Chapter 7 - The Final Chess Move
An hour later, the estate was secure. The intruders—mercenaries hired by Victor Vance—were neutralized, and federal agents working under Dante’s private payroll were already scrubbing the scene.
I sat on the edge of the master bed while a private doctor redressed the stitches on my back, muttering curses about my reckless heroism. Dante stood by the window, staring out into the dark night, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
“Vance is done,” Dante said without turning around. “My federal contacts raided his Manhattan warehouses twenty minutes ago. By morning, his entire syndicate will be locked behind federal bars.”
“You used yourself as leverage to draw them out, didn't you?” I said, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “You knew they would strike once they realized I was here.”
Dante turned slowly, walking over to the bed. He knelt down so we were eye to eye.
“I didn't want them to come here, Elena,” he said, his voice raw, stripped of all its usual arrogance. “I wanted to keep you safe in a vault where the world couldn't touch you. But Victor is a coward who strikes at families.”
“I am not your family, Dante,” I whispered, though the words felt heavy and hollow on my tongue.
“Aren't you?” he asked softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my cheek, warm and calloused. “You saved my son. You took a bullet—or a chandelier—for my blood. And tonight, you fought off an armed mercenary to protect him. You are more a part of this world than you realize.”
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I looked into his dark eyes, seeing the lonely empire he had built, and the fierce, burning love he held for his son. The walls I had put up since waking in this room suddenly felt impossibly fragile.
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