Chapter 9 - The Prison Visit
On a gray, foggy morning in rural Pennsylvania, the heavy iron gates of the Allenwood Federal Correctional Institution slid open with a harsh, grinding screech.
Dante Romano sat in a small, sterile visiting room divided by a thick pane of bulletproof glass.
He wore a dark green prison jumpsuit. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, his stubble thick, his hands resting on the cold steel table.
He had been in prison for six months.
The heavy door on the visitor’s side unlocked.
Dante looked up, his heart pounding in his chest. For six months, he had refused all visitors except his legal team. But today, a visitor had been granted priority clearance by the warden.
The door opened.
Serena stepped into the room.
She wore an elegant charcoal-gray dress, a pearl necklace, her hair pulled back into a sleek chignon. She looked breathtaking, radiant, completely untouched by the destruction that had consumed his life.
She sat down on the chair across from him, placing a small leather handbag on her lap.
Dante picked up the black plastic telephone receiver attached to the wall.
Serena picked up hers.
For two full minutes, neither of them spoke. They simply stared at each other through the thick glass.
“You came,” Dante said finally, his voice raspy and thin through the electronic speaker.
“I came to bring you the final settlement documents for the offshore accounts,” Serena said calmly, her tone as professional as a bank teller’s.
Dante let out a bitter, dry laugh. “Always business, Serena. Even here.”
“You taught me that marriage was a transaction, Dante,” Serena replied smoothly. “I simply completed the accounting.”
Dante leaned his forehead against the cold glass, his shoulders shaking slightly.
“I’m sorry,” Dante whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “Serena… I’m so sorry. I was blind. I was stupid. I thought… I thought I had everything under control.”
Serena looked at him without anger, without malice, without hatred.
And that was what terrified Dante most—there was no passion left in her eyes at all. Just complete, absolute indifference.
“You didn't control anything, Dante,” Serena said gently. “You were playing a game on a board I owned, using pieces I bought, under rules I wrote.”
“How is he?” Dante asked, his voice breaking completely. “How is Leo?”
Serena reached into her handbag and pulled out a single photograph.
She pressed it against the glass pane.
In the photo, a six-month-old boy with dark hair and bright gray-violet eyes sat on a green lawn, laughing brightly as he held a wooden toy sailboat.
Dante pressed his trembling hand against the glass, right over the tiny face in the picture. Tears rolled freely down his hollow cheeks.
“He looks like you,” Dante wept.
“He is happy,” Serena said softly. “He lives in a house where people keep their promises.”
She slowly pulled the photograph back, placing it inside her purse.
“This is the only time you will ever see him, Dante,” Serena said, her voice firm and absolute. “When your sentence is finished in three years, you will take your remaining settlement money, you will leave New York, and you will never attempt to contact us again.”
Dante looked at her through his tears, realizing finally that there was no negotiation left to be had. No charm, no threat, no apology could ever rebuild the bridge he had burned on that cold marble floor.
“Did you ever love me?” Dante asked, his voice barely a whisper through the receiver.
Serena looked into his eyes for one long, silent moment.
“I loved the man I thought you were,” Serena said softly. “The man who promised to protect me. But that man never existed.”
She set the telephone receiver back onto its wall cradle with a soft, final click.
May you like
She stood up, straightened her coat, and walked toward the exit door.
Dante watched her go, slamming his hand against the glass, screaming her name, but the heavy steel door closed shut, cutting off his voice forever.
