chapter ten:roots of betrayal

The dawn came too quickly.

Lana awoke to the soft chime of her phone's alarm and the distant hum of staff preparing breakfast below. The events of last night—the proposal beneath the lantern-lit gazebo, Dante's confessions—felt both vivid and dreamlike.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Dante, and drew back the curtains. The estate's manicured grounds lay silent in the early light, dew thick on rose petals. Their future seemed an open field, waiting to be sown with fresh hopes.

But as she prepared for the day—fresh hair, light makeup, a tailored pantsuit—she couldn't shake a whisper of unease. Betrayal had a way of rooting itself deep, and something told her its tendrils were still buried here.

Downstairs, the great hall was already buzzing. Camilla greeted her at the door. "Good morning—and congratulations."

Lana smiled, though her stomach fluttered. "Thank you."

Camilla's expression sobered. "Dante received a call at midnight. He left early this morning for Singapore—urgent business. He didn't want to wake you."

Lana's heart clenched. They had just vowed to face the world together. And now he was gone before sunrise.

"Singapore?" Lana repeated. "Did he say why?"

Camilla shook her head. "Only that it was family-related. Something about the board meeting and a sudden crisis."

Lana nodded, though she felt the first prickles of dread. "Thank you, Camilla."

In the study, Lana found the manila folder Dante had left behind. Inside were documents related to the Vieri Foundation's Asian investments—new schools and hospitals in Kuala Lumpur, legal agreements awaiting Dante's signature.

She flipped through the papers. Then paused on a single note, scribbled in Dante's familiar hand:

"Trust no one. The roots run deep—both in my family and yours."

Her breath caught. Her own past. A secret she'd buried long before Dante had swept into her life. Could this refer to her? Or was it only about the Vieri clan?

She tucked the note into her pocket. Time to face the day.

Singapore was eight hours ahead of Lagos time. When Dante landed, the sun was already high, glaring over the city's gleaming skyline. He emerged from the airport in a dark suit, phone pressed to his ear, expression tight.

His contact was terse: a Vieri board setup in Singapore had discovered massive unauthorized withdrawals—millions siphoned from a healthcare project in Jakarta. And the lead suspect was one of their own: Dante's cousin, Serena Vieri—a rising star in the family's charity arm, beloved by donors, until now.

Dante's jaw clenched. Serena was the golden girl—the public face of their Southeast Asia initiative since she'd graduated top of her class at Oxford. She had charm, connections, and an unshakeable smile. And apparently, a hidden pocket emptying their funds.

He cut the call. His mind raced. Family betrayal. Again. The man who'd taught him to trust only contracts found that blood ties were far more treacherous.

He called his pilot. "Set course for Jakarta. I'll handle this personally."

Meanwhile, back at the estate, Lana coordinated a crisis report for the Vieri Foundation's board in London. Camilla coached her through every detail over a secure video line, but Lana's mind strayed. Serena? This was Dante's family mess. Yet his note—"trust no one"—hinted she might have her own skeletons to confront.

Her phone buzzed. A video message from Amara Brooks—her mother's younger sister. She'd been estranged for years.

Lana hesitated, then tapped to play.

Amara appeared, older than Lana remembered, with streaks of gray in her hair and eyes that flickered with longing. "Lana, if you're watching this, it means you've taken the Vieri name. Good for you. But you should know… our family roots run deeper than you realize. You might think Dante's the only one with secrets. But I have one—for you."

The screen went black.

Lana sank into her chair. A secret from her past? What could Amara mean? Trust no one… including her own blood.

In Jakarta, Serena Vieri was already in the Vieri regional office, corners of her lavish hilltop villa converted into secure boardrooms. She greeted Dante with a practiced smile.

"Cousin," she said, voice bright. "To what do I owe the honor?"

He studied her. "You know why I'm here."

Her smile faltered. "Rumors. The audit report."

He slid a folder across the table. "Care to explain these withdrawals?"

She kept her voice steady. "There must be a mistake."

"Two million from the pediatric wing. One point five from the women's clinic. Four hundred thousand from teacher stipends."

Her eyes flitted away. She bit her lip. "I… I didn't authorize that."

"Who did?" Dante pressed.

Serena's composure cracked. She stood abruptly. "I won't stand for these insinuations. I've built this program from nothing."

"Then prove it," Dante said softly. "Show me the paper trail."

She hesitated, then gestured to her assistant, who brought a stack of ledgers. But every page had blank spots, scribbles where signatures should be, notes that looked forged.

Dante's heart sank. He raised his voice slightly. "Who helped you?"

Serena's shoulders slumped. "I did it for the Foundation."

His eyes narrowed. "Our Foundation?"

