Dante's POV
The safe house was forty minutes outside the city, hidden at the end of a dirt road that didn't appear on any map.
I'd bought it five years ago under a fake name, paid cash, never told anyone except Marco about it. When you lived the life I lived, you needed places to disappear. Places even your enemies couldn't find.
Now I was bringing a fourteen-year-old girl and her mother there. At three in the morning. Because a spoiled rich kid had declared war on my operation.
My life had gotten weird.
I drove in silence, checking my mirrors every thirty seconds. Marco followed in a second car with two more of my guys. The Santos women were in the back seat—Mira pressed against the window, her mother's arm around her shoulders.
Every few minutes, I glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Mira kept touching her throat, wincing. The bruises were getting darker, uglier. In the morning light, they'd look even worse.
Something twisted in my chest when I looked at those bruises. Something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.
I should have protected her better. Should have seen this coming. Should have known Victoria Sterling wouldn't give up just because I'd scared her away once.
"You didn't cause this," Mrs. Santos said quietly, like she could read my thoughts. "This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it?" I turned onto the dirt road. "I let those kids get close enough to hurt your daughter. In my territory. Under my watch."
"You also saved her. If your men hadn't been patrolling..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. We both knew what would have happened if Mira had been alone with those four much longer.
The safe house appeared through the trees—a small cabin, nothing fancy, but solid. Solar panels on the roof. Generator in the shed. Enough supplies to last a month if necessary.
I parked and killed the engine. Marco pulled up behind me.
"Wait here," I told the Santos women. "Let me check inside first."
I pulled my gun and approached the cabin carefully. Even though I was the only one who knew about this place, paranoia kept you alive in my business. I cleared every room, checked every window, looked for any sign someone had been here.
Everything was exactly as I'd left it.
"Clear," I called out.
Marco helped Mrs. Santos out of the car while I went back for Mira. She was staring at the cabin with wide eyes.
"It's not much," I said. "But it's safe. Nobody knows about this place except the people here right now."
"It's perfect," she whispered. Her voice was still rough from being choked.
Something about that voice—damaged but determined—made that uncomfortable feeling in my chest twist tighter.
I led them inside. The cabin had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a bathroom with a generator-powered hot water heater. Basic furniture. No decorations. A place to hide, not to live.
"There's food in the pantry," I said. "Canned goods mostly, but enough to last. Water's from a well—it's clean. The generator runs the essentials, but try to conserve power. And these—" I pulled out two phones from my jacket "—are burners. Untraceable. My number's programmed in. You need anything, you call. Don't use your personal phones for anything except emergencies."
Mrs. Santos took the phones with shaking hands. "How long do we have to stay here?"
"Until Monday morning. Then Mira goes back to school like we planned." I looked at the girl. "Unless you've changed your mind."
Mira's jaw set stubbornly. "I haven't."
"Even after tonight? After what Marcus did?"
Especially after tonight." Her eyes blazed with something I recognized. Rage. The kind that burned cold and patient. "He proved I was right. Victoria and her friends are monsters. And monsters need to be stopped."
Mrs. Santos made a small sound of distress. "Mira, please. We can still run. We can—"
"No, Mom." Mira turned to face her. "We can't. Don't you see? If we run now, after everything that's happened, we're telling Victoria she wins. She can do whatever she wants to whoever she wants and face zero consequences. And next month or next year, she'll do it to someone else. Someone who might not survive."
"But what if you don't survive?"
The question hung in the air.
Mira didn't have an answer for that. None of us did.
"She'll survive," I said finally. "I'll make sure of it."
"You can't promise that," Mrs. Santos said bitterly. "You couldn't stop her from getting hurt tonight."
"You're right. I couldn't. But I can promise this—if Victoria Sterling or any of her friends lay one finger on your daughter after tonight, I will destroy them. Completely. Permanently. In ways that terrify you to think about."
Mrs. Santos looked at me for a long moment. "You're a criminal."
"Yes."
"You hurt people for a living."
"Yes."
"You probably kill people too."
I didn't confirm or deny that. Some things were better left unsaid.
"So why," she continued, "why would a man like you care about helping my daughter?"
It was a fair question. One I'd been asking myself since I first saw Mira in that parking lot earlier tonight.
