Beyond Their Expectations: From Street Rat To Supreme Ruler

5: Fate's Cruel Jest

The Santoro estate rose behind wrought-iron gates like a monument to old money and older pride. Manicured gardens, marble fountains, a villa that belonged in Renaissance paintings rather than modern Italy.

Dante stood outside those gates, hands shoved deep in his pockets, while Lorenzo hovered anxiously beside the car.

"Young Master, please reconsider. Let me come with you," Lorenzo pleaded. "The Santoro family is expecting Master Armani's disciple. You need someone to—"

"No." Dante cut him off. "I'm here to break off an engagement, not propose marriage. The fewer witnesses to this disaster, the better."

"But Young Master, the Santoro daughters are what half the men in this city dream of! Beautiful, accomplished, from excellent bloodlines—"

"Lorenzo."

"And Master Armani always said you should settle down before building your career! At least have someone to take care of your daily life, manage your household—"

"Lorenzo."

The older man sighed, defeated. "As you wish, Young Master. I'll wait here."

Dante turned back to the gates, steeling himself. He just hoped—prayed, really—that his supposed fiancée wasn't Giulia's sister. Sleeping with your future sister-in-law before even meeting your bride was definitely not something to put on a résumé.

He took a deep breath, reaching for the intercom button.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dante froze.

That voice. That cold, flat, utterly unmistakable voice.

He turned slowly.

Giulia stood ten meters away, dressed in an elegant blazer and slacks, her hair pulled back, her expression somewhere between suspicious and murderous. She looked like she'd just returned from somewhere important and was very much not pleased to see him.

Dante's smile looked more like a grimace. More like someone had just told him his execution date.

Of course. Of course it's her.

"Well?" Giulia's eyes narrowed. "I asked you a question. What are you doing at my house?"

Her house. Her house.

Dante wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I'm just—"

"Did you follow me here?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous register. "After what I told you this morning, you thought it would be a good idea to stalk me to my family home?"

"No, that's not—"

"Are you here to blackmail me?" She stepped closer, her gaze like ice picks. "To threaten me? To demand money in exchange for your silence?"

"Giulia, listen—"

"Don't you dare use my name like we're familiar." She was right in front of him now, her finger jabbing into his chest. "I don't know what kind of delusional fantasy you've constructed, but if you think you can show up at my home and cause trouble, you're even stupider than you look."

"I'm not here to cause trouble—"

"Then leave. Now. Before I call security and have them remove you like the stray dog you are."

Dante opened his mouth. Closed it. What could he possibly say? Actually, I'm here because I'm your fiancé? She'd probably punch him. I came to ask for money? That made him sound like exactly the scumbag she thought he was.

He was saved from responding by the sharp creak of iron gates.

Both of them turned.

An elderly man with a magnificent mane of white hair stepped through, his posture straight despite his age, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a tailored suit that spoke of old wealth and older traditions.

"Giulia!" His voice was stern, disapproving. "What are you doing arguing with someone at our gates? Especially today, when we're expecting an important guest!" He looked up, ready to dismiss whoever had drawn his granddaughter's ire.

Then his eyes landed on Dante.

The old man's expression transformed—shock, then recognition, then something close to joy.

He bowed deeply at the waist.

"Young Master Moretti! Forgive me—I didn't realize you'd arrived already. Please, please come inside!"

Giulia's mouth fell open.

"Grandfather?" She stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" The old man—Giulia's grandfather, evidently—straightened and shot her a reproachful look. "This is our honored guest! Show some respect!"

"Honored guest?" Giulia looked between her grandfather and Dante, confusion and suspicion warring on her face. "This... this nobody is your honored guest?"

"Giulia!" Her grandfather's voice cracked like a whip. "Mind your tongue! This young man is—"

"He's a fraud!" She grabbed her grandfather's arm. "Grandfather, please, you don't understand. He's just a poor—"

"Enough!" The old man pulled his arm free, his expression thunderous. "I will not have you embarrassing this family with such rudeness. Go inside immediately and inform your parents that our future son-in-law has arrived. I'll be hosting him personally."

The world stopped.

Giulia's face went white, then red, then white again.

"Your... what?" Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

The old man blinked, then laughed—a warm, apologetic sound. "Ah, forgive me! I was so excited I forgot you two haven't been properly introduced yet."

He turned to Dante with a gracious smile. "Young Master Moretti, allow me to present my eldest granddaughter, Giulia Santoro. She's twenty-three, graduated summa cum laude from university, speaks four languages fluently, and manages several of our family's business ventures. A bit cold in temperament, I admit, but brilliant and capable beyond measure."

He pulled a stunned Giulia closer. "Giulia, this is Dante Moretti, the prized disciple of the legendary Master Armani. And, as arranged by our families, your fiancé."

Giulia stood frozen, her eyes locked on Dante.

"Here, here!" Her grandfather beamed, pulling out his phone. "Let's exchange contact information! You young people should get to know each other properly—"

"No."

The single word cut through the air like a knife.

The old man paused, confused. "Giulia?"

She hadn't moved. Hadn't blinked. But her eyes—her eyes were absolutely blazing with fury.

"I will never," she said, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage, "marry this man."

"Giulia, what are you—"

"Never." She turned to her grandfather, her expression colder than winter. "I don't care what arrangement was made. I don't care who his master is. I want nothing to do with him."

"But—"

"Nothing." She stepped back, putting distance between herself and Dante like he carried the plague. "I would rather die alone than marry him."

Her grandfather's face cycled through confusion, shock, and growing anger. "Giulia Santoro, this is not how you were raised! This engagement was agreed upon by Master Armani himself—"

"Then Master Armani made a mistake!" Her voice rose for the first time, her composure cracking. "This man is a liar, a fraud, and a—"

She cut herself off, her jaw clenching shut, her eyes darting to Dante with something that looked almost like panic beneath the fury.

She couldn't say it. Couldn't tell her grandfather what had happened between them without admitting she'd spent the night with a man before marriage.