C150 You Love Me For It

The evening air was thick with tension as Annabelle stood outside the small, private restaurant she had carefully chosen for this confrontation.

The dim glow of streetlights reflected off the wet cobblestone paths, remnants of an earlier drizzle making the air cool and damp.

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.

She was embarrassed to see that her fingers trembled a bit.

Not from the cold, but from the anticipation of what was about to unfold.

Inside, the room was designed for privacy, with warm wooden tones, low lighting, and a single round table at its center.

She had specifically requested this secluded spot.

There were no windows, no chance for either man to storm off without facing the other.

A place designed for conversation...or confrontation.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she stepped into the room.

Two figures sat at opposite ends of the table, their postures stiff, eyes unwilling to meet.

Dante, imposing as ever in a dark tailored suit, exuded an aura of quiet menace.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his penetrating gaze was fixed on the table, fingers idly playing with a glass of whiskey.

Mikhail sat across from him, dressed in a more casual jacket and slacks.

His usually flippant demeanour was absent, replaced by something taut and defensive.

His arms were crossed, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Annabelle noted the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes darted between Dante and the empty chair in the room.

"You’re both here," Annabelle said, stepping forward and closing the door behind her.

The lock clicked softly, and both men looked up, their expressions unreadable.

"Anna," Dante said, his tone heavy with warning.

"Annabelle," Mikhail acknowledged her with a nod, though his voice carried an edge of curiosity.

She took a steadying breath and moved to the empty chair, placing herself between them. "I know. I know. I tricked you both. You can scold me all you want later," she said pointedly at Dante, who gave her an exasperated look in turn.

She shrugged and added, "I will prefer much later because you're not leaving until this is settled," she said firmly, her hands resting on the table. "We’ve all had enough of this... this mess."

Dante arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "What mess? The one where he thinks he can play the hero while his sister tries to kill you?"

Mikhail’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Annabelle sighed, already sensing the storm brewing. "Listen to each other for once. Dante, tell him what you told me about Isabella and Antonia. Mikhail, just... hear him out."

Dante’s gaze didn’t waver as he locked eyes with Mikhail. "You want the truth?" he said, his voice low and cutting. "Your sister orchestrated Isabella’s death. I suppose she wanted power? Well, I don't know what the fuck she wanted but Isabella was in her way. So, she took her out and made me believe she was a cheat."

Mikhail flinched, his brows knitting together.

"That’s bullshit," he snapped. "Antonia’s done a lot of things, but murder? No."

Dante leaned forward, his tone like ice. "I have proof. Of course, she wasn't directly connected. Nah, your damn sister is too clever for that. She set it all up... disguised it as a rebellion gone wrong. Yeah, let's not also forget how she tried to kill Annabelle. And don’t act so innocent. I bet you knew, Mikhail. "

"I didn’t know anything!" Mikhail slammed his hand on the table, his voice breaking with frustration. "And what the hell do you mean, she tried to kill Annabelle?"

Annabelle winced at the mention, but Dante didn’t flinch. "She poisoned her drink. If Natasha hadn’t stepped in, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

"That’s a goddamn lie," Mikhail growled, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

Annabelle pulled out her phone, hesitating for only a second before placing it on the table and pressing play.

The video Natasha had recorded came to life on the small screen, capturing Antonia spiking the drink.

Then, Natasha’s confrontation followed, clear and damning.

Mikhail’s face drained of colour as he watched.

He ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming in short bursts. "This… this can’t be real," he muttered, shaking his head. "She wouldn’t… not Annabelle… She knew...."

"That you love my woman?" Dante completed with a warning tone, but when Annabelle thought she might have to stop them from leaping at each other again, he continued in a mild tone, "Open your eyes, Mikhail. She’s been playing everyone, including you. And don’t think for a second, I don’t know how much you’ve enabled her."

Mikhail looked up, his face a mix of rage and anguish. "I didn’t know," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t know she would...I had no idea she was capable of... that."

Dante’s expression softened, but only slightly. "Maybe you didn’t. But now you do. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Annabelle watched the two men, her heart heavy.

Dante’s usual cold demeanour seemed tempered by an undercurrent of pain, while Mikhail looked like a man grappling with the weight of betrayal.

"I need to talk to her," Mikhail said finally, his voice hollow. "I need to hear it from her."

Dante leaned back, his gaze unyielding. "Fine. But understand this. I’m trusting you to handle it. If you don't, I will. And you know what that means."

Annabelle reached out, placing a hand on Dante’s arm. "Please," she whispered. "Let him do the right thing. For all our sakes."

Dante’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw the struggle within him.

He nodded once, curtly. "You have one chance, Mikhail. Don’t waste it."

Mikhail rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate.

He looked at Annabelle, guilt etched into every line of his face. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I’ll get to the bottom of this, and I’ll make it right."

Annabelle nodded, her throat tight as she wondered how he was going to do that. "I hope you do."

As Mikhail left, the weight in the room shifted.

Dante turned to Annabelle, his expression unreadable. "You really believe he didn’t know?"

"I don’t think he knew," she admitted. "But… he’ll do the right thing. He has to."

Dante reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You’re too forgiving."

"And you love me for it," she replied softly.

He didn’t argue, pulling her close instead.

For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his embrace.