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Darkness

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Chapter 32: Darkness (Dante's POV)

The door slammed shut in Anastasia's wake before the series of videos even came to an end. Her reaction left both Marshall and I at a loss of words, and for several minutes, the two of us remained utterly silent and still. Taking a breath, I turned to face him, dozens of questions sitting at the tip of my tongue. 

Before I could voice a single one, he said, "I don't know what happened to her." 

Her reaction took place so fast, before I even had the chance to watch the final video properly. It was evident enough that she saw and recognized something or someone that Marshall and I had missed. 

"Play that final clip again," Marshall instructed. 

My eyes lingered at the door for a moment, and I contemplated between staying and doing as Marshall said or going after Anastasia. We had agreed to finally let each other in and open ourselves up to each other. 

But if I knew Anastasia at all, I knew that she needed her space at tough times like this. Just like me, Anastasia needed to get herself together before somebody else tried to help her recollect herself. 

So, I stepped back and pressed rewind for a few seconds before clicking play again. 

The scene replayed of the same little kid, Ethan, tiptoeing into the art studio and telling his father he had snuck into the basement. 

"Slow it down," Marshall said. Slowing down the speed, we rewatched the final moments, and this time, I caught what Anastasia had seen. The slightest glimpse of the man behind the camera. Although barely half of his face was visible between his fingers, Anastasia knew immediately. 

Fuck. 

"It's Isaiah Morales," I breathed out, running a hand over my mouth as I stood upright. "Shit," I mumbled, frustratedly raking my fingers through my hair as I spun around and faced the window. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

"She still recognizes him?" Marshall asked in shock. 

I turned to him, straining to keep my disbelief at bay. "Why wouldn't she, Marshall?" 

He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She must be terrified." 

I paused for a moment in confusion before it hit me. "You didn't tell her?" I asked. The silence that followed my question was deafening. A pin could be heard dropping in that room. "You didn't tell her?" I repeated, my voice more stern than it had ever been when speaking to Marshall. 

My composure was dangling by the thinnest of threads, and God forbid Marshall told me something I didn't want to hear because it wouldn't take more than a second for me to snap. 

A defeated sigh escaped him as he rose to his feet. "I didn't know what to tell her, Dante." 

My jaw grew taut as I tilted my head back, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. "Perhaps the truth," I ground out, facing him again. "How could you not tell her? You promised me." I took a step closer to him, knowing damn well I was crossing my limits as I stood there in his office. 

"Isaiah Morales is dead," I reminded him. "The man she's spent her entire life fearing, the man who tarnished her entire childhood, the man who murdered her sister. He's been dead for two years, and she's still living in fear of him because you couldn't find a way to tell her?" I asked in disbelief. 

He exhaled roughly, "No. No, I couldn't find a way to tell her. She can't handle a single conversation about Francesca without crumbling to pieces. How do you think she would have taken it, knowing that you killed Isaiah? Not just that, but knowing that you were his victim too." 

My jaw ticked as I tucked my hands into my pockets, keeping them from forming fists. "I need to talk to her." I headed for the doors immediately, stopping as I reached for the doorknob when Marshall called my name. 

"What are you going to tell her, Dante?" he demanded. 

"The truth," I huffed out, facing him. "The truth I should have told her before doing everything I've done. I may have been afraid to tell her then, but that fear cost me Anastasia and this job. You said you would tell her since I couldn't, Marshall." 

He replied firmly, "Telling her the truth would have broken her down. I decided to keep it from her for her own good!" 

"And who are you to decide what's good for her?!" I snapped at him. "She deserves to know the truth. She doesn't deserve to spend her entire life in fear of the man who took everything from her, not when I did everything to make sure he was taken care of." 

"Don't act so righteous now. You did it for yourself. The revenge you were seeking was your own, it was for you and your own family, not Anastasia." 

He was right. I'd spent years planning it all out, and in all those years, the vengeance driving me was solely mine. I killed Isaiah Morales for what he did to me and to my family. But Anastasia suffered at his hands just as much as I had. 

It wasn't just for me. 

