Chapter 12
Dante almost burned the letter.
Serena stopped him.
“If you destroy it, you’ll wonder forever.”
“I’m tired of wondering.”
“No, you’re tired of discovering terrible answers.”
He looked at her.
“That too.”
Vincent requested a prison visit.
Dante agreed.
Serena offered to come.
He declined.
Not because he wanted to exclude her.
Because this was about his father.
And Serena understood.
Vincent looked dramatically older behind prison glass.
“You came.”
“Talk.”
“You always did inherit your father’s patience.”
Dante remained expressionless.
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Your father knew Arthur was betraying him.”
Dante frowned.
“When?”
“Months before his death.”
“Then why didn’t he stop him?”
“He was gathering evidence.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“He intended to turn everything over to federal authorities.”
Dante stared.
“He knew what that meant.”
“Yes.”
“Prison.”
“Possibly.”
“Loss of the organization.”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
Vincent’s answer surprised him.
“Because of you.”
Dante said nothing.
“Your father realized the empire would eventually become yours.”
Vincent looked away.
“He didn’t want that.”
Dante’s throat tightened.
“He wanted you to have a normal life.”
“Why are you telling me?”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“Because I spent years thinking your father was weak.”
He looked at Dante.
“Now I have nothing except time to understand that perhaps he was the only one of us strong enough to walk away.”
For once, there was no manipulation in Vincent’s face.
Only regret.
“He left something for you,” Vincent continued.
“What?”
“A safety-deposit box.”
Dante’s heart quickened.
“Where?”
Vincent gave him the information.
“Why didn’t Arthur know?”
“Because your father trusted me with it before we became enemies.”
Dante stood.
Vincent spoke again.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“I loved Serena.”
Dante turned.
“In my way.”
“That was the problem.”
Vincent lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Dante left.
Inside the deposit box was a letter written by his father.
Dante waited until he returned home to open it.
Serena sat beside him.
He unfolded the paper.
His father had written:
If you are reading this, then I failed to leave before my enemies stopped me.
Dante paused.
Serena held his hand.
He continued.
The letter wasn’t about money.
Not revenge.
Not power.
His father apologized.
He apologized for raising Dante around violence.
For teaching him that fear equaled respect.
For allowing family legacy to become a prison.
Near the end, one passage broke Dante completely.
He lowered the letter.
Serena waited.
“What does it say?”
Dante handed it to her.
She read silently.
His father had written that he hoped Dante would someday meet someone who made him brave enough to become more than the Cavali name.
Serena looked up.
Dante’s eyes were wet.
She moved closer.
For years, Dante had believed crying was something men did privately or not at all.
That night he stopped believing it.
Serena held him while he grieved.
Not only his father.
His lost years.
His mistakes.
The boy he had once been.
The man he might still become.
When morning arrived, Dante placed the letter in a drawer beside the torn remnants of the divorce envelope he had secretly kept.
Serena noticed.
“You kept those?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To remember.”
“What?”
“How close I came to making the biggest mistake of my life.”
Serena smiled.
“You were trying to make me happy.”
“Without asking what made you happy.”
“True.”
Dante pulled her closer.
“So tell me.”
“What?”
“What makes you happy?”
She considered.
“This.”
He looked around.
“The kitchen?”
Serena laughed.
“No.”
She touched his chest.
“This life.”
For the first time, Dante understood what his father had wanted.
Not escape.
May you like
Choice.
And Dante finally had it
