Page 12

Chapter Twelve: Jade

I yanked the door open, mustering my most unwelcoming frown. “Dante, what the—“ But before I could lob another word his way, there he stood, all imposing height and broad shoulders, eclipsing the weak winter sun that tried to sneak past him into the apartment.

“How did you find me?”

“Is that really what we need to talk about right now?”

“Yes!” I said, trying to stop the tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t know how I felt about him being here. There was a part of me that was incredibly relieved; of course, I knew he’d woken up after the gunshot he’d taken for me, but I didn’t know if he was okay.

And there he stood: every inch Dante Moretti, his shoulders set back, that expression on his face that made it seem like he knew he could stop traffic.

But then he crumbled.

Just for a second.

And I really thought about letting him in. Until I realized he was the reason I was in this position in the first place and I started to get angry again.

“You tell me or I close this door and call the police.”

“Jade, I saw you leaving St. Mary’s.” His voice bulldozed over my simmering annoyance. “We need to talk. It’s urgent.”

My skepticism clung to me like the coat I hadn’t bothered to remove yet, heavy and uncomfortable. “Urgent?” I echoed, arms crossed as if they could shield me from whatever mess Dante was dragging up the stairs of my Harbor Cove refuge. “You can’t just follow me around—“

“Please.” The single plea held more weight than I expected, and for a second, it seemed to cost him, etching a grimace across his face that hinted at pain he wouldn’t dare show in full.

The grimace that contorted Dante’s handsome face sent a jolt through me, erasing the remnants of my indignation. It was a silent echo of the past, a reminder of blood-stained shirts and whispered promises in the dark. “I can explain,” he said, his voice a low rumble of urgency. “Just let me in.”

There it was again—that look which always seemed to precede chaos. His presence at my doorstep was like a crack in my carefully constructed world, threatening to let the darkness seep through. I hesitated, my mind’s eye flashing to the last time I’d seen him, pale and close to death. That memory had haunted me, lurking in the shadows of my meticulous life.

“Jade.” His use of my name felt like both a plea and a command, resonating with a vulnerability I knew he despised showing. Dante Moretti wasn’t a man who pleaded.

“Fine,” I finally said, stepping aside with a reluctant sigh, allowing him entry into my Harbor Cove sanctuary. The winter light that struggled through the clouds seemed to hesitate too, as if unsure about this breach of my solitude.

As Dante crossed the threshold, I couldn’t help but notice how he filled the space—like an indomitable force, yet somehow fragile in his determination. It was in these moments, these cracks in his armor, that I glimpsed the man behind the mafia prince fa?ade, and my heart clenched at the sight.

He strode into my living room, a winter gust sneaking in behind him before the door closed with a soft click. His coat dripped snow onto the hardwood floor, a stark reminder of the frigid world outside my Harbor Cove apartment. I crossed my arms over my chest, the action more protective than I intended.

“Look, Dante, I don’t have time for—“ My protest was cut short by his raised hand.

“I know you’re busy, Jade. Just give me five minutes.” The deep timbre of his voice wrapped around the plea, grounding it with sincerity.

“Five minutes,” I echoed, not missing the irony that time with Dante always seemed to bend and stretch far beyond what was promised.

“Thank you.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a shadow of a smile, but it didn’t reach those intense eyes that had seen too much. They darted around the room, taking in every detail as if memorizing my sanctuary for reasons I didn’t want to contemplate.

Then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the gap between us. His arms enveloped me in an embrace that caught me off guard, warm despite the chill clinging to his clothes. A thousand sensations rocketed through me, none of which I could afford to examine too closely.

“Damn it, Dante...” I muttered against his shoulder, my words muffled by the fabric of his coat. My hands found their way to his back, pressing against muscle and bone. There was a comfort there, a familiarity that I couldn’t deny, no matter how fiercely my mind screamed at the recklessness of it all.

“Sorry,” he breathed out, his breath sending shivers across my skin—not from cold, but from something else entirely. “I just needed...”

“Three minutes left,” I reminded him, though neither of us made a move to break away.

My fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, a sharp inhale caught in my throat. Dante’s presence was an immovable force, yet now he trembled, an earthquake vibrating through his solid frame. His face buried in my hair, breaths uneven and ragged against my neck.

“Jade.” It was more of a sigh than a word, soaked in desperation.

“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet, trying to steady him with my touch. “What’s going on?”

His body shuddered once more, and then I felt it—the dampness seeping into my hair, the unmistakable warmth of tears. Dante Moretti, the man who commanded armies with a look, who hid his heart behind walls of iron and ice, was crying. And not just a single tear, but a silent storm that he couldn’t contain any longer.

My heart twisted at the sight, a man on his knees in more ways than one. Dante, the epitome of controlled strength, the model of stoic demeanor, was now unraveling before me.

“Dante,” I whispered, my hands cupping his face. His eyes were shadowed with pain and something infinitely sorrowful. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured between sniffs. His voice was an unfamiliar rasp, each syllable laced with regret—the likes of which I had never heard from him before.

“For what?” My brows knitted together as I tried to read him. What could possibly have brought him to this state?

“For everything,” he said, shaking his head as if the weight of all he’d done was too much to bear. “For pulling you into my world... for putting you in danger... for not being able to give you what you deserve...”

His words hung in the air, heavy and raw. I didn’t know how to console him, didn’t even know if he wanted to be consoled. But what I did know was that the man before me was not the same Dante Moretti that walked into my apartment moments ago. This man was unmasked, stripped of his powerful exterior and bared to his very core.

“But you’re here,” I found myself saying, my voice soft yet unexpectedly steady. “Why did you come, Dante?”

Dante rubbed his temple. “I needed to talk to you,” he said.

I swallowed. “Okay,” I said. “You’re here. Talk.”