The hot water felt like heaven, washing away the tension of the last twenty-four hours. For the first time all day, I could breathe. In this little glass box of steam and noise, I was alone. Safe.
That was my first mistake.
I thought I heard something over the spray of the shower. A heavy thump from downstairs.
I turned off the water. The sudden silence was a shock to my ears, broken only by the sound of dripping water and the frantic hammering of my own heart.
"Dante?" I called out, my voice sounding small and weak.
No answer.
A cold dread, sharp and familiar, slid down my spine. I grabbed the first towel I could find, wrapping it tightly around myself as I stepped out of the shower, the cold air hitting my wet skin like a slap.
I opened the bathroom door just a crack and peered out.
And my world ended.
He was there. In the middle of my room. Dante.
In one hand, he held Hector, my childhood bear.
In the other, he held a switchblade, its blade gleaming in the dim light from the hallway.
My mind didn't just race. It exploded.
He brought me here to kill me. The threat, the attack… it was all him. He was just waiting for the right moment. Alone. Isolated. The thoughts weren't words. They were screams inside my skull.
My mouth opened to scream for real, but before any sound could escape, he moved.
He crossed the room in a blur, faster than I thought possible. His large hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my breath. He spun me around, slamming my back against his chest. I was trapped, my towel the only thing between our bodies.
"Shhh," he hissed in my ear, his voice a low, urgent growl that vibrated through me. "We have company."
Before I could even process his words, my bedroom door slammed open.
Two men stormed in. They were dressed in black, their faces covered with ski masks, their hands holding guns with long, ugly silencers. They were not my father's men.
My body went rigid with pure terror.
Dante didn't hesitate.
He shoved me down, hard. I hit the floor, the air knocked out of my lungs. He fell on top of me, his body a solid, heavy shield over mine. The world became a whirlwind of chaos.
PFFT. PFFT.
The silenced gunshots were like monstrous coughs.
Wood splintered next to my head as a bullet hit the floorboard where I had just been standing. A lamp on the nightstand exploded. I squeezed my eyes shut, a scream trapped in my throat, muffled by the floor.
Dante moved off me. I heard a grunt, the sound of a struggle. I dared to open my eyes. He was a shadow of lethal motion, disarming one man with a brutal twist of his arm. The gun clattered to the floor. There was a sickening crack of bone. The man fell.
The second man raised his gun.
Dante was faster. He kicked the first man's fallen weapon, sending it sliding across the polished floor. He dove, scooped it up, and rolled behind the bed.
PFFT. PFFT. PFFT.
The mattress above me ripped apart as bullets tore through it.
Then, a different sound. Louder. Sharper.
BANG. BANG.
Dante was shooting back. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, the smell of gunpowder instantly filling the air.
I scrambled backward, crab-walking away from the fight until my back hit the wall. I was trapped in a war zone. This was real. This wasn't a threat in an envelope. This was death, loud and violent and only inches away.
He was protecting me. He was fighting for me.
"The closet! Go!" Dante roared from behind the bed.
I didn't think. I just obeyed. I scrambled on my hands and knees, my towel barely clinging to me, and threw myself into the dark walk-in closet, pulling the door shut just as another gunshot echoed through the room.
I huddled in the darkness, shaking, my whole body trembling. I heard more shots, a heavy thud, and then…
Silence.
A terrifying, absolute silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity.
Was he dead? Were they coming for me next?
My breath hitched in my throat.
I waited.
Then, his voice came from the other side of the door. It was rough. Strained.
"It's safe."
My hand was shaking so badly I could barely turn the knob. I pushed the door open and stepped out.
The room was destroyed. The bed was shredded. A lamp was shattered. But it was empty. The men were gone. I heard the sound of an engine roaring to life outside, then tires squealing on the gravel as a car sped away into the night.
Dante was standing in the middle of it all, his gun held low. He was breathing heavily.
My eyes traveled up his body, searching for injury, for anything. And then I saw it.
A dark, wet stain was spreading across the sleeve of his left arm. A deep, ugly red.
Blood.
His blood.
He had taken a bullet for me. The thought hit me with the force of a physical blow.
My eyes were locked on the blood. The undeniable proof.
He had risked his life to save mine.