Dangerous Melodies - Chapter 57: Chapter 57
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PROLOGUE
DANTE
I stopped believing in second chances the day she died.
Six years ago, I burned the man I was to ashes and let them scatter. Love was a weakness. It had shattered me beyond repair.
I’d been a fool to ask for a divorce, an even bigger fool to send her away.
Then came the image. A brutal confirmation of what I’d done. My wife. Executed. A single bullet to the head.
Every shred of warmth, hope, and every dream of a future died with her.
I remember how Maria screamed when she saw the photo, her grief tearing through the thick walls of the house.
Felix begged me to check the tracker, like hope was still something we dared to believe in.
But I knew better. I saw her in that alley—bruised and broken, a pool of blood dark against the concrete.
That image burned itself into my mind.
I never deleted it. I locked it away behind firewalls I built myself.
It’s my ghost. My punishment. Proof that she was real and that I failed her..
I go back to the garden sometimes. It’s the only place that still feels untouched by rot.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, where cedar needles carpet the ground and moss softens every edge, I carved out a place for her, a headstone beneath the biggest cedar next to my parents. Her name etched into stone.
I kneel there some nights, longer than others, my knees sinking into the earth as my hands trace the cool stone.
I whisper the things I never dared to say out loud. I ask for forgiveness, I know I’ll never deserve.
I wait stupidly and stubbornly for her to come back. For her body to rise from the dirt like something out of scripture.
But she never comes.
She isn’t there.
Not in the earth. Not in the wind. Just a headstone, cedar, and the hollow where her laughter used to live.
Every time I leave, I promise it’s the last. That I’ll let her go.
But I never can.
Because her body was never found.
And I still can’t stop looking.
In her place, something darker crawled to the surface. Colder. More ruthless.
I was nothing but smoke and ruin. Power was just the wind that kept my ashes from settling.
All I had left was power and the rage that kept it burning.
Yet even that wasn’t enough to move me.
I sprawled across the mattress, still dressed from the night before. My shirt clung to me, wrinkled and reeking of whiskey.
Empty bottles littered the floor, a quiet graveyard of my only escape.
The curtains smothered the light, but the nightmare stayed. The weight of another wasted day pressed against my chest, heavy and suffocating.
Most people kept their distance now. Even the ones who once called me a friend.
Business partners, allies, even the staff. I saw it in their eyes. Fear. Like I was a rabid dog pacing behind a gate, waiting for the right moment to sink my teeth in.
Maybe I really was.
The smallest things could set me off lately. A dropped glass, a forgotten message, a voice that sounded too much like hers.
Only Felix and Maria still tried.
Maria brought meals that I never touched.
Felix kept the business running and dragged me into meetings when he could.
But even they had learned to tread carefully.
Maria’s eyes gave her away. Every time she looked at me, I saw the grief she carried like a second skin.
Not just for Marisol, but for me. For the man I used to be.
She never said it out loud, but I could feel her praying that, maybe somehow, I’d come back.
I knew I wouldn’t.
Even Mr. Buttons felt her absence. The little dog sat outside Marisol’s music room, like he was waiting for her to reappear.
That door had stayed closed since the day she was taken from me. No one was allowed to clean it. No one even dared to go inside.
Sometimes, I broke my own rule.
I’d open the door and stand there, breathing in the stillness.
Her perfume still clung to the corners of that room, soft, stubborn, and haunting.
The piano sat untouched, bathed in morning light that streamed through the window.
I used to watch her sit there, her fingers dancing over the keys, sunlight curling around her like a halo.
She looked like an angel when she played.
Unreal. Untouchable. Mine.
She’d tried so hard just to survive.
But the world we were born into devoured her.
And I hadn’t stopped it.
I hadn’t been able to protect her.
Just like I hadn’t protected my mother.
What kind of man fails the only women who ever truly loved him?
The worst kind of man.
I don’t know how long I lay there, lost in the dark, trapped in the ache I’d made into my home.
The door slammed open, shattering the silence and the spiral I’d been drowning in.
A blast of light sliced through the dark as the curtains were yanked open.
Pain knifed through my skull, and I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.
“Get the fuck up.” Felix’s voice cut through the haze.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, my voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.
Felix didn’t budge. “It’s past noon. For years, all you’ve done is drink, sleep, and pretend to care about your own damn company. That ends today.”
I didn’t move. “You’ve been handling things just fine without me,” I retorted.
Felix crossed his arms. “Not this time. High-profile client. Urgent request. They asked for you.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Then tell them I’m dead.”
Felix sighed. “Get your ass up, or I’m coming back with an air horn. And trust me, I’ll use it.”
I dragged a hand over my face.
Another job. Another meaningless distraction. I didn’t give a damn.
But Felix? He never made empty threats.
Groaning, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
The world tilted, pain pulsing behind my eyes until it settled. “Fine,” I muttered. “But this better be worth it.”
Felix smirked, already halfway to the door. “Be ready in an hour. We’re going to LA.”
The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my life.
I didn’t know it yet, but this job wasn’t just another distraction.
It was the beginning of the end of everything I thought I knew.
And that was how, without realizing it, I set myself on a collision course with the one thing I never expected to see again.
My past, waiting in the shadows.
