EMILIO'S POV
It had been a week. A long, aching week.
Emilio couldn't take it anymore. The silence. The unanswered messages. The way Dante's voice sounded distant the last time they spoke. So he took the next flight, heart a tangle of nerves and hope.
Naples. That's where Dante was—on business, they said. But to Emilio, it felt like a galaxy away.
When he arrived at the grand hotel, Bull didn't ask questions. He looked at Emilio for a long time, maybe with sympathy, maybe with guilt, and finally nodded.
"He's in room 1702. You got ten minutes before he goes out again."
Emilio's chest tightened. Ten minutes wasn't enough. Ten minutes felt like too much.
He stepped into the suite. Lavish, cold, untouched—just like Dante had become.
He sat on the edge of the couch, the silence heavier than any bullet, and waited.
The door clicked open fifteen minutes later.
Dante stepped in, hair slightly damp from the rain, shirt rumpled like he hadn't slept. He looked exhausted. But more than anything... he looked haunted.
Their eyes met.
"Dante," Emilio breathed, standing to his feet, instinct taking over as he walked toward him.
He wrapped his arms around the man he had missed, needed and loved.
But Dante didn't hug him back.His arms hung by his sides. Motionless.
That hit Emilio like a blade.
He slowly pulled back. "You're not going to hug me?"
Dante looked away. His jaw clenched, a storm passing through his face. "You shouldn't have come here."
"I had to. I couldn't breathe anymore. I needed to see you. Needed to know if everything was okay between us."
Silence.
"Dante," Emilio whispered, reaching for his face, "talk to me."
Dante stepped back, And that movement? That one step away, It shattered Emilio.
Emilio's chest rose and fell like he'd just run a marathon—but it was just his heart breaking.
"Why didn't you call?" he asked, voice low. "Why did you vanish like that?"
Dante stood still, eyes avoiding Emilio's. Then, with aching slowness, he reached up and gently removed Emilio's arms from around him. Like peeling off something that once meant everything—but now only hurt.
The gesture stung more than a slap. Emilio blinked at him, confused, breath caught in his throat. "Dante... What's wrong?"
"You shouldn't have come here," Dante muttered. "You couldn't wait?"
Emilio took a sharp step back, his face twisting. "Couldn't wait?" he echoed, voice rising. "What the hell does that mean? I came because you were silent for days. I was worried. I missed you!"
Dante finally looked him in the eyes—but there was no softness. Just tension. Weariness. Guilt?
"We're not... a couple, Emilio."
The words hit like glass shattering in his ears.
"What?"
"You heard me," Dante said, turning his face away again, jaw set tight. "I didn't make you any promises."
"Wow," Emilio breathed out, blinking hard. "So now I'm just some guy you slept with, and that's all I am?"
"This trip—it's complicated. I have things to handle here."
"You always have things to handle!" Emilio snapped, his voice cracking. "But shutting me out? Acting like I don't exist? Like we didn't—"
Dante stayed silent. The silence said everything.
Emilio clenched his fists, chest aching, throat burning. "You know what? Don't worry. I get it now. Loud and clear."
Without waiting for another word, Emilio turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
His own hotel room felt too cold. Too big. He threw himself on the bed, heart racing, eyes blurring with unshed tears.
"We're not a couple,"Dante had said.
But it had felt like they were.
Every moment. Every touch. Every time they held each other in the dark.
Perfect—let's layer that in for even more emotional punch and vulnerability. Here's the revised scene, with Dante's call and Emilio's hesitation building up the heartbreak:
-----
It was late. The kind of late where the world felt heavy.
Emilio sat on his hotel bed, staring blankly at the floor, his chest tight from everything Dante had said earlier. His phone buzzed beside him. He glanced at it was Dante.
He hesitated. Let it ring.
Then it rang again.
He picked it up, voice flat. "What do you want?"
A pause. Dante's voice came, low, tired, and... soft. "Can you come downstairs?"
Emilio didn't answer.
"Please," Dante added, barely above a whisper. "I... need to see you."
That word please did something to him. Emilio closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, then stood. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and slipped it on slowly, heart pounding, throat tight.
Within minutes, he was stepping into the still night air, the hotel lobby fading behind him.
The street was empty, shadows stretching under flickering lamps. And there Dante stood, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slouched like a man carrying something far too heavy.
Emilio walked toward him. No words. Just that same sad gaze.
"You called," Emilio said, voice thin and hoarse.
Dante nodded once. "I couldn't let you leave like that."
"Why, Dante?" Emilio whispered. "Why are you acting like I'm nothing?"
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
A breath. Dante looked away, jaw clenched. "I'm sorry for earlier. I was... cruel. And you didn't deserve it."
Emilio's lips parted, but he couldn't speak. Couldn't even cry. The ache was too deep.
"You should go home," Dante said softly. "I'll be back soon. We'll see each other again."
Emilio laughed—just once. Bitter. "That sounds like a lie."
"It's not," Dante whispered. "I promise."
Despite the pain, despite everything, Emilio stepped forward and hugged him. Tight. Needing it. Needing something real before it all vanished.
Dante stood still... then slowly, reluctantly, let one hand rest against Emilio's back. Just briefly.
---
Hours later, ..Emilio's phone buzzed.
It was from Rossi.
"You didn't hear this from me... but Dante's getting married to Sophie."
Emilio's breath caught.
The hotel room blurred around him as he read the message again. And again.
His chest caved. The hug. The promise. The please...
It was all a goodbye.