Chapter 3 - Shattered Illusions
"Grace!"
Dante crossed the small cell in two massive strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. As his hands hovered over her, afraid that touching her would make her vanish like a mirage, Grace collapsed forward into his arms. She was shaking uncontrollably, her skin pale, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"You're here," she sobbed, her small hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as if she were drowning and he was her only lifeline. "You're really here."
"I'm here. I've got you," Dante murmured, his voice breaking as he pulled her tightly against his chest, shielding her from the cold walls of the prison. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender mixed with the cruel, sour stench of captivity. "Oh god, Grace... I am so sorry. I swear to you, whoever did this—whoever allowed this to happen—will pay with their life."
"It was her, Dante," Grace whispered fiercely against his shoulder, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Her gaze was fierce, burning with the truth. "Your mother. She put me here the week after you left for Europe. She took my phone, she threatened to kill our baby if I screamed, and she told me you were the one who ordered it to keep the family bloodline pure."
The words hit Dante like a physical blow. A cold, black rage bloomed in his chest—a rage so absolute and terrifying that it eclipsed everything else in his mind.
Before Dante could answer, the heavy footsteps of his mother echoed from the doorway of the cell. Vivien stood there, flanked by two armed security guards who looked deeply uncomfortable holding weapons in front of their boss.
"Well," Vivien said, her voice dripping with venom as she surveyed the scene with cold detachment. "It seems sentimentality has clouded your judgment once again, Dante. I told you, she was a liability. A commoner who didn't understand the sacrifices required to keep the Rossi empire standing."
Dante gently laid Grace back against the pillows, standing up slowly. He didn't pick up his gun. He didn't need to. The way he moved—slow, deliberate, predatorily calm—made the two security guards instantly lower their weapons and take a synchronized step backward.
"Mother," Dante said softly, stepping out of the cell into the hallway where she stood.
"Don't look at me with that tone, Dante," Vivien hissed, crossing her arms. "I did what had to be done. That girl doesn't belong in our world. And that bastard child she's carrying—"
She didn't get to finish the sentence.
Dante's fist struck her jaw with a devastating, controlled snap. Vivien staggered backward, colliding hard against the stone wall before collapsing onto the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
The security guards froze, staring in horror.
"Touch her again, or even speak her name," Dante whispered, standing over his mother as she clutched her face in shock, "and I won't just lock you in this cell. I will wipe your name from every ledger, every deed, and every memory this family holds."
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He turned back toward the cell, ignoring his mother as she sobbed in humiliated rage, and scooped Grace gently into his arms.
"We're going to the hospital," Dante told her softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Right now."
