Chapter 59: Flowers
The room became silent even as Luca’s expression became calm only in contrast to Elisa, who also had a stunned expression on her face, to have seen their father treat their mother like that.
Luca was an extremely calm and soft-spoken man. He was gentle in speaking, and even when he got angry, never had it come close to the manic fury they had both seen and could no longer unsee. The image of him, his face red with rage, voice trembling as he yelled, was not something easily erased. It had been raw, violent, and for the first time, truly frightening.
Elisa was stuck in her wheelchair, her hands gripping the sides of the metal frame tightly, her knuckles pale against the steel. Dora, on the other hand, could not bring herself to sit. She stood still for a while, her eyes flicking between Maria, who was now quietly weeping into her pillow, and Luca, who had his hand pressed against his temple as if fighting to regain control of himself.
A long minute passed before he spoke again, his voice quieter but still heavy with tension. "I’m sorry! I lost myself for a minute. I shouldn’t have!" he said, turning to speak to Dora in a much softer tone, his words coming out rough and uneven, "You know how much your mother meant to me!"
He paused, his breathing still unsteady as tears began to pool faintly in his eyes. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke again. "I can’t stand someone talking shit about her, even if it’s Maria!" he continued, and although Dora was slowly nodding her head in response to what he said, she knew deep down that something was wrong.
It wasn’t only the outburst—it was what she had seen in his expression before he leapt at Maria. The look in his eyes hadn’t been pure anger. It had been fear. A deep, sharp, gut-level fear that flashed for only a second before being swallowed by fury. That was what unsettled Dora the most. Whatever Maria had almost said, Luca didn’t just want her quiet—he wanted her silenced.
Clearly, there was something he was hiding.
Dora didn’t speak and simply showed that she accepted the excuse given even as she returned to her seat, feigning calm while her thoughts churned beneath the surface. The room became exceedingly quiet again, so much so that even the faint beeping of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen line sounded deafening. Neither of them spoke. Other times, Maria’s light whimpers and sobs filled the room, piercing through the stillness like small, broken cries of an injured bird, even as Luca and Elisa did their best to console her.
The atmosphere was thick, every breath labored as time seemed to stretch endlessly. By evening, when Rossi arrived, his tall form appearing in the doorway, his cold stare of disgust shot in Dora’s direction like a blade. She could already guess what he was thinking—how convenient it was that chaos always followed wherever she went.
That look alone was enough to make up her mind. Dora decided that it was time for her to leave.
She didn’t stay long enough to offer a proper goodbye, merely mumbling that she would return the next day as she stepped out of the hospital and headed straight back to the estate. The heavy air lifted slightly once she was outside. The cold evening wind brushed across her skin, and the orange glow of the setting sun melted behind the city skyline, giving way to the early stretch of twilight.
It was evening, and the sun had long fallen. Although she had eaten a little in the afternoon, the exhaustion and hunger gnawed at her stomach. By the time the car pulled into the familiar driveway, the soft light spilling from the mansion’s windows felt almost welcoming. She was starving enough for a small smile to flicker across her face the second she arrived back at the mansion.
But she had just gotten out of the car and started heading inside when she realized that Dante was around—and beyond that was what Guila told her before she made her way up the stairs.
"Sir Bellini has asked that you dine together with him," she said softly, her tone polite but her eyes carrying a hint of curiosity. Dora had to struggle to push a smile onto her face even as she nodded her head, masking her weariness.
She still headed upstairs first, taking a small shower to wash off the hospital’s cold, sterile scent before heading back out, dressed in comfortable black slacks and a simple white blouse. She took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading down the long hallway towards the dining room.
By the time she got there, Dante was already seated at the head of the long table, just about rounding up the meal he was eating. His composure was as perfect as always, his posture straight, his every movement deliberate. Dora hadn’t expected him to wait for her anyway.
She greeted him quietly and sat down, her fingers gripping the silver utensils lightly as she began to dish her food, keeping her expression neutral.
Dante was someone she barely knew—someone she still couldn’t quite read—but compared to the tension and chaos she had endured at the hospital, being near him felt oddly stable. Controlled. Even peaceful.
’He’s the only one not acting weird in my life right now,’ she thought to herself as she began to eat, savoring the warmth of the meal. The roasted vegetables and spicy potatoes were comforting in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
She was just chewing on the spicy side dish when she suddenly heard Dante speak from where he sat at the head of the table—words that almost made her choke on the food she had in her mouth.
"You don’t seem tired today," he said in a neutral tone, but his gaze—dark, focused, and steady—was so intense it might as well have been a command whispered against her skin.
Dora swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, before answering in the calmest tone she could manage. "Just a little," she said, unable to bring herself to admit that she wasn’t tired at all.
"Then you won’t mind—"
But Dora didn’t let him finish. Panic rising, she interrupted him mid-sentence, embarrassed by the thought of what he might be about to suggest. "How was your day? Did anything unexpected happen?" she asked quickly, her voice a little higher than usual, right before stuffing her mouth with another bite of food—an obvious attempt to stop herself from talking or hearing his response.
She was aware that she was being painfully transparent, but at that moment, Dora didn’t care.
Only, to her surprise, Dante actually went ahead and responded, his tone calm and even. "The same as usual," he said, setting down his utensils neatly. "I had to deal with the executives and make sure they’re not trying to ruin the company for their own agendas."
His eyes flickered, sharp as he continued, "Which means keeping a closer eye on my family members. They think they can do worse since they hold large shares and influence."
He spoke as though he expected Dora to understand the weight of what he was saying, his words calm but layered with warning. Dora herself nodded quietly, seeing how serious he looked, how completely composed even when speaking of betrayal.
He was done eating long before she was, but he didn’t move to leave immediately. Instead, he watched her eat, his expression unreadable, which made her both nervous and oddly reassured.
’I might not be here for long,’ Dora thought to herself, glancing down at her plate, ’but at least I don’t feel like ripping my neck off my shoulders when I speak to him.’
When she finished, she dabbed the corners of her mouth gently with a napkin, preparing to stand. She even faked a small yawn, deliberately exaggerating it to show how tired she was.
But just as she pushed her chair back, Dante rose too, his movements quiet but firm, offering his elbow to her at the same time.
"You can’t go straight to sleep," he said, his deep voice smooth and absolute. "Your food needs to digest."
Caught off guard, Dora hesitated but nodded slowly since what he had said made sense.
"We can take a walk in the garden for a while," he added, waiting patiently for her to take his arm.
She hesitated for a few seconds before intertwining their arms, her pulse quickening at the quiet contact, and together they headed out of the dining room and through the back doors that opened into the vast garden behind the mansion.
The night air greeted them, cool and fragrant. Dora marvelled at the sight before her—the Bellini garden stretched far and wide, each section perfectly pruned and bathed in soft, golden light. Roses climbed trellises, jasmine vines hung low, and the faint scent of lavender drifted in the air.
As they walked deeper into the winding stone paths, Dora couldn’t help but glance at Dante beside her. His expression was calm, almost peaceful, but there was something about him that made her uneasy—the way he seemed too composed, too aware, like a man who never truly let his guard down.
Still, compared to everything she had faced that day—the chaos, the screams, the accusations—this quiet, slow walk under the night sky felt like the first moment she could breathe again.
