chapter six:The enemy within

Lana never thought silence could feel so loud.

Since the night she kissed Dante—since she let herself admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted this life more than she was willing to say out loud—everything had shifted. And yet, nothing had changed.

The house still watched her like it didn't trust her. The staff still spoke in soft, guarded tones. And somewhere between Dante's cold ambition and his moments of startling honesty, she had begun to lose track of who she was before him.

That scared her more than she'd ever admit.

"Your father is requesting a meeting," Dante said over breakfast, sipping his espresso like he wasn't delivering a bombshell.

Lana looked up from her untouched plate of sliced papaya.

"My father?"

"Yes."

"Why would he want to see me?"

Dante arched an eyebrow. "Because you're no longer just his daughter. You're a Vieri now. Which means your blood ties might be less useful to him than your alliances."

Lana swallowed. "What do I say?"

"That depends. Do you want to help him… or ruin him?"

The cold clarity in Dante's tone made her shiver. He wasn't joking. Not even a little.

Lana met her father at an upscale bistro tucked into the heart of Rome—discreet, expensive, and exclusive enough that the only sound beyond their conversation was the occasional clink of silverware.

He hadn't changed much. Same expensive cufflinks, same faintly patronizing smile. But his eyes flickered with something she hadn't seen before.

Worry.

"You look different," he said, gesturing for the waiter to pour her wine.

"I am."

"Dante's influence, I assume."

She met his gaze evenly. "You taught me to survive, Dad. Dante's just teaching me how to fight."

He sat back. "Do you know who you married?"

"Do you?"

Her father laughed, but there was no warmth in it.

"He's more dangerous than you realize."

"So am I," she said quietly.

There was a pause. Then her father leaned in slightly, voice low.

"There's a board vote coming. Someone is calling for Dante's removal. Elena's name keeps surfacing."

Lana stiffened.

"What do you want from me?"

"Leverage. Access. Your trust."

"You sold my future for political favors. Why the hell would I trust you now?"

His smile tightened. "Because I'm your father. And because blood is still thicker than whatever fantasy you've fallen into."

Lana stood.

"So is loyalty. And you lost mine years ago."

She left the restaurant before the wine was poured.

Back at the estate, Dante was already waiting for her in the upstairs lounge, shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open, drink in hand. He looked like a storm brewing.

"Well?" he asked.

She tossed her purse onto the couch. "He wants me to spy on you."

Dante barely flinched. "Expected."

"He says Elena is moving against you. There's a board vote coming."

"That's sooner than I thought."

"You knew she'd make a move?"

He nodded. "She's not subtle. She just pretends to be."

Lana folded her arms. "What do you want me to do?"

He looked at her—really looked at her.

"Nothing I don't already trust you with."

That, somehow, made her heart ache.

Elena arrived the next morning.

Unannounced.

Uninvited.

Unapologetic.

She stepped out of her sleek black Mercedes in a high-waisted pencil skirt, silk blouse, and sunglasses that probably cost more than most people's rent. Her lipstick was the exact shade of crimson that spelled trouble.

Lana watched from the window as the front doors opened and Elena walked in like she owned the place.

She found her in the main sitting room, where Lana had been reading through foundation reports.

"I come bearing gifts," Elena said, smiling thinly as she dropped a manila folder onto the coffee table.

Lana didn't move.

"What's this? Proof that you've finally realized Dante's not yours anymore?"

Elena smirked. "That's cute. But no. It's a copy of the upcoming board vote—names included. You'll notice yours isn't among them."

Lana picked up the folder slowly. Inside was a list of board members and a schedule for the emergency vote—two days from now. Elena had highlighted six names in red.

"Those six are in your corner?" Lana asked.

"Hardly. They're in his. For now."

Lana glanced up. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I want a fair fight. And I want you to understand something before the gloves come off."

"I'm listening."

"You may have his name, Lana. You may even have his bed. But you don't have him. Not the real him. I know every scar, every weakness, every secret. You're just the distraction he married to survive."

Lana stood slowly, the pages still in hand.

"You're right," she said. "I don't know everything about him."

Elena's smile returned.

"But I know enough to see what he's become since he let you go."

And with that, Lana turned and walked away.

That night, Lana couldn't sleep.

The list of names echoed in her head. Six for Dante. Four uncertain. Three known enemies. The numbers were tight. Too tight.

She rose quietly, slipped into her robe, and padded through the hallway until she reached Dante's study.

He was at his desk, shirtless, a half-empty bottle of scotch beside him. The soft glow of a desk lamp cast golden shadows over his bare back.

She didn't knock.

"I don't want to lose," she said.

He didn't turn around. "Neither do I."

"What happens if the vote goes south?"

He finally looked at her.

"I disappear. Legally. Financially. And maybe… literally."

She moved closer.

"And me?"

"You go back to being your father's pawn. Or Elena's."

She placed the folder on his desk.

"Then let's make sure that doesn't happen."

The next day was war.

Lana dressed like a queen—black heels, tailored blazer, hair in a sleek bun. She followed Dante into every meeting, flanked him in every call, and when a senior board member asked what made her qualified to speak on corporate stability, she replied with a list of five financial forecasts she had corrected that week—each of which had saved the Foundation millions.

By noon, two of the undecided board members had shifted.

By sunset, only one remained.

Lana found that final vote—the swing vote—at a rooftop fundraiser that night. An older man named Samuel Esposito. He wore fine suits, made quiet decisions, and hated chaos.

Which meant he hated Dante.

"Mr. Esposito," she greeted him by the champagne bar, offering her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

He gave her a cool nod. "You're very poised for someone so new to power."

"I've had good teachers," she said.

"You mean Dante?"

"And failure."

That made him pause.

"I understand why people are scared," she continued. "Dante makes enemies. He's cold. He's calculated."

Samuel's eyes narrowed. "You're not making a good case."

"But he also protects what matters. He honors loyalty. And he doesn't hide behind false smiles."

She tilted her head.

"Can you say the same for Elena?"

Samuel said nothing.

But he didn't walk away.

The board met the next morning.

Lana stood outside the glass-walled conference room, hands clenched at her sides. She wasn't allowed in. Not for this part.

Dante walked in without looking back.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked out.

Expression unreadable.

"Well?" she asked, breath catching.

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then—just slightly—he smiled.

That night, they didn't talk about the victory.

They didn't toast. They didn't celebrate.

They just lay together in silence, Lana curled beside Dante on the bed, his hand resting over hers.

"You saved me," he said quietly.

"No," she whispered. "I just reminded you how to save yourself."

But peace was never meant to last.

Three nights later, Lana received an envelope delivered by hand.

No return address.

No seal.

Inside was a single photo.

Dante.

With Elena.

In a hotel room.

Kissing.