Chapter 9: The Ghost of the Past
The revelation about his father was a venom that threatened to reignite the ancient monster inside Dante.
For forty-eight hours, he sat in silence, wrestling with the overwhelming urge to return to Milan and tear down his former associates piece by piece. The names echoed in his mind—Marco Bellini, Julian Vance—the men who had toasted at his table while orchestrating the slaughter of his youth.
On the third morning, he walked into the bathroom of the rented cottage and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
His eyes were sunken, dark with fury. His fists were clenched tight enough to split the skin across his knuckles.
Then, he heard tiny footsteps running down the hallway.
""Daddy! Look! A butterfly!"" Chiara burst into the room, holding up a bright yellow drawing on a wrinkled piece of paper, beaming with unrestrained joy.
Dante looked down at her. In her hazel eyes, he saw no darkness, no memory of blood, no desire for retribution. She was completely untainted by the sins of the Dante lineage.
If he went back for revenge, he would inevitably be killed or imprisoned, leaving Chiara truly alone in the world. He would become the very monster Elena had begged him not to be.
Dante knelt down, picked up his daughter, and pressed his face into her neck, eliciting a giggle from her.
""It's a magnificent butterfly, my love,"" he said softly.
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He made his decision. He would not draw the sword. He would use the law to lock his demons away forever.
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