I could tell her the truth—that Victoria's father was a business rival, that this was strategic, that helping them was really just hurting the Sterlings. That would be smart. Professional. What a good mob boss would say.
But when I opened my mouth, different words came out.
"I had a sister," I said quietly. "Isabella. She was thirteen when she died. Suicide."
The room went very quiet.
"She was being bullied at school. Every day for two years. Kids who thought it was funny to torture the weird girl who liked to read. Teachers who looked the other way because the bullies' parents donated money." My hands clenched into fists. "She told us. She begged for help. My parents called the school, talked to teachers, tried everything. Nothing changed. The bullies got meaner. And one day, Isabella decided she couldn't take it anymore."
Mira made a small sound. When I looked at her, tears were streaming down her face.
"I was nineteen," I continued. "Already working for the family business. Already learning how to hurt people, how to make problems disappear. But I couldn't save my own sister. Couldn't protect her from kids who should have been harmless."
"Dante," Marco said quietly. A warning. I was sharing too much, showing too much weakness.
But I kept going anyway.
"After Isabella died, I hunted down every kid who'd hurt her. Every single one. I didn't kill them—I wanted to, but I didn't. Instead, I destroyed them in other ways. Ruined their futures. Made sure they never forgot what they'd done." I looked directly at Mira. "You remind me of her. Same age. Same fear in your eyes. Same refusal to just give up and disappear. And I'll be damned if I let another kid get destroyed by bullies while I have the power to stop it."
The cabin was silent except for the hum of the generator.
Finally, Mrs. Santos spoke. "I'm sorry about your sister."
"Me too." I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with how much I'd revealed. "Anyway. That's why I care. That's why I'm going to make sure Victoria Sterling faces consequences for once in her privileged life."
"Thank you," Mira whispered.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Boss," Marco said from the doorway. "I've got two guys setting up a perimeter. Nobody's getting within half a mile of this place without us knowing."
"Good." I turned back to the Santos women. "Get some rest. Real rest. You're safe here."
As I headed for the door, Mira's voice stopped me.
"Dante?"
I turned.
"Your sister... do you think she'd be proud? Of what you're doing now?"
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. Would Isabella be proud that her brother became a criminal? That I hurt people and broke laws and lived in a world of violence?
Or would she be proud that I was using that power to protect someone who needed it?
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I hope so."
Outside, Marco was waiting by the cars.
"That was a lot of personal information, Boss," he said carefully. "You sure it was smart to tell them about Isabella?"
"Probably not. But they deserved to know why I'm risking my operation for them."
"Are you?" Marco raised an eyebrow. "Risking the operation? Or is this still just about hurting the Sterlings?"
"Can't it be both?"
"With you? No. You don't do things halfway." He leaned against the car. "So which is it? Business or personal?"
I thought about that question as I looked back at the cabin. Through the window, I could see Mrs. Santos helping Mira wash her face, being gentle around the bruises.
The smart answer was business. Keep it professional. Don't get emotionally involved.
But I was already involved. Had been since I saw those marks on Mira's throat.
"Personal," I admitted. "This one's personal."
Marco nodded slowly. "Then we better make sure the girl survives Monday. Because if she doesn't..."
"She will." I got in the car. "Call Anthony. Tell him I want Victoria Sterling's entire life under a microscope. Every friend, every transaction, every secret. I want to know what she had for breakfast three years ago. If we're going to war with the Sterling family, I want ammunition."
"Already on it, Boss."
We drove back toward the city in silence. The sun was starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. In a few hours, people would be waking up for a normal Sunday. Families would have breakfast. Kids would play outside. Regular, boring, safe lives.
Meanwhile, I was planning how to destroy a sixteen-year-old girl's reputation so completely she'd never hurt anyone again.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered it. "Moretti."
"Mr. Moretti." The voice was male, older, confident. "I believe you have something that belongs to my daughter."
Richard Sterling. Victoria's father.
"If you're talking about the four teenagers I caught assaulting a girl in my territory," I said calmly, "they're not your property. They're witnesses to multiple crimes."
"Crimes my lawyer assures me will be very difficult to prove. Especially since all four children have now recanted their statements."
