Dante had a disturbing habit. Every time we made love, he had to take intimate photos of me with his phone.

That night, he was especially insistent, coaxing me into a completely nude picture.

Afterward, face flushed and breath still ragged, I nudged him playfully.

"What's so fascinating? You haven't looked away from that photo once."

Dante didn't even look up, his thumb stroking the screen.

"Isabella gets back from Europe tomorrow. This is the last time for us, so of course, I need a final entry for the archives."

My body went rigid. I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. "What does that mean?"

Dante finally tilted his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"What do you think it means? The woman I've been chasing for seven years is back. It's time to tie up loose ends. That means no more of this... with you."

"Aria, we're solid friends. After seven years of this, you didn't actually start thinking you were going to be my wife, did you?"

With that, he tossed the torn silk nightgown onto my face.

"Alright, knock it off with the wounded look. It's pathetic. As a friend, I'll keep your photos safe."

"You can still come over and help me blow off some steam whenever Isabella isn't around."

It was then the truth hit me with the force of a bullet: Dante had never loved me.

I was just a friend.

————————

1

My body trembled uncontrollably, my palms turning to ice. My eyes burned as I asked, "Dante, just a friend? After seven years, you feel nothing for me at all?"

If he felt nothing, then why was he so possessive? Why did he wipe out a rival's entire territory just because one of their men laid a hand on me?

Why did he brand my skin with marks only he could see and coax me into photos meant for his eyes alone?

I thought ours was the kind of love that didn't need words—a bond forged in the silence of our world.

His sharp, impatient voice was my only answer.

"Aria, I thought you were different from those other women, the clingy ones."

"You're sensible. You never cause trouble. You even agreed to let me take those photos. That's the only reason I've kept you around this long."

"You know damn well how obsessed I am with Isabella, so who are you playing the victim for? It's not like I denied you my body. Haven't you had your fill these past seven years?"

So it was true. When you're in absolute agony, you can't even cry.

A wave of humiliation so vast it was suffocating washed over me, and a hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Dante and I had grown up together amidst bloodshed and violence. I was quiet by nature; he was the most ferocious wolf in the family.

He feared nothing, yet for me, he'd always saved a flicker of softness.

When someone from a rival family dared to touch me, he led his men to flatten their entire operation.

Gradually, I grew accustomed to his suffocating protection. But that protection twisted into something possessive a few years ago, when he fell for the socialite Isabella at a banquet.

The day Isabella left for her studies in Europe, Dante waited for hours at the airport, only for her to walk away without a single backward glance.

After that, he grew despondent, lost his edge, and nearly got himself killed in a firefight.

I was the one who risked my life to save him, dragging him from an enemy ambush and taking a bullet meant for him.

Then came the round-the-clock care.

One night, that care bled into something else, right there on his sickbed.

When I woke up that day, I saw an empty box of cigars on the nightstand. He didn't say a word, but the despair in his eyes was gone, replaced by an even fiercer possessiveness over me.

I thought he had finally let her go.

I thought he had finally chosen me.

But I understood now. It had all been wishful thinking.

The one thing you can't have in your youth becomes a ghost that haunts you for a lifetime.

Even after seven years, Dante had never forgotten Isabella—the one that got away.

The moment she was back, he couldn't wait to draw a line in the sand.

He even had to make sure I understood I was just his... friend.

A bitter laugh escaped me.

The humiliating tears I'd been holding back finally streamed down my face. I scrambled into my clothes, my movements clumsy with rage, then spun around and slapped Dante hard across the face.

"Dante, those seven years of love? To hell with them. From now on, you can chase your goddess. And don't you ever touch me again!"

"Aria, what the hell is wrong with you! You—"

Behind me, Dante started to yell, but I couldn't stand the sight of him for another second. I bolted out the door.

Back at my house, I calmly dialed my father's number.

"Papa, I'll do it. I agree to the arranged marriage with Luca from Chicago. You can set the date. The sooner, the better."

But a second later, the door to my room was kicked open.

Dante’s thunderous expression filled the doorway.

"Aria, what arranged marriage?"

Hanging up, I offered a clipped excuse. "Family business." Dante didn't press, his expression dismissive.

My voice was ice.

"What are you doing in my house?"

Dante sank onto the sofa as if he owned the place, crossing his long legs.

"I want to reserve the entire top-floor restaurant your family owns. I'm throwing a welcome party for Isabella. I remember she likes the ocean, and that place has the best view. Let me have it for a day."

He patted my shoulder, his touch making my skin crawl.

"We're the best of friends. You'll help me win her over, right?"

Friends. There it was again.

Dante had to drop that word into every other sentence. Was he trying to remind me not to get any ideas?

Too bad for him. He was wasting his breath.

"Fine. Whatever you want."

I couldn't be bothered to waste another breath on him and turned to go upstairs.

Behind me, I caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

The next day, as soon as I arrived at the restaurant, I was hit by the scent of a thousand air-freighted Blue Enchantress roses. The room was a fairytale landscape.

Dante had said he planned to propose to Isabella here tonight; of course he'd pour his heart into it.

I remembered a time I’d casually mentioned I liked roses.

Dante had sneered.

"Aria, how old are you? We've slept together hundreds of times. What do you need flowers for? It's tacky."

Now, breathing in the extravagant floral scent, I finally understood.

It wasn't that Dante didn't understand romance; it was simply a question of who he deemed worthy of it.

Two hours later, the party began.

The city's underworld elite, along with Isabella, arrived in a steady stream.

After seven years, her every move was still polished, elegant, and regal.

Dante's eyes were glued to her, constantly steering the conversation back her way.

Finally, someone couldn't resist a joke.

"Dante, you and our Principessa here, you two about to make it official?"

