Twisted Loyalty

Chapter 13: A Quiet Morning

Sienna

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. For a moment, as I blink awake, I forget where I am. The bed is unfamiliar, the silence almost unnerving. But then it all comes back—the events of last night, the terror, Dante bringing me here. A strange mixture of relief and lingering fear settles in my chest as I sit up, the oversized shirt I'm wearing sliding down my shoulder.

I glance at the clock. It's still early, just past 7 a.m., but the house feels alive, the sunlight spilling through the windows giving it a sense of warmth that last night's shadows didn't allow. I throw off the blankets and swing my legs over the side of the bed, taking a deep breath. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don't feel the immediate need to be on guard. But the peace is fragile—thin, like it could shatter at any moment.

As I step out of the bedroom, the soft sound of clinking dishes and the faint aroma of coffee drifts up from downstairs. I make my way quietly down the hall, drawn to the comfort of the normalcy below. The house is quiet, but not the oppressive silence I'm used to—it's different here. Safe, for now.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs and round the corner into the kitchen, I stop in the doorway. Dante is sitting at the kitchen island, his back turned to me, but even from here, I can see the tension that seems to coil beneath his relaxed posture. He's scrolling on his phone, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.

He's not dressed like he was last night. Instead of the sleek suits that usually seem to armor him, he's in simple gray sweatpants and a black tank top. His muscular arms, covered in intricate tattoos, are on full display, the dark ink contrasting against his tan skin. His hair is tousled, messy like he just rolled out of bed, and the whole image is... unexpected.

There's something intimate about seeing him like this—raw, relaxed, vulnerable in a way that I've never associated with him before.

As if sensing me, he glances up from his phone and catches my eye. A slow, soft smile spreads across his face, and for the first time since I've known him, it doesn't carry the weight of business or power. It's just... gentle.

"Good morning," he says, his voice low and calm, like the quiet morning itself.

"Good morning," I reply, my voice still a little rough from sleep as I step fully into the kitchen.

Dante motions to the coffee pot sitting on the counter next to him. "Coffee's fresh if you want some."

I shake my head, smiling slightly as I move to sit on one of the stools across from him. "Thanks, but I don't drink coffee."

He chuckles, the sound warm and surprisingly soft. "Yeah, I figured as much," he says, nodding toward the kettle still sitting on the stove. "I noticed the kettle was left out, and the tea bags from last night. Chamomile?"

A blush creeps up my cheeks as I remember last night—the restless wandering, the nightmare that drove me from bed. "Yeah," I admit, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I couldn't sleep after... well, everything. Tea helps."

He nods, taking another sip of his coffee as he watches me, his eyes never leaving my face. There's something comforting about the way he looks at me, like he's not judging, not pushing me to say more than I'm ready to. Just quietly understanding.

"I'm glad you were able to find what you needed," he says, his voice soft. "And I'm glad you're feeling a little better this morning."

I glance down at the counter, my fingers tracing the smooth surface. "I am, I think. I'm just... trying to process everything."