EMILIO'S POV
Naples — Dante's Hotel, Late Night
Emilio didn't knock.
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse floor, and he strode down the long hallway like a man on a mission. His chest burned, each step fueled by betrayal, confusion, and a thousand unspoken words that clung to his throat like smoke.
He needed answers. From Dante.
Not Rossi.
Not some shadowed rumor passed over a phone call that had shattered something inside him.
He had to hear it from Dante's mouth—*why*. Why he hadn't told him about Sophie. Why he had whispered like he cared, like they had something real, only to turn around and make it official with someone else.
He reached the suite door.
Raised a fist.
But it opened before he could knock.
And it wasn't Dante.
Donatella Falcone stood in the doorway like a queen awaiting a subject. Slim, tall, wrapped in dark silk, her perfume floral but sharp. Her eyes were two polished stones—hard, cold, and unimpressed. They studied Emilio like he was dirt under her heels.
For a second, Emilio didn't move.
He blinked. Once.
What was she doing here?
His first instinct was to yell, demand where her son was—but something pulled him back. She was Dante's mother. And no matter how much he hated the fire climbing up his spine, he couldn't be reckless. Not yet.
"...Where is he?" he asked through clenched teeth, his hand still curled mid-air.
Donatella didn't budge. "He's not here," she said coolly. "And even if he was, I wouldn't let you near him."
Emilio tried to push past her, but she stepped in front of him like a wall of iron.
"This is between me and Dante."
"No," she said, her tone sharpening. "This is between a family and the stain threatening its legacy."
He froze.
Stain?
Her lip curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "You shouldn't have come back."
"You think you can scare me?" he snapped, fire flashing behind his words.
"No. I think I can stop you."
She turned her back on him and walked into the suite like he was expected to follow.
And like a fool, he did.
"He's getting married," Donatella said, pouring herself a drink without looking at him. "To Sophie. It's done. As it should be."
"You think that's love?" Emilio spat, not caring if his voice cracked.
"I think that's honor*," she replied, finally facing him. "And you... You are a mistake. A phase. Something shameful he will regret once this spell is over."
His blood roared in his ears. "Excuse me?"
Her eyes narrowed. "My son is not in love with you. He's not even *into* men. He's confused. Grieving. Vulnerable. You preyed on him when he was weakest. You were a distraction. Nothing more."
"You think I preyed on him?" he said, his voice rising. "You think I *wanted* this to happen? I didn't come to Naples looking for him. He kissed me. He pulled me in."
"You corrupted him," she hissed, eyes blazing. "You—you let him believe he had a choice. That he could afford to lose everything for a man in the shadows. Heir to a mafia empire—do you think he can parade around with you like you're some fairytale ending?"
He stepped forward, fists tight at his sides.
"Then maybe the empire isn't worth inheriting."
Her face turned to ice.
"You have no idea what this world demands," she said. "Blood. Sacrifice. Appearances. Men like Dante don't get to be weak. They don't get to want."
She reached into her purse, pulled out a flash drive.
Held it up like a knife.
"I know who you are, Emilio Valerius. And I know what you are. The clubs in Paris. The hotel in Milan. You think the world won't eat you alive the moment I show them who you are?"
His heart dropped, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck.
Donatella smiled.
"You walk away tonight, and I'll delete this. No press. No whispers. You vanish. But if you stay—if you dare come between Dante and his future—I'll destroy you. You'll drag your family down with you."
He stared at her, his pulse roaring in his throat.
Then he laughed. Bitter. Low.
"You really think you can scare me with some grainy footage?"
Her smile faltered.
"There's something you can't erase, Signora Falcone," he said, stepping closer. "No matter how many secrets you bury, how many women you throw in his face..."
He leaned in, his voice a razor.
"There's nothing you can do about the fact that your son gets hard the moment he sees me."
Her face turned to stone.
"And you can't fix that with Sophie. You can't threaten that away."
The silence between them snapped like glass.
Her hand lashed out and struck his face.
The crack echoed.
But Emilio didn't flinch.
"Leave," she said through clenched teeth, trembling with fury. "Leave now—or I swear to God, you won't see morning."
Emilio stepped back, letting the sting of her slap fade.
Then he smirked, voice low and cruel. "Funny. That's exactly what your son told me... the night he begged me not to go."
He turned, his footsteps echoing as he walked out.
Shoulders high. Pulse steady.
But inside?
Inside he was breaking. Again.
Because part of him still hoped Dante would come running after him.
And part of him knew—he wouldn't.
Emilio stormed out of the hotel, heart pounding, throat tight.
The night air hit him like ice, but it couldn't cool the fire inside. His chest ached with betrayal, eyes burning. He didn't look back.
Not at the hotel. Not at the past. Just walked—fast, furious, and breaking inside.