Chapter 8

• 【Alana’s POV】
• The next day, I went to his study.
• Five bookshelves were filled with books from various fields, and rows of metal-embossed letters made my head spin.
• At the bottom shelf, I found a thick tome about art investment during the Italian Renaissance.
• I pulled out the book and started reading it intently.
• “Interested in art investment?”
• I jumped in surprise as Dante leaned against the study door, eyebrows slightly raised.
• “Alana, some books, once opened, come with a price to close.”
• I closed the book and rubbed my fingers against the embossed title before turning around.
• “I’m interested in art investment, and...” I met his deep eyes, “there’s a price to pay. Knowing in advance is better than not knowing, don’t you think?”
• Dante walked over, his tall figure filling the space between the bookshelves.
• He had changed into casual clothes, with a hint of a cold, woody scent.
• “Curious?” He stopped by the desk, his fingers sliding across the tabletop, but his eyes locked onto me.
• I didn’t back down. Instead, I raised my chin slightly and slowly put the book back.
• “Maybe,” I looked into his eyes, “I want to figure out where the real ‘valuables’ in this house are.”
• Almost casually, my fingertips brushed the edge of the table that he had just touched.
• His eyes followed my retracting fingers, staring for a while before looking back at me.
• “Valuables,” his voice lowered, heavy, “come with great risks. Getting too close requires either a lot of courage or, well, a lack of brains.”
• He took a small step forward. The space between us disappeared in an instant.
• “So, what do you think?” I lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “What kind am I?”
• He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes slowly slid down from my face to my lips.
• In the end, he didn’t answer my question—just gave me a heavy look before turning and leaving.
• 【Alana’s POV – continued at dinner】
• During dinner, Leo sat across from me, but I completely ignored him, lifting my glass and looking toward Dante at the head of the table.
• “I saw that book on art investment in your study this afternoon—very interesting.”
• I swirled the red wine in my glass, the crimson liquid leaving streaks on the crystal.
• “Especially when it talks about how the Medici family used to sponsor artists to accumulate wealth and power. The author’s perspective seems a bit conservative.”
• Dante raised his eyes, set down his knife and fork, leaning slightly forward. “Oh? How so?”
• “The author believes that art is a subordinate of finance. But I think, in that era, art itself was the ultimate financial tool.”
• I looked into his eyes and said, word by word, “It can wash away tarnished wealth, buy people’s hearts, build an immortal reputation for a family, and serve as the most secretive bargaining chip in the political arena. These functions are something that any treasury cannot provide.”
• I spoke slowly, each word like a carefully polished stone.
• Leo stopped cutting his steak, looking at me in disbelief, then at his father.
• Dante remained silent, just listening quietly.
• The probing look in his deep, bottomless eyes grew stronger, as if trying to see through my façade and understand the schemes deep within my heart.
• The air seemed to freeze, with only the crackling of the candle flames in the restaurant.
• After a long while, he smiled—with a mix of appreciation and surprise.
• “Interesting.” He picked up his wine glass again, raising it toward me. “You are much more interesting than the bankers I know.”
• I could clearly see Leo’s face go from red to pale. I knew Leo hated it when Dante praised others in front of him.
• “Leo, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell from the food?”
• I deliberately ignored Dante’s praise, reaching out to hold Leo’s hand, leaning forward slightly with a look of concern that said, No one in the world is as important as you.
• “Don’t touch me. It’s disgusting!”
• Just as my fingertips touched him, Leo forcefully pushed my hand away, causing it to hit the edge of the table, leaving a red mark.
• He grabbed the napkin beside him and vigorously wiped the spot where I had touched—finger by finger—his eyes filled with disgust and disdain, as if he had touched feces.
• Snap!
• A crisp sound rang out as Dante slammed his crystal glass on the table, causing it to crack.
• “Leo Moretti.” Dante’s voice was low but icy. “What are you doing? Are you provoking me? Or questioning my decision?”
• Leo immediately jumped up from his chair, head down, lips tightly pursed, his jawline as rigid as a stone. “I didn’t, Father.”
• “Didn’t?” Dante sneered, wiping the wine stains off his hand with the napkin, each movement exuding suffocating pressure.
• “You humiliated the future mistress of the Moretti family in front of me. Is that what you call didn’t?”
• His gaze shifted to the glaring red mark on the back of my hand.
• “It seems I’ve indulged you too much,” Dante’s voice lacked any warmth.
• “You forgot the most basic rules and respect. Starting tomorrow, you don’t need to be involved in the project on the west side of the city.”
• “Father!” Leo suddenly looked up, his face full of shock and unwillingness.
• The project on the west side of the city was the key project that Leo had worked hard for almost half a year to win. It was his urgent attempt to prove his abilities to the family.
• With just a casual sentence from Dante, all of his efforts were completely denied. It was like rubbing his face on the ground—repeatedly.
• “What, do you have a problem?” Dante’s gaze swept over his face like a knife.
• Leo’s chest heaved violently, his fists clenched tightly, his nails almost embedding into his flesh.