The silence in the car was the kind that vibrated.
Not empty, but full—of questions, of guilt, of things neither of them could afford to say.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and gray as Dante drove, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely against the gearshift. His profile was all hard lines and shadows; unreadable, untouchable. Amara sat beside him, arms folded, heart racing.
Elias was alive.
That truth should have been a relief—but it only twisted tighter in her chest.
She turned her gaze toward the window. "How long have you known?"
Dante's jaw flexed, but he didn't look at her. "Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
He exhaled slowly, the sound closer to a growl. "Since the night your brother disappeared."
Her pulse jumped. "You found him?"
"I found where he'd been," Dante said. "And what he'd taken."
Amara's nails dug into her palms. "Then why hide it from me? You had no right—"
He cut her a sharp glance, voice low and dangerous. "No right? You think you'd still be breathing if I hadn't hidden you from that truth? Every time someone asks about Elias Blake, people die, Amara. That's the world you just walked into."
She met his glare without flinching. "I don't care if it's dangerous. He's my brother."
"And that's exactly why I care," Dante snapped. "Because your loyalty is going to get you killed."
The words cracked through the air. For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then, quietly, she said, "Maybe I'd rather die knowing the truth than live chained to your lies."
Something in his expression darkened. Not anger—pain. But it vanished as quickly as it came. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then tell me."
He didn't. He only accelerated, the engine's growl swallowing her demand.
They drove in silence again, the city thinning into open road, the sky bleeding into dusk.
Amara turned toward him, frustration simmering under her ribs. "Where are we going?"
"To somewhere safer."
"Does that place even exist for you?"
He almost smiled, a ghost of amusement tugging at his mouth. "Not really."
For a brief moment, the air softened. Then the world shattered.
A gunshot split the night.
The windshield exploded into a spiderweb of cracks.
"Down!" Dante barked, grabbing Amara and forcing her against the seat as he swerved the car off the main road. Tires screamed. Bullets chewed through the metal frame like angry hornets.
Amara's scream caught in her throat as the car fishtailed, skidding into a dirt path lined by trees. Dante's movements were quick, precise—he killed the headlights, slammed the brakes, and pulled her down again as another shot tore through the rear glass.
"Stay low," he ordered, voice a razor's edge.
"Who—who are they?" she gasped.
"The people your brother stole from," he said grimly, checking the gun at his side. "They finally found me."
"What do we do?"
His eyes met hers. Cold. Steady. "We fight."
He flung open the door before she could protest and vanished into the darkness.
Amara's heart hammered against her ribs. She ducked, trembling, every sound amplified—the click of a safety, the whisper of footsteps, the soft crunch of gravel.
Then came another burst of gunfire, sharp and chaotic.
"Dante!" she screamed.
No answer.
Her hand found the door handle, her pulse roaring in her ears. She couldn't just sit there. She threw the door open and stumbled out, the night air cutting cold against her skin.
The forest loomed around her, shadows shifting between flashes of light. Somewhere ahead, she heard movement—heavy, desperate.
"Dante?"
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Amara's muffled cry died in her throat. A figure loomed behind her, tall, masked, the scent of smoke and gunpowder thick around him.
She kicked back, twisting, but he was stronger—until a dark blur moved through the trees and slammed into her attacker.
Dante.
He hit the man hard, the sound of bone meeting bone splitting the air. The fight was quick, brutal—grunts, impact, a sharp crack. The man collapsed, and Dante stood over him, chest heaving, blood streaking his temple.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
Amara shook her head, still trembling.
"Then move," he said, grabbing her hand. "There'll be more."
They ran through the trees, the world a blur of shadows and shattered light. Adrenaline burned through her veins, fear morphing into something sharper—survival.
Branches whipped at her face, roots clawed at her shoes, but Dante didn't slow. He led her down a slope toward an abandoned farmhouse half-swallowed by darkness.
Once inside, he shoved a table against the door and pulled her into a corner. "Stay quiet."
Amara's breath came in quick bursts. "They found us so fast. How—"
"Claudia," he said flatly.
Her stomach dropped. "She set us up?"
"She always does."
A long silence followed. The sound of engines rumbled faintly in the distance, then faded.
"Will they come back?" she asked.
"Yes," Dante said. "But not tonight."
Amara sank onto the floor, shaking. "I could've died."
"You almost did."
She looked up at him, voice trembling. "You saved me."
He crouched in front of her, his expression unreadable. "Don't mistake that for mercy."
"Then what is it?"
Dante hesitated. For once, he looked human—haunted, torn. "It's regret," he said quietly. "For everything I couldn't save before."
Amara's chest ached. "Your family?"
His gaze flicked away. "People who trusted me. People I failed."
There was weight in his words—a confession wrapped in shadow.
Amara reached out, almost without thinking, and touched his hand. "You don't have to do this alone."
He looked at her, eyes dark as the night outside. "You shouldn't offer what you don't understand."
"Maybe," she said softly. "But I'm not running."
He drew in a slow breath, studying her. For a moment, the air between them felt charged again, not with fear but something far more dangerous.
Then, with a small shake of his head, Dante rose. "Get some rest. We move at first light."
She watched him pace to the window, scanning the darkness. The faint light caught the blood drying at his temple, the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion he tried to hide.
He was a man carved from contradictions—merciless yet protective, cold yet burning from the inside out.
Amara's mind refused to rest. Her brother was alive. Claudia was a snake. And Dante Moretti—the man she'd been taught to fear—had just risked his life for hers.
She shifted closer, voice barely a whisper. "You said Elias took something. What was it?"
Dante's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "Information. Files that could destroy more than one family name—including mine."
"Then he's in more danger than I thought."
He nodded. "And now you are too."
Amara swallowed. "So what's the plan?"
He turned toward her, his tone low, decisive. "We find your brother before they do. And when we do—" His gaze hardened. "We burn everything else to the ground."
Lightning flashed outside, a streak of white cutting across the windowpane.
For a moment, their eyes met in that brief light—two people bound by danger and secrets, trapped in a world neither asked for.
The storm broke, rain pounding the roof like gunfire. Dante didn't move. He stood by the window, watching, as if waiting for the night to bring another fight.
Amara wrapped her arms around herself, the chill sinking deep. Despite everything—her fear, her anger—there was something grounding in his presence. Terrifying, but grounding.
The world outside roared, wild and uncertain.
Inside, a fragile truce was born.
Dante turned his head slightly, his voice cutting through the sound of rain. "Get some sleep, Amara. Tomorrow, we start a war."