Chapter 57: Dead Mother
Dora nodded her head gently, though inside, she gasped, fighting to keep her composure intact. Her heartbeat quickened as her eyes traced over the neatly printed lines of the document again—she hadn’t misread it. It was written there in plain, undeniable ink: the total compensation could accrue to ten million dollars.
’Even one is already a dream,’ she thought to herself, trying to suppress the surge of disbelief that coursed through her chest. She kept nodding slowly, careful to appear calm, even as her mind raced and her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. Dante’s voice continued steadily, every word deliberate, calculated.
"I expect and hope that you would keep to your own end of the deal," he said finally, his gaze settling firmly on her face.
"Of course," Dora responded quickly—too quickly—forcing a small smile that she hoped looked natural. Her tone carried a confidence she didn’t truly feel. "I will."
Her lips had barely formed the words when Dante suddenly pushed back his chair. The sharp scrape of wood against marble echoed through the quiet dining room, making her tense slightly. He rose smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit as he took a step forward.
Before she could react, he leaned forward—one hand braced against the table, the other resting lightly beside her plate. He was close now, too close. Dora’s breath caught in her throat as his face lowered until their noses were barely inches apart. His cologne—clean, subtle, expensive—surrounded her.
His lips curved into a faint, sly smile as his voice dropped to a low murmur. "To achieve our goal, shouldn’t you be more intentional in getting closer to me?"
Dora froze, her eyes widening slightly as she tried to process his words. Her mind went blank for a moment before she could manage a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I..." she started but stopped, unsure what to say.
He didn’t wait for a reply. Straightening, Dante adjusted his jacket, his movements smooth and deliberate. That faint smile still played on his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes—it was a smile crafted purely for effect, polished and controlled, just like everything else about him.
"Your family’s medical bills will be on me," he continued, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. "And you can use the black card I gave you for anything you need. There’s no reason for you to spend your own money."
Dora swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and nodded again, the weight of his words sinking in. The mix of generosity and power in his tone left her unsure whether to be grateful or wary.
He clearly had nothing more to say. Gathering his papers, Dante turned away and walked out of the dining room, leaving Dora sitting alone, her hands still clutching the document like it might slip away if she let go.
Her chest rose and fell slowly as she stared down at it, emotions twisting through her all at once. Relief. Gratitude. Fear. And something else—something harder to define.
’Ten million dollars...’ she thought again. The number echoed in her head like a whisper she couldn’t shut out. It was a fortune, a sum that could change everything for her family. But now, as the ink dried under her fingertips, the reality of her situation pressed down on her shoulders.
’What if I can’t get pregnant?’ The thought struck hard, cold and uninvited. ’Some women take years...’
Her stomach knotted. Being a virgin didn’t make things easier—it made it harder. She didn’t even know how to act around Dante, much less how to deliberately get closer to him.
Balling her fists tightly, she took a steadying breath. No, she told herself firmly. She couldn’t afford to overthink this. Her part of the deal was clear. She had to focus—completely—on fulfilling it.
Her and Dante were strangers at best, two people bound by convenience, not love. The quicker she achieved what was required of her, the quicker this strange Chapter of her life would be over.
But even as she tried to convince herself, another thought crept in—one that made her chest tighten with unease.
Was Dante really doing everything he could?
Her family was still in danger. Her stepmother had nearly been killed. The attacks felt personal. ’Maybe he’s trying,’ she reasoned silently, pressing her lips together. ’And maybe it could have been worse.’
After all, her family had chosen to distance themselves from the guards assigned to them. ’If they hadn’t stayed away from their protection, they wouldn’t even stand a chance,’ she thought grimly.
With that, Dora forced herself to stand. The room suddenly felt too heavy, too full of thoughts. She gathered her things, carefully placed the document back in its folder, and headed toward the entrance.
Ettore was already waiting, his posture straight and professional. He gave a short nod as she approached. "The car is ready, signora."
She climbed in without a word, her expression composed, eyes fixed on the tinted window as the car began to move. The hum of the engine filled the silence. Ettore, as usual, didn’t speak unless she did—and Dora had no desire for conversation.
Outside, the city drifted by—streets lined with trees, the dull rhythm of traffic, the faint gleam of sunlight against the hospital’s white exterior as they approached. The drive didn’t take long, though every passing minute made her chest feel tighter.
The thought of facing her father—and worse, of facing Maria when she eventually woke—filled her with quiet dread. Luca had seen the footage. He had watched what Maria had done. That betrayal, combined with the horror that followed, would leave deep scars.
Inside the hospital, the air was cool and sterile. Dora checked in at the lobby, asking for Maria’s room, and then made her way through the long hallway. Each step echoed faintly off the polished tiles.
When she entered, the somber mood hit her immediately. The room was spacious, softly lit, and filled with the quiet hum of machines. Maria lay pale and still on the bed, her face drawn and colorless.
Luca sat on one side of the bed, his expression blank, weary. Elisa was on the other side, her wheelchair angled slightly forward, her hands resting on her lap, her eyes sharp as they lifted toward Dora. Rossi’s absence was noticeable—he’d gone to work, of course. He never missed it, not even now.
"There’s no need to show up if you’re just going to leave an hour later," Elisa said curtly, her tone cutting through the silence like a blade.
Dora met her gaze evenly and shook her head. "I’m not leaving anytime soon," she said, her voice calm, steady, as she dragged one of the extra chairs closer to the bed and sat down.
Her eyes went immediately to Maria. The woman looked fragile—smaller, even—her face shadowed with pain even in sleep. The bandaged stump where her right leg had once been was covered neatly, but the sight still made Dora’s stomach twist.
And then there were the scars—thin, raised lines across her skin that looked deliberate, carved with cruel precision. Whoever had done it wanted to send a message, one that none of them could ever forget.
Dora couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony Maria must have endured. She just sat there, silent, her hands clasped in her lap, staring at her stepmother’s motionless figure.
Hours slipped by quietly. The faint rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor became the room’s only sound.
Eventually, Dora stood, stretching her legs slightly. "I’ll get some food," she murmured, glancing at Luca and Elisa. "You both haven’t eaten since last night."
Neither argued, so she stepped out, bought some light meals, and returned twenty minutes later. The smell of warm food filled the air, and though no one said a word, they ate quickly, gratefully.
Dora watched them in silence as she picked at her own meal. Her thoughts drifted—unbidden—to her real mother.
If her mother were here, lying in a hospital bed like this, missing a limb and barely alive... would she have felt this same ache?
The thought surprised her. But the more she searched for the answer, the more she realized—she wouldn’t. Her mother had died when she was too young to remember. Her only connection to the woman came from photographs her father had given her—images of a face that felt both familiar and distant.
She didn’t feel sadness, only emptiness.
When the food was gone, the silence returned. Luca sat back down, his eyes fixed on the floor. Elisa’s gaze never strayed far from Maria’s still body. And Dora simply watched the steady rise and fall of her stepmother’s chest.
Time blurred. The rhythmic hum of the machines lulled her senses, her eyelids growing heavy as she fought off sleep.
She had just begun to drift off—her head tilting slightly to the side—when Elisa suddenly gasped.
Dora’s eyes flew open, her pulse quickening as she turned toward the bed.
Maria was waking up.
Her eyelids fluttered weakly at first, then opened just enough to reveal eyes that were clouded with pain—and something darker. The faint sound that escaped her throat was half gasp, half moan, but even in that frail moment, the tension in the room thickened.
Dora could already tell—Maria was not waking in peace.
She was waking in rage.
