C26 People Change

The next morning, Dante strode into the living room, his irritation already prickling his skin like needles. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, let alone deal with the aftermath of Annabelle's action. But as he stepped into the room, his scowl deepened at an unexpected sight.

Antonia was seated with her legs crossed, casually instructing the cook about breakfast as though she owned the place. She waved her hand, listing out the exact way she wanted some things done in a voice that left no room for argument. Her presence was commanding, almost unsettling, and Dante’s patience slipped another notch.

“Antonia,” he said, approaching her. “Didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

She turned, her lips curving in a bright smile that felt a little too familiar as if she had been doing this for years. “Good morning, Tay. I thought I’d make myself useful. After all, you’ve always said you like your breakfast fresh.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall saying that to you.” He had said that to someone else.

Her smile didn’t falter, but she tilted her head, a slight pout forming. “I was only trying to help,” she replied innocently. “I thought it was the least I could do, you know. Oh, stop frowning like that..”

Just then, he heard the front door open and several footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Several men he recognized as Matteo's men filed in, carrying suitcases and garment bags.

His mood worsened as he saw them.

They had let her give them the slip the day before and now they were lugging bags about?

Dante was tempted to tell Matteo how incompetent his men were.

Their charge could have died yesterday because they were sloppy.

Behind them, Antonia’s maid followed with a set of smaller luggage. Her maid directed the men to keep the luggage down, which they did and left immediately.

Dante’s jaw clenched as his men looked at him for instructions.

“What is this?” he asked, his tone a low rumble as he shot a glance toward the entryway.

Antonia’s eyes followed his gaze, and she offered a casual shrug. “Oh, just a few essentials. I can’t stay in these clothes forever, can I?”

His eyes went towards her skimpy nightgown as she wrinkled her nose and said, “I believe this belongs to…” she cleared her throat as Dante’s look darkened. “Well…no need to mention her. I can’t borrow her clothes for long, you know. I need my things.”

Dante ignored the tug of pain in his heart at the thought of Isabella. Antonia had no right to wear her things. He wanted to tear the cloth off her and give hell to whatever stupid maid had gotten the pyjamas for her.

Instead, he said in a cold tone, “Essentials? How long exactly are you planning to stay, Antonia?”

“Just until… well, until I look presentable enough for Dad to see me.” She turned, pulling her hair aside to reveal a nasty bruise on the back of her neck, hidden beneath her dark curls. The bluish-purple mark stood out starkly against her skin, and Dante felt a brief stab of surprise. “Had that been there last night?”

Antonia looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t see this last night?”

Dante’s mouth tightened. “No.”

“Well, that horrible…houseguest of yours did hit me hard. It was how she was able to tie me up.” she said with anger, then continued with a lilting tone, “If Dad were to see me in this state, he’d… well, he wouldn’t be pleased. He’d take action. He will get that bitch back for hurting his princess. She wouldn’t be able to run fast enough. Also, he wouldn’t be pleased with you. This happened under your roof after all.”

Unease threaded through Dante’s anger. Matteo might be bedridden, but he was still a powerful man with resources and a fierce loyalty to his only daughter. Antonia was a split image of Alice, his late wife, and he had never hidden how much he loved his daughter.

If he saw the bruise, especially one so obvious, there was little doubt that Matteo would launch a relentless hunt for Annabelle, wherever she was hiding.

“Your father would go after Annabelle,” Dante muttered, almost to himself.

“Exactly,” Antonia agreed, her voice softer now. “And you, Dante, wouldn’t want her blood on your hands… would you?”

A muscle ticked in Dante's chin as he met her gaze, reading the implicit threat there. He didn’t need Antonia’s hint to know that her father wouldn’t stop at mere threats if he thought his daughter had been harmed under Dante’s protection. He might even escalate things. Though Matteo liked him, the man could be so unpredictable at times.

“And this…,” Antonia continued as if sensing his struggle, “...is why I had to let him know that I'd be staying with you for a while. He thinks I am just visiting,” She added with a shrug. She paused, casting a thoughtful look around the room. “Oh, and my car? Dad’s gift to me for my last birthday? She scratched it last night. I doubt he’d be thrilled if he saw that, either.”

Dante’s jaw clenched. “So, you’re saying I don’t have a choice in this?”

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of triumph and sweetness as she came closer to putting her arm through his, “Come now, Dante. Don’t be so harsh. I’m only trying to avoid trouble. For both of us.”

“Fine,” he said sharply. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable though,” he said as he eyed her many bags.

Antonia’s face brightened, and she clasped her hands in a display of delight. “You won’t even notice me, Dante. I’ll be the perfect guest.” She glanced at her maid over her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Emilia?”

Her maid nodded quickly and Antonia’s smile widened. “See? You won’t even know I’m here,” she added, turning her attention back to Dante.

She called to Maria who was passing on the landing at that moment, "Maria dear, would you show Emilia where to keep my things."

"Yes, Miss Virelli," Maria said immediately.

"Your men wouldn't grudge me for needing their help with my things, would they?" she asked as she smiled up at Dante.

Dante did not answer as he looked at his men silently standing guard. Two of them stepped forward to do the needful.

Just then, a kitchen staff member came to tell them that the food was ready. The fact that she faced Antonia made Dante feel that tightness in his chest again.

“You can serve now,” she said regally, then turned to Dante with a smile. “How about we have breakfast together? I’d hate to eat alone.”

“I am not hungry,” Dante said in a miffed tone as she urged him towards the breakfast nook with her arm still entwined with his.

He watched as she took a seat on the L-shaped bench, gesturing for him to join her.

The cosy, inviting look of the nook with light wood tones, soft grey cushions, and green, white, and pink accents was lost on him as he sat on one of the wicker chairs facing the central glass-topped table.

He couldn’t find anything cheery about the bright lights from the large windows and pendant lights.

Dante folded his arms as he observed her, his expression unreadable. “You’re different,” he stated, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “What exactly did you do on that long journey of yours, Antonia?”

Antonia paused, her eyes flickering with something akin to amusement. She picked up her fork as the staff started laying out the breakfast, twirling it through the air with a graceful twist. “Pfft, just this and that.” She waved away her year-long journey airily. Then she continued, Well, people change, Dante. Sometimes you have to… adapt.” She took a delicate bite of her cured meats, her gaze never leaving his. “I’d think you’d appreciate a woman who knows how to handle herself.”

He let the words hang in the air, feeling an uncomfortable familiarity with the way she was speaking to him. He could feel his patience thinning. He knew he might be overthinking things, but he was sure she had been different before.

Her sudden change, the eerie similarity to Isabella left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“So,” he said, his tone casual yet probing, “Do you think that bruise might go away like tomorrow?”

She laughed lightly, brushing back a stray curl. “Dante, you are impossible. Just give me the boot directly, would you?”

He willed himself to relax as he said, “I didn’t say anything about that. Of course, you could stay at a hotel too. I could pay for it.”

“Oh, Dante, you make everything sound so… transactional.” She shook her head with an amused sigh. “But if that’s how you want it, who am I to argue? I am not leaving though. You will learn to share your bachelor pad a bit.”

Dante didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit.

He turned his mind away from her confusing behaviour and it went straight to the issue that had kept him up all night.

How the fuck was she pregnant?