Chapter 5: Shadows of Blood
Evelyn's wrists ached from the guards' grip as they dragged her through the back corridors of the Obsidian Club. She didn't struggle. There was no point.
She had walked into the fire. Again.
A door opened. Velvet drapes. A long hallway that pulsed with the echo of heavy bass and darker intentions. Then silence, thick and suffocating.
They shoved her into a private lounge—black walls, glass decanters, low lighting. Opulence soaked in danger.
She was alone, for now.
Her coat slipped from her shoulders. Her hands trembled.
And all she could think about… was them.
Her boys.
---
Five hours earlier
A quiet kitchen. Faint light from the window. The soft clatter of cereal bowls and the off-key hum of a cartoon theme song.
Leo was already dressed, his shirt tucked perfectly into jeans, messy hair smoothed with precision. Always the serious one, the quiet protector.
Luca was the wild one—spoon in hand, milk dribbling down his chin, making sound effects with every bite. His laughter was sunshine.
They were five. But they looked older. Smarter. Stronger than she ever felt.
They had his eyes.
Black and bottomless.
Evelyn watched them from the doorway, coffee untouched in her hands. Her heart ached the way it always did when she looked at them too long. Like she was borrowing time she didn't deserve.
"Mommy," Leo said, straightening in his chair. "You're wearing the boots."
She blinked. "What?"
"You only wear the boots when you go somewhere important," he said seriously. "Are you going somewhere important?"
Her smile was tight. "Just a quick errand, baby."
Luca hopped down from his chair, arms already outstretched. "Can I come?"
"No, sweetheart."
"But—"
She bent and hugged him tightly, her voice close to breaking. "I'll be back before dinner."
Leo looked at her, solemn. "Promise?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded. "Promise."
---
Now
The lounge door creaked open.
Dante entered like a storm behind a locked door. Silent. Focused. Dangerous.
He didn't speak at first. Just looked at her. No emotion. No warmth. A statue made of rage and restraint.
Then he tossed the photo on the table between them.
"They have my eyes."
Evelyn's stomach twisted.
She didn't speak. Couldn't.
Dante leaned forward. "Are they mine?"
She looked away.
His voice dropped lower. "Evelyn."
"You don't get to demand anything from me," she said, voice shaking. "Not after what you did. Not after what you are."
He slammed a hand down on the table. The glass rattled.
"I asked you a question."
She stood. "And I don't owe you the answer."
But her body betrayed her. The tension in her spine. The pain behind her eyes. The quiet desperation.
He saw it.
And that was all the answer he needed.
"They're mine," he murmured.
Something cracked in his expression. Not softness. Not yet. But confusion. Grief. Fury.
And something else.
Fear.
Because in his world, children weren't just family.
They were targets.