DANTE
I stopped believing in second chances the day she died.
Six years ago, I burned the man I was to ashes and let them scatter. Love was a weakness. It had shattered me beyond repair.
I’d been a fool to ask for a divorce, an even bigger fool to send her away.
Then came the image. A brutal confirmation of what I’d done. My wife. Executed. A single bullet to the head.
Every shred of warmth, hope, and every dream of a future died with her.
I remember how Maria screamed when she saw the photo, her grief tearing through the thick walls of the house.
Felix begged me to check the tracker, like hope was still something we dared to believe in.
But I knew better. I saw her in that alley—bruised and broken, a pool of blood dark against the concrete.
That image burned itself into my mind.
I never deleted it. I locked it away behind firewalls I built myself.
It’s my ghost. My punishment. Proof that she was real and that I failed her..
I go back to the garden sometimes. It’s the only place that still feels untouched by rot.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, where cedar needles carpet the ground and moss softens every edge, I carved out a place for her, a headstone beneath the biggest cedar next to my parents. Her name etched into stone.
I kneel there some nights, longer than others, my knees sinking into the earth as my hands trace the cool stone.
I whisper the things I never dared to say out loud. I ask for forgiveness, I know I’ll never deserve.
I wait stupidly and stubbornly for her to come back. For her body to rise from the dirt like something out of scripture.
But she never comes.
She isn’t there.
Not in the earth. Not in the wind. Just a headstone, cedar, and the hollow where her laughter used to live.
Every time I leave, I promise it’s the last. That I’ll let her go.
But I never can.
Because her body was never found.
And I still can’t stop looking.
In her place, something darker crawled to the surface. Colder. More ruthless.
I was nothing but smoke and ruin. Power was just the wind that kept my ashes from settling.
All I had left was power and the rage that kept it burning.
Yet even that wasn’t enough to move me.
I sprawled across the mattress, still dressed from the night before. My shirt clung to me, wrinkled and reeking of whiskey.
Empty bottles littered the floor, a quiet graveyard of my only escape.
The curtains smothered the light, but the nightmare stayed. The weight of another wasted day pressed against my chest, heavy and suffocating.
Most people kept their distance now. Even the ones who once called me a friend.
Business partners, allies, even the staff. I saw it in their eyes. Fear. Like I was a rabid dog pacing behind a gate, waiting for the right moment to sink my teeth in.
Maybe I really was.
The smallest things could set me off lately. A dropped glass, a forgotten message, a voice that sounded too much like hers.
Only Felix and Maria still tried.
Maria brought meals that I never touched.
Felix kept the business running and dragged me into meetings when he could.
But even they had learned to tread carefully.
Maria’s eyes gave her away. Every time she looked at me, I saw the grief she carried like a second skin.
Not just for Marisol, but for me. For the man I used to be.
She never said it out loud, but I could feel her praying that, maybe somehow, I’d come back.
I knew I wouldn’t.
Even Mr. Buttons felt her absence. The little dog sat outside Marisol’s music room, like he was waiting for her to reappear.
That door had stayed closed since the day she was taken from me. No one was allowed to clean it. No one even dared to go inside.
Sometimes, I broke my own rule.
I’d open the door and stand there, breathing in the stillness.
Her perfume still clung to the corners of that room, soft, stubborn, and haunting.
The piano sat untouched, bathed in morning light that streamed through the window.
I used to watch her sit there, her fingers dancing over the keys, sunlight curling around her like a halo.
She looked like an angel when she played.
Unreal. Untouchable. Mine.
She’d tried so hard just to survive.
But the world we were born into devoured her.
And I hadn’t stopped it.
I hadn’t been able to protect her.
Just like I hadn’t protected my mother.
What kind of man fails the only women who ever truly loved him?
The worst kind of man.
I don’t know how long I lay there, lost in the dark, trapped in the ache I’d made into my home.
The door slammed open, shattering the silence and the spiral I’d been drowning in.
A blast of light sliced through the dark as the curtains were yanked open.
Pain knifed through my skull, and I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.
“Get the fuck up.” Felix’s voice cut through the haze.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, my voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.
Felix didn’t budge. “It’s past noon. For years, all you’ve done is drink, sleep, and pretend to care about your own damn company. That ends today.”
I didn’t move. “You’ve been handling things just fine without me,” I retorted.
Felix crossed his arms. “Not this time. High-profile client. Urgent request. They asked for you.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Then tell them I’m dead.”
Felix sighed. “Get your ass up, or I’m coming back with an air horn. And trust me, I’ll use it.”
I dragged a hand over my face.
Another job. Another meaningless distraction. I didn’t give a damn.
But Felix? He never made empty threats.
Groaning, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
The world tilted, pain pulsing behind my eyes until it settled. “Fine,” I muttered. “But this better be worth it.”
Felix smirked, already halfway to the door. “Be ready in an hour. We’re going to LA.”
The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my life.
I didn’t know it yet, but this job wasn’t just another distraction.
It was the beginning of the end of everything I thought I knew.
And that was how, without realizing it, I set myself on a collision course with the one thing I never expected to see again.
My past, waiting in the shadows.
End of Dangerous Melodies Chapter 57. Continue reading Chapter 58 or return to Dangerous Melodies book page.