Elena's POV
The words still echoed between them, Then we fight.
Rain fell in sheets, turning the ground to mud, washing blood and ash into the swollen river. The roar of the current drowned out everything but the pounding of her own heart.
Dante moved first. Calm. Calculated. A shadow among the trees.
He raised his weapon and fired once. One of the flashlights across the river dropped. Another beam swung wildly and then vanished.
"Move!" he shouted.
Elena grabbed Mateo's hand and ran half-blind through the rain. The riverbank was slick, the mud sucking at her boots. The current raged a few feet below, black and furious under the storm.
"Where?" she cried.
"Across!" Dante's voice cut through the chaos. "There's a service bridge upstream. Go!"
She didn't hesitate. The crack of gunfire chased them as they ran. She could hear Mateo's ragged breathing, her own pulse thundering in her ears.
A bullet struck the ground beside her splattering mud across her legs. She gasped but kept moving.
Behind her Dante returned fire again and again, controlled, efficient, relentless.
When she reached the narrow bridge she turned back. Dante was still there moving backward through the trees, keeping the attackers pinned.
"Dante!" she shouted.
"Go!" he yelled but then flinched, his hand going to his side.
Elena froze. "You're hit!"
"Keep moving!"
But she didn't. Instinct took over. She ran back toward him, ignoring his command, ignoring everything but the sight of him stumbling, one hand slick with blood.
He looked up, eyes blazing. "Elena don't…."
She fired the pistol he'd given her, the sound deafening. One of the men behind him dropped.
Dante's jaw tightened, anger, disbelief, maybe something else. "You shouldn't have done that."
She stepped closer, voice trembling but firm. "You said we fight. That's what I'm doing."
For a moment, even through the storm he smiled, small and pained. "Remind me never to underestimate you again."
He swayed slightly, his breath shallow. "We need to move."
Together they crossed the bridge. The planks groaned under their weight, slick with rain. The river surged below, dark and merciless.
When they reached the other side Dante pressed his back against a boulder gritting his teeth.
"Let me see" Elena said.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing."
She knelt beside him ignoring the rain soaking her clothes. His shirt was torn, the fabric dark with blood. The wound was high on his side, not fatal but deep.
"Hold still" she whispered.
He didn't argue this time.
Her hands shook as she pressed her scarf against the wound trying to slow the bleeding. He hissed in pain but didn't pull away.
"You shouldn't be doing this" he muttered.
"Then stop getting shot."
That earned the faintest laugh from him, a short, strained sound that ended in a groan.
"I mean it" she said quietly. "You can't protect everyone Dante. Not like this."
He looked at her, really looked. "I have to."
"Why?"
His gaze flicked to Mateo then back to her. "Because I couldn't before."
Elena frowned. "Before?"
He didn't answer. His expression shuttered again, walls going back up.
"Later" he said.
She wanted to push, to demand the truth but the look in his eyes stopped her. Whatever ghosts haunted him they weren't just about tonight.
The sound of engines roared again in the distance, closer this time.
"Move" Dante said forcing himself to his feet. "They'll sweep this side next."
Elena helped him up keeping a steady hand at his back. "Where?"
"There's an old boathouse half a mile downriver. We can hole up there until sunrise."
The rain never let up. By the time they reached it dawn was only a pale smudge on the horizon.
The boathouse was small and half collapsed, the smell of wet wood thick in the air. Dante cleared the corner then gestured for them to enter.
Elena laid Mateo on a dry patch of floor. He was exhausted, asleep almost before she'd even unzipped his jacket.
When she turned Dante was leaning against the wall, pale and breathing heavily.
She crossed the room and knelt beside him. "You're getting worse."
He tried to wave her off but she caught his hand, the one slick with blood. "Stop pretending you're invincible."
His eyes met hers, tired but still fierce. "It's not pretending. It's survival."
She held his gaze. "You don't have to do it alone anymore."
Something in him seemed to falter at that, a subtle shift like a crack in armour.
He didn't speak for a long moment. Then quietly "You shouldn't care about me."
Elena almost laughed, but it came out as a whisper. "It's a little late for that."
Outside thunder rumbled again, low and distant. The rain softened, falling in a steady rhythm on the roof.
Dante leaned his head back against the wall closing his eyes. His breathing slowed but it wasn't steady.
She checked the makeshift bandage again, the bleeding had stopped but he was fading fast.
"Stay awake" she said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He opened his eyes and in the half-light she saw something raw there, fear maybe, or regret.
"Elena…" he began, voice rough.
But before he could finish his hand slipped from hers, his body going limp.
"Dante!"
She shook him gently, panic clawing at her throat. No response.
Mateo stirred in his sleep but didn't wake.
Elena's hands trembled as she reached for the envelope, the one he'd given her by the river. It was still in her pocket, damp but intact.
She hesitated. He'd told her not to open it yet. But what if it held something she needed, a clue, a name, anything that could save him?
Her thumb brushed the torn edge.
The corner peeled back just enough to reveal a single photograph.
It was old, weathered, the colors faded.
A man stood in the center, younger but unmistakably Dante. His arm was around a woman. And in her arms…
Elena's breath caught.
A baby.
The woman's face was partially turned away but something about her, the hair, the profile, sent a chill through her.
She looked down at the photo again, at Dante's expression, softer, unguarded.
And then she saw the date scrawled on the back in a familiar handwriting.
August 12 — Bellagio Heights.
Her stomach turned. That was the same day her ex had disappeared.
The same week everything had started.
She looked at Dante's unconscious form, her mind spinning.
What did you do Dante?
The rain fell harder again, the wind rising.
She folded the photo back into the envelope, her hands shaking and pressed her back against the cold wall staring out into the storm.
For the first time she wasn't sure if Dante Moretti had saved her life… or rewritten it entirely.