Chapter 32. Just for Tonight

The first few days felt strange.

Margherita woke late, the silence around her almost too soft to be real. There were no footsteps echoing down marble halls, no distant doors slamming. Only the faint hum of the heating and the occasional murmur of Rosa’s voice somewhere beyond the corridor.

For hours, she stayed in her room. The idea that she could simply open the door and walk out felt like a trick. When she finally did, she hesitated in the doorway, expecting someone to stop her—a command, a reprimand. None came.

Dante sat by the entrance, silent and unmoving. He inclined his head slightly when she passed, neither warm nor hostile. Just watchful.

The days began to fall into a quiet rhythm.

She helped Rosa in the kitchen. At first, she fumbled—burning her fingertips, slicing vegetables too thick, spilling flour everywhere.

Rosa only chuckled and handed her another task. “You’ll learn,” she said.

And Margherita did. Slowly. She liked the rhyt