The echo of the slammed door lingered long after Dante had gone. My pulse still thudded unevenly, the ghost of his touch seared into my skin. I hated myself for feeling it, hated him for leaving me with that chaos swirling inside, but I didn’t have time to dwell.
Because something in the man’s voice — the one who had interrupted us — carried more weight than casual business. A problem, he had said. And Dante hadn’t even asked for details before striding out.
Whatever it was, it mattered.
The silence pressed heavy again, broken only by my own shallow breaths. My mind spun. Was this my chance? If there was trouble outside, maybe it would pull Dante’s attention away from me long enough for me to—what? Slip the bonds with sheer willpower? Bargain with one of his men?
I tested the leather again, tugging until pain flared. Nothing. Whoever tied me had done it before.
Minutes passed, then an hour maybe — time twisted when there were no windows, no clocks, only the steady ache of waiting. My thoughts darkened, circling the revelation that my father had abandoned me. That Dante wasn’t lying.
Footsteps finally returned. Not his. Another guard, leaner than the others, sharp-eyed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He carried no food, no water, just his gun slung low at his hip. He didn’t bother to speak, just checked the straps and left.
The tension in the air wasn’t only mine. Something had shifted outside these walls.
It wasn’t until the second man returned — the one who had interrupted earlier — that I got my first confirmation. He stalked into the room, face like granite, shoulders squared with the kind of urgency that didn’t care about appearances.
“Boss will see you,” he said gruffly.
For a second, I thought I’d misheard. “See me? Now?”
His stare was flat. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The straps came loose under his quick hands, and blood rushed back into my wrists with sharp, needling pain. I cradled them against my chest, fighting the urge to strike him with the chair itself. No point. His gun was close, his reflexes closer.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me upright. My legs trembled from disuse, but pride kept me moving as he shoved me toward the hall.
The compound was alive in a way I hadn’t seen before. Men darted in and out of rooms, radios crackling, weapons gleaming under harsh lights. The air smelled of smoke, metal, and sweat — the scent of war brewing.
They pushed me into a wide room I hadn’t seen yet, some kind of control center. A long table dominated the space, maps and blueprints spread across it, red marks scrawled in angry strokes. Dante stood at the head, his posture like a drawn bowstring, all coiled power and lethal precision.
He didn’t look at me first. His gaze remained on the map, on the men crowded around him. “They hit the south docks again?”
“Yes, boss,” one answered. “Second time this week. They knew the shipment schedule, down to the hour.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “Inside leak.”
The room fell silent at those words. My stomach flipped. Whoever had betrayed them, it was serious enough to put every man here on edge.
Finally, his eyes cut to me.
The full weight of them landed like a physical force. Not lust, not curiosity this time — calculation.
“Leave us,” Dante said to his men.
They hesitated, glancing at each other, but obeyed. The door shut, sealing me inside with him again.
I crossed my arms, though it did nothing to shield me from his intensity. “What do you want from me now? I told you, I don’t know anything about your shipments.”
He stepped closer, each stride deliberate. “You don’t. But your father does.”
Anger surged hot and bitter. “My father doesn’t even care that I’m gone. You said it yourself. Why would he lift a finger to save your crates of—whatever it is you’re moving?”
“Because,” Dante said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, “the men who hit me at the docks weren’t police. They weren’t mercenaries. They were Russians. And your father has been sniffing around them for months.”
The word landed like a blow. Russians. Everyone knew what that meant. Brutal. Unforgiving. A rival syndicate with a taste for blood.
“You think he—” I stopped, horror dawning. “You think my father is working with them?”
“I don’t think,” Dante snapped. His hand slammed down on the table, rattling glasses, maps trembling under the force. His gray eyes blazed. “I know. And if he’s feeding them my routes, my schedules, my weaknesses…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
The realization carved ice into my veins. My father hadn’t just abandoned me. He’d traded me. Bargained with my life the way he always had with money and power.
My knees wobbled, and I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. “So I’m what? Collateral damage?”
Dante’s gaze flicked to me again, softer this time but no less intense. “You’re leverage. To him. To them. To me.”
Something inside me snapped. “I’m a human being, not a damn poker chip!”
For once, he didn’t counter with smooth words or cruel reminders. He just stared, jaw set, chest rising and falling like a man trying to leash something wild inside him.
The door burst open again before either of us could speak. One of his men rushed in, breathless.
“They’re moving, boss. We intercepted chatter. Russians are planning to hit the east warehouse tonight.”
Dante straightened, steel sliding back into his spine. “Double the guard. I’ll be there myself.”
The man hesitated. “And the girl?”
I stiffened. Every eye turned to me.
Dante’s jaw worked, then he said flatly, “She comes with me.”
The blood drained from my face. “What?”
He turned to me fully now, closing the distance in three strides. His hand gripped my arm, not cruelly, but firmly enough to remind me who held the power. “You wanted to see what your father’s betrayal looks like? Fine. You’ll see it up close.”
“No—” I started, panic flaring.
“Yes.” His voice brooked no argument. “You’re safer at my side than in a locked room. If they hit us, they’ll take you first. And I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”
Safer. The word rang hollow, but something in his eyes said he meant it. Not because he valued my life, but because he refused to let anyone else play with his piece on the board.
His grip tightened. “Stay close to me, Isabella. Or the Russians won’t be the only thing you need to fear.”
And for the first time since I’d been dragged into his world, I realized I was no longer just a prisoner. I was bait in a war I barely understood.