Chapter 21: The Choice He Finally Made

Elena Vitiello POV

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The entire café seemed frozen in time.

Even the espresso machine had gone silent.

Sofia stared at Dante as if he had slapped her.

"What did you just say?"

Dante remained seated.

Calm.

Cold.

Unmoving.

"I said leave."

"You're joking."

"No."

"Dante."

"Sofia."

Her face flushed with anger.

"I've been calling you for weeks."

"I know."

"You blocked me."

"I know."

"Why?"

For a moment, nobody breathed.

Then Dante answered.

"Because every conversation with you costs me something."

The words landed heavily.

Sofia blinked.

Completely caught off guard.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

"I've known you for years."

"Yes."

"I've always been there."

"No."

The single word hit harder than shouting ever could.

"No, you haven't."

Sofia laughed nervously.

"What is this? Some kind of joke?"

"No."

"Then explain it to me."

Dante slowly stood.

Every eye in the café followed him.

"You want the truth?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

His voice remained calm.

Too calm.

"You only called when you needed something."

"That's not true."

"It is."

"Dante—"

"Every problem became my responsibility."

"Because you cared about me."

"No."

Sofia froze.

"I cared about winning."

The confession stunned even me.

"What?" Sofia whispered.

"You left me years ago."

"That was different."

"No."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly now."

The café remained silent.

Everyone listening.

Everyone watching.

"You left."

"Then whenever life became difficult, you came back."

"Because we're friends."

"No."

"Dante!"

"Friends don't disappear until they need something."

For the first time, Sofia didn't have an answer.

Because deep down...

She knew he was right.

"This is about her."

Her finger pointed directly at me.

"Isn't it?"

"Leave Elena out of this."

"You're choosing her!"

"Yes."

The word echoed through the room.

Simple.

Immediate.

Absolute.

Sofia looked genuinely shocked.

"What?"

"I'm choosing her."

"You've never chosen her before."

The statement struck like a bullet.

Because it was true.

Painfully true.

Dante's jaw tightened.

"I know."

"Then why now?"

For the first time, Dante looked toward me.

Not Sofia.

Not anyone else.

Me.

"Because she finally stopped choosing me."

Silence.

Complete silence.

The truth sat between us.

Raw.

Ugly.

Honest.

"That's pathetic," Sofia snapped.

"Maybe."

"You're throwing everything away because she ran off?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Because I finally realized who never left."

Something tightened painfully inside my chest.

Because part of me had waited years to hear those words.

And now that they were here...

They felt complicated.

Too late.

Necessary.

Heartbreaking.

All at once.

Sofia looked at me.

For the first time, not with dismissal.

Not with superiority.

But with understanding.

She finally saw it.

She finally understood what I had been to Dante.

And what she had cost him.

"Wow," she said quietly.

"What?" Dante asked.

"You really do love her."

The words hung in the air.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Not even Dante.

Because that question mattered.

More than any other.

Did he?

Finally?

Truly?

After all these years?

Dante looked at me.

His eyes never left mine.

"Yes."

The answer was immediate.

Certain.

Terrifying.

And for some reason...

It made my eyes burn.

Sofia laughed softly.

But there was no humor in it.

Only resignation.

"Then you're an idiot."

"I know."

"The biggest idiot I've ever met."

"Probably."

"And she should make you suffer."

"Definitely."

To my horror, I almost smiled.

Sofia shook her head.

"God, you're both ridiculous."

Then she looked at me.

"For what it's worth..."

She hesitated.

Like the words physically hurt.

"You deserved better."

I blinked.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

"Why?"

"Because I knew."

The confession shocked everyone.

"Knew what?" I asked.

"That he prioritized me."

"Sofia—"

"Shut up, Dante."

The café collectively held its breath.

"I knew exactly what was happening."

Her eyes met mine.

"And I let it happen."

For a moment, nobody spoke.

"Why?"

"Because it felt good."

The honesty was brutal.

"I liked knowing I'd always come first."

"Sofia."

"It's the truth."

She sighed heavily.

"I never wanted him."

Dante closed his eyes.

"I know."

"But I liked knowing I could have him."

That statement explained years of pain.

Years of confusion.

Years of competition I never could have won.

Because it had never been about love.

Only ego.

Mine.

Hers.

Dante's.

Everyone's.

Eventually Sofia stepped back.

Looking exhausted.

"Well."

"Well," Dante echoed.

"I'm leaving."

"Good."

"Still rude."

"Still honest."

For the first time ever, Sofia laughed genuinely.

"Good luck."

"With what?" Dante asked.

She looked directly at me.

"Her."

Then she walked away.

Out of the café.

Out of the story.

And for the first time in years...

There were only two people left sitting at the table.

Me.

And Dante.

No ghosts.

No interruptions.

No Sofia.

Just the truth.

Which somehow felt even more dangerous.