Speak Up!
ARIANA'S POV
The second he picked up, I didn’t waste time.
"Someone broke into my room last night," I said, breath sharp. "He wore the same ring my father was buried with. The exact one. How is that even possible, Dante?"
Silence.
Then, his voice—rough, low, unmistakably Dante.
"We can’t talk about this over the phone. I’ll send you a location. Meet me there in thirty minutes. It’s secure."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. You coming?"
I was already grabbing my keys. "Yes."
I strode out of my office, heart pounding.
Joan looked up from her tablet. "Should I—"
"Cancel everything. I’m heading out. Don’t call me unless something’s on fire."
"Understood."
I pushed through the doors, the weight of the ring pressing on my mind like a brick. My father’s ring. The one I personally slid onto his cold finger before we sealed the casket. A family heirloom, heavy with meaning. Now, appearing on the hand of a stranger standing in my room.
There was no way I imagined it.
I slid into my car, locked the doors, and backed out fast. My grip on the wheel was tight as I replayed it all—waking up in the dead of night, shadows shifting in my room, the silent figure, the gleam of gold in the moonlight.
The crest on the ring had caught the light—sharp and deliberate.
My father’s.
And then he was gone. Like smoke.
It wasn’t a robbery. It was a message.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up outside the location Dante had texted—a quiet restaurant on the edge of town. No valet. No cameras. The kind of place no one stumbled into unless they were invited.
I stepped out, my heels hitting the pavement like gunshots. My pulse roared in my ears. This wasn’t just about a ring.
This was about everything.
The hostess at the front gave me a small nod like she’d been expecting me. No questions. Just a quiet gesture down a narrow hallway.
I followed.
The room was tucked in the back. Quiet. Cozy. A small wooden table. A bottle of water. Two glasses.
And Dante.
He stood as I entered. Still lean, still dressed in all black, still carrying an energy like a storm was quietly brewing beneath his skin.
"Ariana."
"Dante."
We didn’t hug. We didn’t smile. We shook hands.
I sat. "Talk. What do you know?"
His eyes studied me. That unreadable look. Like he was trying to measure how much I could handle.
"Before I say anything," he said, "you need to know this conversation doesn’t leave this room."
"Of course. Now talk."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Tell me again. Everything."
"I woke up to the sound of something. There was someone in my room—tall, silent, standing there. I didn’t scream. I froze. Then I saw it—the ring. My father’s ring. The exact one he was buried with. It was on this man’s finger. And then—he disappeared. I didn’t imagine him, Dante. He was real."
Dante’s jaw flexed.
"How did he get past your security?"
"That’s what I can’t figure out. No alarms. Nothing on the cameras. It was like he was never there."
He looked down, rubbing his thumb over his jaw.
"This isn’t just a breach," I pressed. "This is deliberate. It’s a threat. Or a message. Maybe both. Now tell me what the hell is going on."
Dante was silent for a long time. His eyes dropped to the table. Then he looked up at me—and I saw it. The thing that scared me more than the intruder.
Fear.
He was afraid.
"Your father—" he started, then stopped.
My breath hitched. "What about him?"
"Your father..." he tried again. His throat worked to swallow the words. But they didn’t come.
His eyes—those normally impenetrable eyes—looked right through me, like he was trying to say something he had no idea how to say.
"Dante—"
"I need a second," he said, barely above a whisper.
"No," I said, my voice hard. "You dragged me here. You said we couldn’t talk on the phone. Now you’re sitting here with that look on your face and you’re choking on every word. Just say it."
He stood up, stepped away from the table, paced.
"This changes everything, Ariana."
"What does?"
He turned, faced me again, and his voice broke just slightly.
"Your father... your father…."
What the hell was going on?
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