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Morana indicated for him to go on when he paused.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“The second wing is the training center.”
Morana remembered what Amara had told her about the young boy secluded in the training area, kept away from everyone else. Bile rose in her throat just at the thought of the way he had been alienated and she pushed it down, gritting her teeth.
Dante’s somber voice broke through her thoughts. “You are never, under no circumstances, to enter that wing. Nobody who’s not a trainer or a trainee is allowed there. You never, ever go there. Not by mistake, not by accident. Is that clear?”
The severity in his voice was effective – it made a knot in her stomach, delivering exactly how serious this was. She nodded her understanding.
“Good,” he continued, satisfied. “The other two wings are much smaller in comparison and a little farther from the main house. The third one is mine.”
Morana raised her eyebrows. “Yours alone?”
A lopsided smile curled his mouth. “Being the oldest son has its perks.”
Morana shook her head. Men.
His face grew serious again. “I have my staff in that wing. My cousins visit sometimes, and you’d be more than welcome to stay there if you like. It has its own security detail as well.”
Morana nodded her thanks, touched by the genuine offer, soaking in all the information. “And the fourth wing?”
“Is Tristan’s.”
Of course, it was.
Dante went on, unperturbed. “His wing is the smallest, area wise. It’s a cottage, to be honest. It is also the farthest from the main house and the other wings, right by the lake. He lives there alone.”
Alone.
Like an outcast.
Morana felt her heart clench at the thought of this, at his reality, as the enormity of his life day after day dawned upon her. He’d lived on the compound but the periphery. He’d lived with people but as a pariah. They hadn’t accepted him and they hadn’t let him go.
Hands fisting on her thighs, Morana blew out a breath through clenched teeth at the fury she could feel invading her bones. Another monster rose inside her – a monster she was familiar with, a monster that had made her kill in cold blood to exact her revenge.
She wanted to destroy, to decimate.
The depth of her own emotions staggered her.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to get it under control.
“Go on,” she urged Dante, needing to know more.
Dante cracked his neck, stretching his legs, his gargantuan body seeming to take up the entire space. “The main house is where my father lives with his siblings and their spouses.”
Morana frowned. “And what about the other sentinels or whatever you guys call them?”
“They all have houses outside the compound but right near the edges. Why exactly do you think Tristan is considered such an anomaly?” Dante prodded her to think.
“Because he’s the only outsider in the Outfit to live with the high family,” Morana murmured, catching on quickly.
Dante nodded. “Exactly. It’s made him a target for many people on the outside looking in, men who’ve been in the business longer than he’s been born but never given the privilege of living with the family.”
Morana shook her head, confused. “But why does your father even keep him there? Why not let him live outside like the others?”
Dante chuckled darkly, the sound icy. “My father,” he sneered the word, leaving no doubt in her mind as to his own feelings for the man, “prizes one thing above all else - control. Control over his empire, control over his puppets, control over his family. And you know the one person he’s never been able to control?”
