"She thought she'd escaped one devil.
She didn't expect to collide with the cousin—
the one everyone fears more.
Dante didn't just save her.
He claimed her.
And the island woke up to war."
I kept running across sand and dirt and old fallen palm leaves until I saw something ahead. A shape. Tall. Broad. Someone walking toward the sound of gunfire like it was nothing.
He wasn't rushed. He wasn't scared.
He was… enjoying it.
I collided with him.
A wall of muscle, warm skin, and the scent of expensive cologne and danger. His hands caught my waist instantly, steadying me like he'd been waiting to do it.
"Are you lost, baby girl?" he murmured, voice low, dark, ridiculously calm — like a predator that just spotted something pretty.
Moonlight hit his face.
For a moment—| forgot Jason existed. I forgot the pain in my leg. I forgot the island, the ropes, everything.
He had two different colored eyes — one dark blue, one hazel — with a thin scar across the hazel side. One of those scars that should've ruined a face, but somehow made it hotter.
The prettiest, most dangerous eyes I'd ever seen.
Mischief and insanity twisted together.
He looked unreal — breathtaking in a way that punched air out of my lungs.
Not like Jason.
Not like anyone.
Maybe the same level of beauty my husband had… just twisted and reckless.
Another gunshot shattered the moment.
I gasped and immediately hid behind him, instinct taking over. His body tensed... then relaxed, like he liked that I did that.
He actually smiled.
A slow, twisted, entertained smile.
Jason.
And that smile—
God.
It was pure sadism.
Pure hunger.
Pure excitement.
The kind of smile men wore right before committing a crime they'd been craving for years.
Jason was there, shaking hands, gun pointed at us.
The skinny blonde idiot had no idea what kind of hell he just walked into.
No clue.
Not even a tiny understanding of whose island he'd trespassed on… or whose woman he'd accidentally placed in danger.
"Wh-who the hell are you?!"
The man tilted his head.
"Me?"
A slow grin spread across his lips.
"I'm the monster you wish you'd never met."
Dante.
Kieran's ruthless, feared, unpredictable cousin.
Dante moved closer. Jason's hands shook, still holding the gun, his knuckles white. But Dante didn't flinch. Not an inch. That calm, terrifying composure made Jason freeze. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Jason began to step back.
Fear crawled over him, a sensation he had never truly known before—never felt with anyone except Kieran, though he had never met Kieran in person. He had only felt the aura. But this… this was something else. Dark. Powerful. Pure evil.
Before Jason could think—before his mind even registered what was happening—Dante was on him. In one fluid motion, the gun was ripped from Jason's hand.
The world seemed to slow as Dante's fist connected with Jason's face. The impact sent him crashing to the ground, dazed, helpless.
He tried to fight back, to gather strength—but there was none to be found. Dante was trained, deadly, ruthless. A man born into one of the strongest mafia family, honed to perfection. And more than that… he was a psychopath. Jason had no chance. None.
I stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, my hand pressed against my mouth, eyes wide and panicked. My heart was hammering in my chest. I wanted to run. I wanted to return to Kieran, to my child, to safety.
But I couldn't move. I could only watch as Dante dismantled Jason with terrifying precision.
Part of me wanted to scream, "Stop! That's enough!" I had known Jason… at least in some twisted way, he had been my friend. Seeing him hit the ground, dazed and helpless, made my stomach twist.
Part of me hated myself for feeling sorry for him. He had done terrible things—but still… still, I didn't want to watch him suffer like this.
Then—another gunshot.
This time, it wasn't Dante. It wasn't Jason.
It was me.
Pain exploded in my shoulder before I even had a chance to react. I stumbled, falling backward, my head striking a jagged stone with a sickening crack. Blood trickled down my face, stinging my eyes.
Dante's entire body tensed, muscles coiling as he felt the warm spray hit his skin. Rage and fear twisted in his chest. He turned toward me—but before he could reach me, I collapsed fully, unconscious, blood pooling around me.
The shooter tried again, raising the gun toward Dante—but the magazine was empty. "Shit!" the man spat, panic overtaking his control, and he fled into the shadows.
Dante didn't chase him—not yet. My life came first.
He pivoted, returning to Jason long enough to land one final, devastating punch that would keep him out for a while. Jason groaned, face bloody, incapacitated.
Then Dante's focus snapped back to me. I wasn't just someone he'd found by chance—I was the treasure he had been hunting for three years. Three years of searching, of obsession. And here I was, broken and bleeding in his arms.
He lifted me carefully, cradling me against his chest. "Aurele," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. "Stay with me. Wake up. Wake up, little bird… stay with me."
My eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. Blood dripped over his hands, my weight pressing against him, and a surge of protective fury ignited in his chest.
He ran, fast and ruthless, through the sand and palm fronds, every step taking us closer to the beach house. Every second mattered.
Dante didn't care about Jason, didn't care about the fleeing shooter. I was his focus—his obsession, his responsibility, his treasure. And he would not let me die here, not on his island, not in his world.