Dante's expression soured instantly. He snapped, "What are you talking about? Aria and I have a bond forged in blood. We're friends. Don't you dare tarnish Isabella's reputation with that talk."

"Besides, I like classy, pure women like Isabella. That scar on Aria's back from taking that bullet for me? It's ugly as sin, like a centipede. I lose my appetite just looking at it. How could I ever be with her?"

My breath hitched. My nails dug into my palms so hard I thought I'd draw blood.

Five years ago, drunk and pining for Isabella, Dante had provoked a rival family.

At the critical moment, I threw myself in front of him and took the bullet.

A deep, jagged scar remained on my back.

At the time, Dante's eyes had been so red I thought they would bleed. He swore to God his life was mine.

He said he would spend the rest of his life protecting me, that he would never let me suffer so much as a scratch.

But now, just to put distance between us for Isabella's sake, he was parading my sacrifice in public like a dirty secret.

"Dante, that's cruel. Aria is a woman, you can't speak about her that way."

Just as the air grew thick with tension, Isabella spoke up, her voice soft.

Dante immediately clicked his tongue.

"Aria's no delicate flower. She's got thicker skin and a stronger stomach than any man in this room."

"Don't worry about it, Isabella. We've known each other for years. I know her better than anyone."

"Isn't that right, Aria?"

With that, in a blind spot where no one could see, Dante’s hand shot out and squeezed the soft flesh of my inner thigh, a silent command for me to agree.

Disgusted, I slapped his hand away and said coldly, "Are you kidding, Dante? Seven years ago, you were thrown away like a dog. Now, the second she's back, you're on your knees fawning over her."

"You seem to have forgotten how you acted like your world was ending. When it comes to having a strong stomach, nobody here can beat you."

The moment the words left my mouth, the entire room fell silent.

Dante's face turned thunderous, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists. With a roar, he grabbed a whiskey bottle and smashed it on the floor.

"Aria!"

I glared right back, unflinching.

Sensing a storm brewing, the others quickly tried to smooth things over, suggesting a game of Texas Hold'em as a distraction.

As if to punish me, whenever Dante won a hand, his 'dare' was always some flirtatious interaction with Isabella.

But if he lost, the 'Truth' he had to answer was always about me.

"Who in this room are you least likely to marry? Obviously, Aria. A mafia princess without a single suitor. I thought she had a good personality, but it turns out she has a temper."

"What would you do if you had to marry the person you hate the most? I'd rather die than marry Aria," he scoffed. "And if I had to, I'd be out with other women every night. Having to face someone you don't love is torture."

"In all these years, have you ever been physically aroused by Aria?"

At this question, an expression of pure insult crossed Dante's face.

"Seriously, who the hell came up with such a disgusting question? A woman like Aria is no different from a man. Forget aroused, I feel sick just touching her!"

I couldn't listen anymore. I smashed my own glass on the floor and used the commotion as an excuse to escape to the terrace.

The cold night air hit my face, and I realized I wasn't sad anymore. I was just disgusted.

After a long time, I composed myself and pushed the door open to leave.

But as I passed a secluded alcove, I overheard Dante talking to a trusted Soldato.

"You went too far just now, Capo. After all, the Principessa has been through hell and back for you. Do you really not have a single shred of affection for her?"

Dante lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his frustrated face.

"How many times do I have to say it? I keep Aria around for two reasons. One, she's loyal as a goddamn dog and lets me do whatever I want. Two, she comes with no strings attached. Understand?"

"I see her as a useful friend. That's it. Not a trace of romance."

My feet froze. My already shattered heart was ground into dust.

I knew the truth, but hearing the confession from his own lips was like death by a thousand cuts.

"Dante."

I spoke his name suddenly, stepping out from the shadows.

Dante flinched, clearly not expecting me. He asked instinctively, "You… you heard that?"

I didn't answer. Seeing the sudden, strange tension, the Soldato beside him mumbled an excuse and quickly vanished.

It was Dante who broke the silence. He walked toward me, crushing his cigarette out with a smirk.

"What, are you angry?"

"There's no need, Aria. Everything I said was the truth. What happens in bed is consensual. If you didn't agree, I couldn't have forced you."

"Alright, don't look so miserable. It makes it seem like I bullied you."

After saying that, he actually had the gall to reach for my waist.

I recoiled, pushing him away on pure instinct, then slapped him hard across the face.

"Don't touch me! You're filthy!"

Dante’s anger flared, but he froze when he saw the tears welling in my eyes.

"Dante, yes, I admit it. I love you."

"But that doesn't give you the right to trample all over my loyalty! I am not a tool for you to vent your frustrations on!"

"If you don't like me, you could have just said so. I'm not the kind of woman who begs!"

"From now on, I wish you and Isabella a long and happy life together. Now, please, stop harassing me."

With that, I turned and left without a backward glance.

From the main room, I could hear Isabella's delicate laughter, the center of attention.

But Dante seemed deaf to it, his eyes fixed blankly on my retreating back.

For some reason, a sudden surge of panic seized him.

It felt as if something incredibly important was slipping through his fingers.

In the end, however, he didn't dwell on it.

He let out a derisive snort and walked back toward Isabella.

He knew Aria. In a few days, she'd come crawling back, begging for his forgiveness.

...

After the welcome party ended, I called in a crew to clean up the mess.

That night, exhausted, I sank into the sofa when a message from Isabella popped up, a video attached.

"Aria, Dante seems to be drunk..."

I opened it and saw Dante, shirtless, murmuring Isabella's name in a drunken stupor.

Over and over, he begged her not to leave him.

My hand tightened on my phone, but a moment later, I deleted his number, his encrypted contact, everything.

From now on, he was a stranger.

I never could have imagined, however, what would happen next.

When I woke up the next day, I discovered my private photos had been plastered all over the underground forums of the entire criminal underworld.