Chapter 5 - Silk and Shadows
The guest suite on the third floor was larger than my entire apartment building.
A massive canopy bed stood against one wall, draped in heavy burgundy velvet. A fire crackled in a stone fireplace, throwing warm light across hard-wood floors covered in Persian rugs. In the walk-in closet, someone had placed several soft cashmere sweaters, silk trousers, and brand-new leather shoes in my exact size.
I stood under the shower for thirty minutes, washing away the grease, rain, and humiliation of The Greasy Spoon.
When I stepped out, wrapped in a plush white robe, a tray of hot food was sitting on the table near the fire: roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, fresh bread, and a bowl of rich tomato soup, just as Arthur had promised.
I ate like a starving person, my hands trembling slightly as I lifted the spoon.
After eating, I couldn't sleep. The silence of the mansion was too heavy, too foreign after years of listening to city traffic and banging radiators.
I opened the suite door quietly. Two large guards in black suits were stationed in the hallway. They turned immediately, their eyes tracking my every move.
“Miss Wells,” one of them said politely. “Do you need something?”
“I… I just need some air,” I lied. “Is there a library?”
The guard nodded toward the far end of the hallway. “Second door on the left. But stay on this floor.”
I walked down the quiet hallway, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. I opened the library door and stepped inside, pulling my breath in sharply.
The room was two stories high, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves accessible by rolling wooden ladders. Thousands of leather-bound volumes filled the space, smelling of paper, ink, and history.
“You couldn't sleep either?” a soft voice asked from the shadows near the balcony.
I flinched, turning to see Arthur sitting in a high-backed armchair, a blanket wrapped around his knees. He was holding a small silver frame in his hands, staring at the photograph inside.
“Arthur,” I said gently, stepping closer. “It’s past one in the morning.”
The old man looked up, his pale eyes surprisingly clear tonight. “I know. But when the fog clears, I like to stay awake as long as I can. Before it comes back.”
I sat down on a small ottoman beside his chair. “Who is in the photo?”
He handed the frame to me. Inside was a black-and-white picture of a beautiful woman with dark, wavy hair and eyes that looked just like Dante’s.
“Martha,” Arthur murmured, his thumb brushing the glass. “She loved art, too. Used to drag me to museums in Italy when we were young. I hated it at first. But then I realized… watching her look at a painting was better than looking at the painting itself.”
I smiled softly, feeling a sudden pang of warmth in my chest. “She sounds lovely.”
“Dante gets his stubbornness from her,” Arthur continued, looking out the balcony window at the rainy gardens below. “And his heart. He pretends he has no heart, you know. He wears those dark suits and shoots people who try to take what’s his. But he’s bleeding inside, Chloe. Ever since Martha died, and ever since he had to take over this business to keep us alive.”
“He’s a dangerous man, Arthur,” I said quietly.
“He is,” Arthur agreed, turning his head to look straight into my eyes. “But he’s a loyal man. He brought you here because he knows what my brother Silvio is capable of. Dante won't let anything happen to you, child.”
“What if Silvio moves first?” I asked, thinking of the hatred in the grey-haired man’s eyes.
May you like
Arthur reached out and took my hand, his grip surprisingly firm. “Then Dante will burn this city to the ground to protect this house.”
Before I could answer, the library doors creaked open. Dante stood in the doorway, his coat off, his tie loosened, looking exhausted. His eyes locked onto me sitting beside his father, and for a second, the harsh lines of his face softened into something fragile.
