Whispers of Passion ✔️ | (18+)

60 | Unspoken Secrets

DANTE
***

Weeks later...
The only sound was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. When the door creaked open, Lorenzo's eyes snapped up, locking onto me as I entered.

I made my way to the table, the clink of my handcuffed wrists breaking the silence as I set them down. Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, his gaze raking over my appearance with a mix of concern and subtle shock.

"That five o'clock shadow isn't the best look on you, Dante," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but his eyes remained serious.

I shot him a glare. "Are you here to crack jokes or talk about something important?"

Lorenzo's smirk faded, his eyes darting around the room, uncertainty clear in his expression. "Yes. Diana." He spoke her name as if it were a forbidden word.

Diana. Just hearing her name sent a pang of sorrow through my chest. I couldn't even begin to imagine how she was feeling right now. The thought of her out there, struggling to make sense of everything, tore at my heart. The pain of knowing that she's facing this alone while I'm trapped in here, unable to reach out to her, was almost unbearable. I envisioned her pacing around, her face etched with anxiety, her eyes red from sleepless nights, and shedding tears. How many times had she picked up her phone, her fingers hovering over my number, only to put it down in frustration and despair? It killed me to think of the questions plaguing her mind. What had I done? Why was I gone? Was I ever coming back? The gnawing sense of helplessness was like a vice around my heart, squeezing tighter with each passing day. I had promised to protect her, to be there for her, and now I was failing her in the worst possible way. The guilt was a heavy, unrelenting weight on my soul, knowing that my actions-my life-had dragged her into this abyss of uncertainty and fear. I wished I could hold her, reassure her that everything would be alright. But all I could do was sit there, trapped and helpless, as the distance between us grew wider and the silence more deafening. The thought of her suffering because of me was a torment I could barely endure, and it drove home the stark reality of the situation I had put us in.

I straightened up in my chair, clearing my throat. "I mean, how is she? Is she okay?" My words came out rushed, showing that I still cared as much about her as I did when I wasn't here.

Lorenzo sighed deeply. "She's been struggling, Dante. The distance, the uncertainty. I haven't told her the specifics of what you've been involved in, but it's taking a toll on her."

My brows furrowed as I processed his words. "I didn't want her to get dragged into this mess. She deserves better."

Lorenzo nodded, his fingers slightly drumming on the table. "That she does," he murmured.

"However, for some odd reason, she still cares about you. She misses you, Dante. She needs to know."

I sighed, at a loss for what to do. The fear of her rejecting another part of me has loomed over me for as long as I can remember, making me feel like a fraud, dishonest to the woman I have always loved. "I've been trying to protect her, Lorenzo. From this life, from danger. But it seems like I've only made things worse," I muttered.

Lorenzo leaned forward, his voice gentle yet firm. "Dante, she's not asking for a life in your world. She's asking for honesty, for a chance to understand. Keeping her in the dark won't help. She deserves the truth." His hands moved expressively as he spoke, emphasizing his words.

"And you and I know that I'm the last one to give relationship advice, but as your brother, I'd say if you're not willing to tell her, it's best to cut her loose. Don't make things even worse than they already are. It'd be best for both of you." Lorenzo added, the furrow between his brows softening as he leaned back, regressing.

The thought of it scared me, petrified me even, losing her again. But he was right. Maybe it's the right thing to do.

I sighed, realizing the inevitability of this very conversation I had been avoiding. "I'll think about it, Lorenzo."