Chapter 5: The Weight of the Night
The drawing room door clicked shut behind Julian with a finality that seemed to draw all the oxygen out of the space. Sophie didn't stir; her breathing remained deep and even against the velvet cushions, her small hand still clutching the gray rabbit's ear.
Dante didn't move toward the door. He stood where he was, his dark eyes fixed on the empty space where his brother had been standing. The anger in his posture slowly dissolved into a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. He reached up with one large, tattooed hand and rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers pressing hard against the muscles as if trying to force the tension away.
"He shouldn't have been up here," Dante said, his voice rough. He wasn't looking at me, but his words were clearly meant for my ears alone.
"I tried to stop him, Mr. Romano," I said quietly, stepping back from the settee to give him room. "He came through the side stairwell."
"Miller will have words with the night detail," Dante muttered. He walked slowly toward the settee, his heavy boots making no sound on the thick rug. He stopped beside Sophie, looking down at her sleeping face with an expression that defied the cold rumors whispered about him in the city. There was no malice in his face, only a heavy, protective sorrow that looked older than the house itself.
Dante knelt down, ignoring the pristine crease of his trousers, until he was at eye level with the child. He reached out—his fingers, scarred and inked, looking impossibly large against her pale skin—and gently pulled the edge of the beige cardigan over her shoulder where it had slipped down.
"She doesn't belong here," Dante whispered, more to himself than to me. "The world outside these gates... it doesn't forgive innocence. It tears it apart."
"She’s safe here," I found myself saying, the words slipping out before I could censor them. "As long as someone is watching."
Dante looked up slowly, his dark gaze locking onto mine across Sophie’s sleeping form. The ambient light from the wall sconces caught the gold flecks in his eyes, making them look like embers buried in ash.
"And who is watching you?" Dante asked softly.
May you like
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unexpected, carrying all the weight of the sprawling, shadowed mansion. Before I could find an answer, Dante stood up, his tall frame blocking out the light from the sconce.
"Good night, sad eyes," Dante said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly chuckle that had first broken the silence of the dining room a week ago. He turned and walked toward the door, leaving me alone in the dim room with the sleeping child, the gray rabbit, and the growing certainty that my life had changed forever.