My blood went cold. "What?"
"You didn't really think they'd testify against Victoria, did you? My daughter is very persuasive. And very forgiving. By Monday morning, everyone will remember that this was all a misunderstanding. A prank gone wrong. Nothing more."
"They gave video testimony—"
"Which they recorded under duress. Your men had guns, Mr. Moretti. That makes any statement inadmissible in court." Sterling's voice was smooth, practiced. "I'm calling as a courtesy. To tell you that if you continue pursuing this vendetta against my family, I will make your life very uncomfortable. I have friends in law enforcement. Friends in city government. Friends who would be very interested to know about your various business operations."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise. Leave my daughter alone. Let this situation resolve itself naturally. And we can all go back to our normal lives."
"Your daughter tried to kill someone."
"My daughter is a sixteen-year-old girl who made some poor choices. But she's learned her lesson. This matter is closed."
The line went dead.
I sat there, phone in hand, rage building in my chest like a pressure cooker about to explode.
"Boss?" Marco asked carefully. "What happened?"
"The witnesses recanted. All of them. Sterling got to them somehow." I punched the dashboard, leaving a dent. "We have nothing. No testimony. No evidence that will hold up in court."
"What about the video you took? The confessions?"
"Sterling says they were coerced. Under duress. Won't be admissible." I ran my hands through my hair. "He's right. I had guns on those kids. Any lawyer would get that thrown out in five minutes."
"So what do we do?"
I thought about Mira, sleeping in that safe house, believing that justice was coming. Believing that for once, the bad guys would face consequences.
I thought about Isabella, who'd believed the same thing. Who'd trusted that adults would protect her. Who'd been wrong.
"We adapt," I said. "If we can't use witness testimony, we use something else."
"Like what?"
"Like Victoria herself." I pulled out my phone and made a call. "Tony? It's Dante. I need the smallest, highest-quality hidden cameras you've got. The kind that can stream video to a secure server in real-time... Because I'm about to catch a predator... Monday morning... Perfect."
I hung up and looked at Marco. "Victoria Sterling thinks she's won. Thinks she's untouchable. That's when people get sloppy. That's when they reveal their true selves."
"You're going to let Mira go to school."
"I'm going to let Mira be bait," I corrected. "With every possible protection. Hidden cameras. Armed security nearby. Exit strategies. The works. And when Victoria can't resist gloating, can't resist one more chance to hurt the girl who dared to fight back, we'll have it all on video. Crystal clear. Undeniable."
"That's risky as hell, Boss."
"It's the only option we have left." I started the car. "Set it up. I want our best people on this. Nobody sleeps until Monday. And Marco?"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"If anything happens to that girl, if Victoria so much as looks at her wrong..." I met his eyes in the mirror. "I'm burning the entire Sterling empire to the ground. Consequences be damned."
Marco nodded. "Understood."
As we drove back to the city, my phone buzzed with a text. From Mira, using the burner I'd given her:
Thank you for telling me about your sister. I'm sorry you lost her. I promise I won't let you down on Monday. I'll make Isabella proud.
I stared at that message for a long time.
Then I typed back: Don't make her proud. Make yourself proud. That's all that matters.
Her response came immediately: What if I'm too scared?
Being scared doesn't make you weak. Running away when you're scared doesn't make you weak. The only thing that makes you weak is letting fear stop you from doing what you know is right. You've already proven you're not weak.
How?
You came back to my warehouse tonight. After everything that happened. After being chased and attacked and nearly killed. You came back because you knew it was the only way to stop Victoria. That's not weakness, kid. That's courage.
No response for a minute. Then:
Dante? What if Monday doesn't work? What if she wins again?
I thought about that question. About all the ways this could go wrong. About Richard Sterling's threats and recanted testimonies and the very real possibility that Mira would walk into that school and never walk out.
But I couldn't tell her that. Couldn't plant those seeds of doubt.
Then we try again. And again. And again. Until she loses. Because that's what we do. We don't give up. Ever.
Promise?
I promise.
I put the phone away and focused on driving.
Behind me, the sun continued to rise, burning away the darkness.
In thirty-six hours, Mira Santos would walk back into Westwood Academy.
And Victoria Sterling would learn that some mice bite back.