DANTE'S POV
Dante didn't know what to tell Luca about him and Emilio—mainly because he didn't even know what it was himself or why it was happening in the first place. It just... was. And that was already too much for his mind to process. So instead of giving Luca something to worry about, Dante kept it simple.
"He's just trying to keep the peace between our groups," Dante muttered, brushing a hand over his neck. "That's all. You should do the same."
Luca had narrowed his eyes, skeptical, but didn't press further. He only gave Dante a knowing look before leaving with a short nod, his silence heavy with questions he didn't ask.
But Sofia had stayed.
She lingered in the kitchen, making tea as if she lived there. Her voice was soft when she spoke, her concern real. "When I heard about your arm, I was terrified," she said, standing by the counter with her fingers curled tightly around the mug. "I wanted to be here earlier, but the flight was delayed. I hated waiting."
Dante sat on the couch, the weight of the sling digging into his shoulder. He didn't like seeing her worried. Especially not when she had always been one of the few calm constants in his life. "It's just a scratch," he said, downplaying the injury.
Sofia's gaze dropped to his bandaged arm. "You never let anyone close. So when I heard... I thought something must've been really wrong."
Across the room, through the glass doors leading to the balcony, Dante could see Emilio. He was leaning on the railing, smoking, his back to the city, but his eyes were turned toward the living room. Watching him. Always watching. Quiet. Steady. As if reading every word that wasn't being said.
Their eyes met for a second. Emilio didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just held his gaze, like he was waiting for something. Or maybe punishing him for something Dante hadn't realized he did.
Dante looked away first.
Sofia sighed and placed the mug down. It was already getting dark. She didn't want to leave, he could tell. "Let me stay the night. Just to help you around," she said gently, moving to sit beside him.
"You've done enough," he replied, offering her a rare smile. "But I'm okay now. You should rest too."
She hesitated, then leaned in and gave him a warm hug. Her hair smelled like lavender. Her arms felt safe. Familiar. But they didn't make his chest tighten the way Emilio's stare had a few minutes ago.
Sofia pulled back and finally agreed to go. "Call me if anything changes," she said before leaving.
The door clicked shut behind her. Silence returned.
Outside, Emilio was still there. Still watching. Still quiet.
And Dante realized... he wasn't ready for any of this. But somehow, he had already let it in.
That night, Emilio came to bed. Dante held him down, his cock already in Emilio's ass filling him up and thrusting into him impatiently.
" oh, god" He moaned as his release poured Emilio's naked body.
As they lay with ragged breath in the air and without a word about Sofia, Dante could feel it in the air—the weight of what Emilio wasn't saying.
Emilio wasn't good at hiding the thoughts, not from Dante.
Emilio always got this quiet stiffness about him, like he was trying not to ask something that clawed at his throat.
Dante didn't say anything either. He lay on his side, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. The silence stretched between them, thick and restless.
___
Sofia returned earlier that morning. She came with that soft voice and sweet concern, touching his shoulder gently and fussing over his arm like she had every right to. Dante hadn't stopped her. Maybe because it was easier that way. Familiar. Predictable.
And she stayed the whole day again. Like she was trying to reclaim a space she believed was hers.
Sofia's presence filled the living room, her perfume lingering in the air as she sat beside Emilio on the couch.
Dante sat nearby, watching. Silent. Waiting.
"You know," Sofia started, smiling at Emilio, "Dante and I have known each other since we were kids. Our fathers were very close—friends in the same business. It kind of made us family."
Emilio's face barely moved. He looked at her, polite but unreadable.
"We used to spend every summer at his family's estate. He was a lot quieter back then," she laughed. "Still broody, but softer. Everyone thought we'd end up together one day."
Dante shifted slightly on the chair, jaw tight.
"Really?" Emilio said, his voice calm. But his eyes flicked toward Dante once—quick and sharp.
"Yeah," Sofia chuckled, glancing at Dante as if for confirmation. "But he grew up and started playing hard to get."
Emilio hummed. "I see."
Dante said nothing but watched her and Emilio interact in cautious fragments.
She even made him coffee. Emilio drank it without complaint.
But before she left, she had her arms tight around Dante, her lips brushing his cheek—Dante saw the trace in Emilio's eyes. Not anger. Not jealousy. Just a storm he was too proud to show.
Later that night, as the quiet settled and the lights dimmed, Emilio finally spoke.
"Is she the one you were waiting for?" His voice was low, almost a whisper against the dark. "The one you expected would take care of you?"
Dante didn't turn. "What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one," Emilio said, voice tighter now. "Is she?"
"Maybe. Maybe not," he said with a lazy shrug.
"You let her kiss you?" Emilio's voice held a curious edge. "Is she your girlfriend?"
Dante stared at him, annoyed by the sudden interrogation. "I have a lot of girlfriends, Emilio," he said flatly.
Emilio blinked, clearly thrown. "Are you playing with me right now?"
"No," Dante said, arms crossed. "I'm being honest. Don't start acting like some damn wife."
Emilio let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. "That's got to be a joke. Like a damn wife? That has to be a joke."
Without another word, he moved to the wardrobe, yanked out his trousers, and slid them on with jerky movements.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dante asked, stunned by the sudden shift.
"I'm going home," Emilio replied, voice tight. "I think I've paid my debts. Your new caregiver can take over from here."
"Come on," Dante said, stepping forward. "Stay the night. You can leave in the morning."
"I don't want to," Emilio snapped, shoving his arms into his shirt and buttoning it up without looking at Dante.
Dante reached out, catching his wrist. "Hey—"
Emilio pulled away instantly. "Don't," he muttered, and the next second, he was gone, the door shutting behind him.
Dante stood frozen in the silence. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. But as the quiet stretched and the space where Emilio had remained painfully empty, he knew one thing for certain—he'd hurt him again. And this time... it hit differently.