were already waiting, their postures alert but slightly tense as they tracked his approach.

Without preamble, Dante launched into a meeting. “Here’s how we’re going to handle this,” he said, his voice clipped and steady, brooking no argument. “The chance of them finding this place is slim, but we’re not taking risks. Every entrance is to be guarded around the clock. No gaps, no excuses.”

One of his men nodded. “Understood, boss. The perimeters are already being monitored.”

Dante continued, his dark eyes scanning each face. “Satellite phones only. The local network is unreliable, and I don’t want anyone compromising us with unnecessary chatter. If anything seems off, you contact me immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Dante dismissed them with a wave. He watched as they dispersed, their efficiency a testament to his leadership. Still, an undercurrent of unease ran through him. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

Once the house settled into a tense calm, Dante allowed himself a moment to think. His feet carried him to the well-stocked pantry, where he grabbed an assortment of snacks. He barely registered what he was picking up. His mind was already back on Annabelle, on the brittle look in her eyes when she walked away earlier.

With the platter in hand, he made his way to her door. He raised his fist, rapped twice, and waited.

The door opened almost immediately. Annabelle stepped out, her movements quiet and deliberate. Dante raised a brow, noting the careful way she closed the door behind her.

“Cathy just fell asleep,” she said softly, as if explaining why she hadn’t invited him in.

Dante inclined his head, studying her face. The exhaustion was etched deeply into her features. Her eyes were shadowed, her lips pale. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, which wasn’t far from the truth.

He extended the platter. “You need to eat.”

She hesitated before taking it. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” she said. “I doubt I could keep anything down.”

“You need your strength,” he said firmly. “We could be leaving at any moment, and I’m not about to have you faint from hunger.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I understand,” she said, picking a piece of fruit from the platter.

The exchange left Dante uneasy.

This wasn’t the fiery woman who had fought him with tooth and nail. She was subdued, quiet. It was as though the life had been drained from her.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Have you eaten at all today?”

She shook her head slightly. “Not really.”

Dante sighed, frustrated with the weight of her silence. He tried again. “Have you thought about what I told you earlier?”

Her eyes flickered with something...pain, uncertainty, and more. “You mean about being in the mafia?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “That.”

She looked down at the platter in her hands, her fingers curling tightly around its edges. “It’s a lot to process.”

Dante resisted the urge to step closer. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and cold. “The truth? Like how you killed my child?”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He forced himself to stay calm, even as her accusation burned into him. “That’s not what happened.”

She crossed her arms, her stance defensive. “Then explain it to me.”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. “The baby was already gone before Aguillar realised it. The kick you took from that bastard… it’s likely what caused it.”

Annabelle’s face twisted in pain, her fingers clenching into fists. “So, it wasn’t you?”

“No,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t me.”

Her lips trembled, but she swallowed hard, forcing herself to steady. “I suppose… it’s for the best. It was probably Tad’s child. A monster’s child.”

The bitterness in her tone cut deep, but Dante didn’t argue. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away, but her body was rigid under his touch.

“Annabelle,” he said quietly, “You’re not alone in this. You never have to be.”

Her laugh was soft and humourless. “That’s ironic, coming from you.”

Dante’s hand slid to her back, guiding her gently toward the sofa. “Sit. Rest.”

She hesitated but allowed him to lead her. He reclined the sofa slightly, giving her space to settle in. When her head rested against his shoulder, a strange warmth spread through his chest.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she murmured, her voice thick with fatigue. “I don’t want to run, either. Not without knowing what’s chasing me.”

He smoothed a hand over her hair, marvelling at how soft it was under his touch. “You don’t have to run. Not anymore.”

Her breathing slowed, her body relaxing against him. “I have more questions for you,” she said sleepily. “But I’m too tired to ask them now.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper.

As her breaths evened out, Dante’s thoughts drifted to Angelo’s words. “Show her your vulnerability,” he’d said. “Let her know she matters.”

It wasn’t easy for him. Vulnerability was dangerous. But as he held Annabelle, her warmth seeping into him, he knew it was worth the risk.

He would wait for her to wake, and then he would tell her.

Everything.