Chapter 7 - The Unraveling of Derek Morrison
While I ate, savoring the best meal I had tasted in years, Dante remained standing by the window, watching the distant lights of the city below. The storm had cleared, leaving behind a pristine, star-studded night sky that made the city look peaceful, deceptive in its calm.
“You’re probably wondering what happens tomorrow,” Dante said, breaking the quiet hum of the kitchen. I set my fork down, wiping my mouth with a linen napkin. “It’s hard not to wonder. Derek isn’t going to let this go. He’s proud, and he’s vindictive. He told me he knows where I work.” “He did know where you worked,” Dante corrected smoothly, turning around to face me. My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” “As of twenty minutes ago, Mr. Morrison received an unexpected corporate audit at his firm. His company’s financial records—specifically the ones involving embezzlement and tax fraud he thought he had successfully hidden—were flagged and forwarded to federal investigators.”
I stared at him, my jaw dropping. “You… you destroyed him? Just like that?” “I expedited a process that was already overdue,” Dante replied casually, taking a sip of his drink. “Men like Derek thrive on power imbalances. They build their fragile egos by crushing anyone weaker than themselves. Take away his status, his money, and his impunity, and you find out very quickly that bullies are remarkably hollow creatures.”
“He’s going to come looking for me,” I said, a knot of fresh anxiety tightening in my chest. “He’ll blame me.” “Let him try,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute finality. “No one crosses the threshold of this property without an explicit invitation, and Derek Morrison lacks the pedigree—and the courage—to ever find his way here.”
I stood up from the table, my legs suddenly feeling restless. I walked over to the towering glass wall, looking out at the vast expanse of the valley below. “Why are you doing this, Dante? Seriously. I’m just a waitress from a dive bar. I have no money, no connections, no influence. I’m nobody.”
Dante closed the distance between us silently. He stopped just a foot away, the clean, intoxicating scent of bergamot and cedar wrapping around me like a warm blanket. When I turned my head to look at him, his dark eyes were burning with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
“Three years ago, a young woman walked out of a burning house with nothing but a backpack and a bruised spirit,” Dante said quietly, his gaze piercing straight through me. “She sat on a park bench three blocks from my office downtown, crying so quietly she thought the rain would hide it. She dropped a small silver locket in the mud—a locket she didn't realize she’d lost until it was too late.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket, holding it up in the palm of his hand. My breath caught in my throat. I had searched everywhere for that locket—the last remaining memory of my grandmother.
May you like
“I picked it up,” Dante continued, his voice softening just a fraction. “I watched you walk away, shoulders hunched, carrying the weight of a world that had treated you like garbage. I told myself then that if our paths ever crossed again, I would make sure no one ever made you look down at the pavement like that again.”
Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unbidden. “You remembered me? From three years ago?” “People like Derek Morrison forget people the moment they stop being useful,” Dante said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “I don’t forget anything, Emma. Especially not the things worth protecting.”
