When Silence speaks

Dante’s POV

The night was supposed to be calm. It never was.

The amber liquid swirled in the glass between my fingers, catching the faint light of the study lamp.My grip tightened around it until my knuckles whitened, but the burn in my throat wasn’t from the whiskey — it was from everything I couldn’t drown, no matter how much I tried.

Sixth glass. Maybe seventh. I’d lost count.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, each second like a reminder that peace was a stranger in this house — in my head. I leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the half-open window where the rain whispered against the glass. The city outside was quiet, almost mournful, and yet my mind wouldn’t stop screaming.

Williams should’ve filed the divorce today. Everything was supposed to unfold as planned. And yet… something about it sat wrong in my chest, heavy and sour.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment, her face came to me — Caterina.

The memory flickered across my mind. The soft arch of her neck, the way she had turned slightly when I’d reached to close her zipper that morning, her hair brushing against my hand like silk. She was innocent. Looked innocent to go through this pain.

She wasn’t a child. She was far from it. But the thought of her being hurt — again — did something ugly inside me. Something I didn’t want to name.

I exhaled sharply, setting the glass down and reaching for the cigarette on the tray. The flame flared, and the smoke curled upward. I took a long drag, letting the bitterness fill my lungs, then released it slowly, watching it twist toward the ceiling.

“Peace,” I muttered to no one, my voice low and dry. “You promised me peace, and this is what I get.”

The sound of the front door crashing open broke the silence downstairs.

I frowned, turning slightly. The security feed on my laptop flickered, and I clicked it open, staring at the screen. The camera showed Lucia — stumbling through the doorway, laughter escaping from her lips and she looked clueless. Unbothered. Just lost in her world. She was drunk again, hair messy, heels clicking unevenly against the marble floor.

So much for the get-together party.

Two maids rushed toward her, worried, trying to steady her as she waved them off with that careless smile that used to make me weak. I watched from behind the smoke.

There was a time I’d have gone down to help her. Carried her upstairs myself. Whispered something soft to calm her down.

But that time was gone.

I stared at her image on the screen, my chest empty. Whatever passion or warmth I’d once had for Lucia had died long before tonight — buried under years of silence and something else I couldn’t bring myself to confess.

My eyes drifted back to the memory that had been haunting me all evening. Caterina. Her laughter. Her quiet strength. The way she tried to mask her sadness like a child covering a wound with trembling hands.

Why did my heart still beat for her — and not for the woman I’d married?I was supposed to love Lucia as a wife and Catherina as my daughter.

The maids led Lucia up the stairs. She mumbled something incoherent, her body limp against their arms. I watched until she disappeared from the camera’s view, then stubbed the cigarette into the tray, the ember dying with a hiss.

“Maria,” I called, my voice echoing faintly through the intercom.

“Yes, sir?”

“Clean up the mess downstairs before heading to bed. And make sure Lucia’s door is locked after the maids leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

I closed the laptop. The study fell silent again, save for the steady rhythm of rain and my uneven breathing.

For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the half-empty bottle. My hand twitched, wanting another drink, but I stopped myself. I didn’t need more liquor. I needed answers.

I loosened my tie and headed toward the stairs. My steps were slow, heavy. The air grew colder with each one.

I didn’t know why my heart turned to ice around Lucia, yet raced whenever I thought of Caterina. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was madness. Or maybe — just maybe — it was something I’d spent too long denying.

At the top of the stairs, I paused outside Lucia’s room, hearing her faint snores through the door.

“Goodnight,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if it was for her… or for the man I used to be.

Then I turned away, walking into the dark corridor that led to my own room — and into the quiet that never stopped screaming her name.

The rain hadn’t stopped all night.

It rolled down the window in thin, crooked lines, each drop tapping softly against the glass. I sat at the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the blur of city lights behind the rain, my mind running wild. Sleep had no place here tonight — not when Caterina wasn’t home.

My foot kept tapping against the wall.Lightning tore through the sky, painting the room in white for a while before the darkness swallowed it again. The candle on the nightstand flickered weakly and went out, leaving only the faint scent of melted wax and smoke.

I could have turned on the lights, but I didn’t.

I never did.

Despite everything — the money, the power, the estate that looked like a museum — I’d always preferred the dim warmth of candles when the bulbs died.Maybe that was why Caterina once walked into my room at eighteen, after being away for so long, and asked with that mischievous smile, “Are you a vampire or something?”

I smiled at the memory. It faded almost as soon as it came.

The door creaked open, and I looked up quickly. “Caterina?”

But it wasn’t her.

Lucia stumbled into the room instead, the strong scent of perfume and alcohol spilling in before her. She half-fell onto the bed, mumbling something under her breath.

I helped her lie down, adjusting the pillow beneath her head. She kept talking — fragments of complaints about the party, about how tired she was, about how nobody listened to her anymore. Her voice was slurred, heavy. By the time I pulled the blanket over her, her breathing had steadied into shallow snores.

I rolled my eyes. There was no anger in it, just a kind of tired disappointment.

Walking to the nightstand, I reached for the phone and dialed Caterina’s number again. It rang and rang, each tone scraping at my chest. No answer. I tried Williams next. Nothing

Something twisted inside me.

The silence in the room felt too heavy, too loud. I grabbed the telephone by its cord and slammed it against the wall. The sharp crack of plastic hitting plaster echoed through the room. Lucia stirred and mumbled, “What’s wrong?”

“Go to sleep,” I said flatly, barely looking at her.

She obeyed, like she always did when she was too drunk to care. I stood there, staring at the broken phone, my hand still trembling slightly. My teeth sank into my lower lip, the metallic taste of blood hitting my tongue.

“I swear, Caterina,” I muttered under my breath, “if you’re doing something reckless again—”

I stopped myself. The words hung in the air, half-formed, half-threat, all worry.

The room was quiet except for the storm and Lucia’s faint snores. I sat back down, elbows resting on my knees, staring at the dark window. My reflection looked older, colder — a man haunted by something he couldn’t name.

Then the phone on the nightstand rang.

I froze.

The sound sliced through the quiet like a blade. It wasn’t the landline — I’d smashed that — it was my cellphone this time, screen glowing faintly against the darkness. Unknown Number.

For a second, I just stared at it. Something in me already knew this wasn’t going to be good.

I picked it up anyway.

“Hello?” My voice sounded strange.

A pause. Then a calm, professional tone came through the line.

“Good evening. Am I speaking with Mr. Dante Leonardo?”

“Yes.”

“This is Dr. Joshua Ifeanyichukwu calling from World Healing Hospital. I’m afraid we need you to come in immed

iately regarding a patient under your emergency contact.”

My stomach dropped.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.