"For the children," she insisted. "They treated me like a poster child—not a leader! I fought every step for funding, for respect. So I redirected money to a program I founded—only after, I intended to make it official."

He felt anger rise. "So you stole—stole millions—to satisfy your ego?"

She glared at him. "To do real work."

He closed the folder. "You've destroyed the trust of thousands. And you've forced me to clean your mess."

She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cover this."

He turned away. "I'll handle the fallout. Don't contact me again until you're ready to face the board."

He walked out, leaving her broken.

On the private jet back to Lagos, Dante's mind churned. Another betrayal. Another cousin cast out. His family tree was rotted at every branch.

He tried calling Lana, but went straight to voicemail. He texted: "Trust no one. Let's talk."

No reply.

Back at the estate, Lana's phone buzzed again. Another video from Amara Brooks.

"If you want the truth," Amara's voice quavered, "meet me at our childhood home—the cottage on Windermere Road—before dusk."

The video cut off. Lana sat frozen. Windermere Road. The place she hadn't visited since leaving home at eighteen. Where her father's temper had boiled over, and she'd run away with nothing but a suitcase and a dream.

Trust no one.

She pocketed her phone. Gathered her coat. Without telling Camilla, she slipped out.

The cottage stood at the end of a narrow lane, surrounded by overgrown hedges. The windows were shuttered; paint peeled in gray flakes. It was exactly as she'd left it—her mother's beloved home, now a tomb of memories.

She knocked. The door creaked open to reveal Amara—frail, but determined.

"Lana," Amara said, voice thick. "Come in."

Inside, the rooms were empty. Except for a small box on a dusty table. Lana approached, heart pounding.

Amara followed. "Open it."

Lana lifted the lid. Inside were newspapers, yellowed with age, and an old photograph of Lana's parents—smiling, young, before everything fell apart. Beneath the photo was a stack of letters, tied with a ribbon.

Lana untied them. The top letter was addressed to her mother.

Eva Brooks,

I can't keep living this lie. The baby is mine, but so is the man who made me choose.

–Robert Vieri

Lana froze. Robert Vieri—Dante's estranged uncle, her mother's affair. Her blood was intertwined with the Vieri line.

Amara's voice trembled. "Your mother never told you. She was terrified. Robert left, heartbroken, but never denied you. He wanted to protect you—and keep you safe from the family's wrath."

Lana's head spun. "So… Dante—he's my cousin?"

Amara shook her head. "By blood, yes. By everything else, no. Your father discovered the truth when you were born. Threatened Eloise Vieri—Robert's sister—until she paid hush money. Your mother divorced your father and disappeared from the society pages. You were sent to London to live with your aunt."

Tears welled. "Why tell me now?"

"Because Dante needs to know. And you need to know who you are. These letters…" Amara gestured. "They prove your lineage. Your place in both families."

Lana sank to the floor. "Trust no one."

Amara knelt beside her. "Except those you choose."

Lana returned to the estate as dusk fell, letters pressed to her chest. Camilla intercepted her in the foyer.

"Where have you been?"

Lana met her eyes. "I've just learned my own roots are a lie."

Camilla's face hardened. "What are you talking about?"

She pulled the letters from her coat. "My mother… she had an affair with Robert Vieri. Dante and I—blood relatives."

Camilla's expression dropped. "Oh, god."

Lana's voice shook. "Everything Dante said— 'trust no one'—applies to me, too."

Camilla reached out. "He deserves to know."

Lana nodded. "I'm going to find him."

Dante arrived back in Lagos at midnight. He found the study empty and Lana's note on his desk:

Meet me where it started. Windermere Road. Now.

He felt the weight of his own roots—tainted by Siena's betrayal and the betrayals of every cousin, every patriarch. Now Lana faced her own.

He grabbed his jacket and rushed out.

The moon hung low as Dante pulled up the familiar lane. Abandoned hedges, silent windows. His heart pounded—not from fear but from a desperate need to protect the woman who'd become his anchor.

He found Lana standing at the doorstep. Her face was pale in the moonlight, tears shining like dew.

"Dante," she said, voice small.

He crossed the distance in two strides. "Lana—"

She held up the letters. "My mother—Robert Vieri. I'm yours by blood."

He took the letters carefully. Read the top one, then looked at her, eyes filled with compassion and shock.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head. "It's not your fault."

He gathered her in his arms. "Blood doesn't define us. You're mine because of every choice we've made. Every moment we've fought."

She looked up at him, tears sliding free. "But they're right. Roots run deep."

He brushed her hair back. "Roots can break us, or they can make us stronger. We choose which."

She pressed her forehead to his. "Then let's choose strength."

He nodded. "Together."

They stood in the doorway of her childhood home, two souls bound by love and defiance, ready to face whatever betrayed roots and family loyalties the future would bring.