"It was for us," I told Marshall, "all of us." 

Swinging the door open, I rushed out and to Anastasia's office only to find that room empty. "Fuck," I exhaled, panic taking hold of me as I sped out of her office and toward the elevator as I brought out my phone to call her. 

I could only imagine the whirlwind of emotions that would have taken Anastasia by storm, the fear that she must have spent her entire life drowning in, horrified that one day Isaiah would come back for her. I lived through it myself. 

That fear haunted me, too... until it didn't. Until vengeance and a hunger for revenge took its place. That hunger remained insatiable over the years until I finally killed Isaiah with my own hands. 

"Goddamn it," I muttered, rushing to the staircase as the elevator got held up on a different floor. Shoving the door open, I ran out into the stairwell, ignoring the loud bang as the door ricocheted off the walls. I paused for a beat and racked my brain. 

Where would she go if she wanted to escape everything? Where would I go? 

The rooftop. 

Sprinting, taking two stairs at a time, I raced to the rooftop, and by the time I arrived, my lungs had an unsettled burn sizzling through them, every breath I took came in short pants, and sweat began beading at my temples while my palms grew clammy. Stumbling through the doorway, I stepped out onto the rooftop. 

When I saw her standing by the railing, I felt like I could breathe again. 

Her phone was ringing incessantly in her grip, but she couldn't answer it. Her hands were trembling. 

Hanging up, I tucked the phone into my pocket and slowly made my way to her as I caught my breath. "Anastasia," I called out. 

Frantically, she wiped her cheeks before turning to face me. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I'm fine," she said immediately. "Seriously." 

I nodded slowly as I continued making my way to her. "Okay." 

"I mean it," she said sternly. 

"I believe you," I replied. 

She sighed loudly, her shoulders falling. "Do you really?" she asked, inhaling shakily. 

"I believe you're stronger than that," I said softly as I finally reached her. "So much stronger than that," I whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear gently as it danced in the gust of wind breezing past us. 

Her eyes sought mine for a minute before forming into pools of realization. "You know," she stated, "how do you know?" 

My chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as I held her gaze. Standing there, I understood how conflicted Marshall must have felt. I didn't know how to tell her either... but I knew I had to. 

She deserved the truth, she deserved so much more than just that. 

"I was there," I breathed out. 

"What do you mean?" she asked softly. 

I closed my eyes for a second. "You and Francesca weren't the only ones," I said cautiously. "I was there," I repeated. 

Her hands slipped off my arms, and I barely caught them before she withdrew from me completely. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. 

"I was there and not before you or after you. I was there with you," I explained, "trust me, I know how you're feeling. The crippling fear, the darkness it felt like you were drowning in down there in that basement. I've been there." 

Slowly, she began shaking her head as she took a step away from me. "I don't understand," she replied, "I don't get how that's possible. You were there? You were there when... when I was there?" 

I nodded in response, reaching for her again. Pure relief flooded my chest when she let me pull her closer. 

"How—" 

I cut her off, "I'll explain everything, just trust me. He's not going to hurt you again, Mia Cara." 

"But how can you be so sure? He..." She was struggling to hold herself together. 

This conversation couldn't happen at a time like this, I couldn't just throw everything at her all at once. "Let me take you home," I whispered. 

"No," she argued, freeing her hands from my hold. "I want you to tell me now. Everything that I don't know and how you do." 

I took a breath. "Anastasia—" 

"Tell me now, Dante!" 

"He's dead." 

She blinked, staring at me in confusion and disbelief. Her eyes were still red and glassy from all her tears. 

It was driving me crazy to see her like that. It felt like a knife to the heart to see her, the strongest person I'd ever met, looking so fragile and scared. 

"Isaiah Morales is dead," I reiterated. "I killed him." 

She whispered, "What?" 

"Two years ago, when I went rogue on a mission..." I ran a hand over my face. "That's what happened. I killed him."

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Chapter 32

Did anyone see that coming?

If you're still confused, it'll all be cleared up in the next chapter don't worry

BUT IT'S CHRISTMAS SEASON Y'ALL

next ch: breathless