Elena's POV
The city never truly slept, even in the dead of night it pulsed faintly with the hum of distant engines and flickering streetlights but out here, an hour beyond Bellagio Heights the world felt different. Quieter. Too quiet.
The safehouse wasn't what she expected. It wasn't luxurious or sprawling like Dante's estate. It was a modest two story home tucked behind a row of cypress trees, the kind of place no one would look at twice. The kind of place where people disappeared, not lived.
Dante hadn't said much on the drive. He'd been pale, his injured shoulder bandaged beneath his coat, his jaw locked in that familiar unreadable line.
Now as he stood in the doorway scanning the dark road before closing it behind them Elena realised how deeply the betrayal had cut him. Not just the wound in his shoulder but the one that had split through the only thing a man like Dante relied on, control.
"Sit" he said quietly. "You need rest."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
She looked down at her hands. He was right.
"I just…" She swallowed. "I can't believe Marco…."
He cut her off gently. "People do strange things when they're afraid."
"And Lucia?" she asked. "You trust her?"
His eyes flicked toward her. "Not anymore."
The words sent a chill down her spine.
He moved to the window adjusting the blinds until only a sliver of light broke through. He seemed to do it by instinct, every movement efficient, calculated, the ritual of a man who could never fully relax.
Elena watched him in silence for a moment. Even wounded he radiated a kind of quiet authority that made the room feel smaller. And yet under it all there was something else, exhaustion maybe. Or loneliness.
"Mateo's asleep" she said softly. "He didn't even wake up when we arrived."
"That's good" Dante said.
"You should rest too."
He gave a faint humorless laugh. "Rest isn't something I get to do."
"Because you don't trust anyone?"
He turned, his gaze sharp but not angry. "Because I can't afford to."
The silence that followed was heavy but not hostile. It was the kind of silence that filled the spaces between two people who had run out of ways to pretend they weren't connected.
Finally she crossed the room and sat across from him. The old armchair creaked under her weight. "You keep saying you can't afford to trust anyone but you trusted me enough to bring me here."
"That's not trust," he said. "That's necessity."
She tilted her head slightly. "Is that what you tell yourself?"
His eyes flickered, just for a moment and she saw it. The truth he wouldn't say out loud.
He leaned back resting his injured arm carefully against the chair. "You shouldn't read too much into what I do Elena."
"I can't help it" she admitted. "You make it hard not to."
Something changed in his expression, a small almost imperceptible softening.
"You should get some sleep" he said after a moment, his voice lower now. "There's a spare room upstairs."
"And you?"
"I'll stay down here."
"Because you don't sleep" she said quietly.
"Because someone has to keep watch."
She hesitated, studying him. His face looked different in the lamplight, the hard edges softened, the shadows deeper. There were faint lines near his eyes, the kind that only appeared when someone had seen too much and survived it anyway.
"You don't have to protect me all thetime" she said.
He looked at her, really looked and something inside her chest ached. "Yes," he said finally. "I do."
Dante's POV
The sound of rain returned before dawn. It pattered softly against the roof, rhythmic and steady, the kind of sound that should have been peaceful.
He sat in the armchair awake as always, the ache in his shoulder dull but constant.
He'd thought about everything Marco had said. Vincenzo's brother. The deal. The betrayal. It all fit too neatly. He'd seen enough betrayals to recognize when one was still in motion.
And then there was Elena.
She shouldn't be here. Every instinct told him that but every time he tried to imagine sending her away, something in him rebelled.
He'd spent his life building walls, not just around his operation but around himself. It had always worked. Until her.
The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. He turned toward the stairs.
Elena stood there, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts. The fabric hung loose, the sleeves rolled above her wrists.
"I couldn't sleep" she said quietly.
He exhaled slowly, looking away. "You shouldn't be up."
"Neither should you."
She crossed the room and sat beside him, folding her legs beneath her. "Your shoulder" she said. "Let me see it."
"It's fine."
"You said that last night, and you bled through the bandage."
Her tone left no room for argument. He gave in with a reluctant sigh and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, enough for her to peel back the dressing.
The wound was angry looking but clean. Her fingers brushed his skin as she replaced the gauze. He felt the warmth of her hand, steady, careful and for the first time in a long time he didn't want to pull away.
"You should've gone to a hospital" she murmured.
"Can't risk it."
"Because of whoever's still after you?"
"Because hospitals keep records."
She looked up meeting his gaze. "You live like this all the time?"
"Yes."
"That's not living."
He gave a faint, tired smile. "It's surviving. It's what I'm good at."
Her expression softened. "You're good at more than that."
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught. She was too close, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. The storm outside cracked softly, lightning flashing across the window.
"Elena" he said quietly.
She didn't move away. "What?"
He swallowed hard. "You don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing" she whispered.
For a heartbeat he let himself believe her, let the space between them shrink until he could smell the faint trace of her shampoo, feel the tension humming in the air.
Then he stood abruptly, breaking the spell. "I can't."
Her voice trembled. "Because of who you are?"
"Because of what I'd make you."
Silence stretched again. She looked down, blinking away the hurt. "Maybe I get to decide that."
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Before either could speak again a faint sound interrupted them, the chirp of a motion sensor.
Dante froze. The perimeter alarm.
He moved instantly, his gun already drawn. "Stay here" he said, voice low but firm.
Elena stood too. "Dante…."
"Now."
He slipped toward the window scanning the shadows outside. Nothing moved. Then another beep, closer this time, from the back entrance.
He keyed into his comms. "Unit Three report."
Static.
"Unit Three respond."
Nothing.
He turned back toward Elena. "Take Mateo. Upstairs. Don't argue."
Her face went pale. "What's happening?"
He looked out the window one last time. The rain was heavier now, the wind louder. And just beyond the trees a flicker of headlights.
"They found us" he said.