"If you don't agree, then leave!" he said. But of course, Isadora couldn't leave. If she did, it would be like willingly surrendering herself into the hands of Tiberio, the old perverted man who wanted her.
Still, Dante's terms were too much to handle, even as she found herself opening her mouth to speak. "One child?" she asked, fully aware that she was making a mistake even as the words slipped out, but unable to think of anything else to stop herself.
"One child. The gender doesn't matter," he told her firmly.
"I agree," she whispered. The words were soft, barely audible, but the weight they carried felt like she had just sealed her fate in stone.
Dante instantly rose from the table he had been leaning on and walked back to his seat behind it. He sat down, picked up a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write slowly, carefully, each stroke deliberate. For a while he continued, then he stopped and passed the paper over to her.
