The city was never silent. Sirens screamed in the distance, engines hummed, and somewhere down the block, laughter bled from a late-night bar. But as Dante's sleek black car slid through the narrow streets, Aria felt the hairs on her neck rise.
Something was wrong.
She sat stiff beside him in the back seat, eyes flicking toward the rearview mirror. Two black SUVs had been trailing them since they left the penthouse garage.
Dante noticed too. His jaw flexed. He leaned forward, murmuring to the driver in a tone so low Aria barely caught it. "Faster. And don't take the main road."
The driver obeyed, swerving into a side street. But the SUVs followed.
Aria's pulse spiked. Her fingers curled around the dagger hidden beneath her dress.
The first gunshot shattered the rear windshield.
"Down!" Dante barked, dragging her against him as glass exploded across the seats. The driver swore and jerked the wheel, the car swaying dangerously as more bullets ripped through the metal.
Aria's chest slammed against Dante's as he shielded her with his body. His voice was steel. "Stay low. Don't move unless I say."
Her blood roared in her ears. She wasn't the kind of woman who stayed still while men played war.
Another SUV screeched up beside them, windows rolling down. Masked men leaned out, guns spitting fire.
The driver cursed, but before he could react, Aria lunged upward. Her dagger gleamed in the passing streetlights as she jammed it straight through the window into the arm of the shooter.
The man howled, his gun clattering onto the asphalt.
Dante's storm-grey eyes snapped to her—sharp, furious, and something else. Admiration?
"Reckless," he muttered, but his smirk was lethal.
Then he shoved open the door.
The car skidded to a stop, tires screeching. Dante was already firing, his movements precise, fluid, merciless. The man who tried to rush him collapsed with a bullet between the eyes.
Aria scrambled out behind him, heart hammering. The night air reeked of gasoline and gunpowder. Another masked man charged her, a knife glinting in his grip.
Time slowed.
Matteo's voice whispered in her mind. If anything happens, you fight.
Aria twisted aside at the last second, driving her dagger up beneath the man's ribs. His breath caught, then gurgled, as he crumpled at her feet.
Her hands shook, blood slick against her skin—but her gaze was fire. She looked up to find Dante watching her across the chaos, his gun raised, his storm-grey eyes locked on her like she was both a puzzle and a revelation.
Another SUV screeched to a halt. More men poured out.
Dante barked, "Stay behind me!"
Aria's lips curled. "Not a chance."
They moved together. Him with his gun, her with her blade, cutting through the wave of attackers. Back to back, they fought like two halves of the same storm—his bullets tearing through shadows, her dagger flashing like lightning in the dark.
The street became a battlefield, littered with bodies, the acrid sting of smoke and blood heavy in the air.
Finally, silence.
Their breaths came ragged, steam rising in the cool night.
Dante lowered his gun, scanning the street with the precision of a predator ensuring the kill. Aria stood beside him, chest heaving, her dagger dripping red.
For a long moment, they didn't speak. Only their eyes met, fierce and unyielding.
Then Dante's voice broke the silence, rough and edged with something raw.
"You were supposed to stay in the car."
Aria wiped the blade clean against her dress, lifting her chin. "And let you fight alone? Not a chance."
A dangerous smile tugged at his lips. "You're either going to get me killed, or make me king of a war I never planned for."
Her heart pounded. She didn't want to admit how alive she felt, standing in blood and ruin beside him.
But inside, a vow burned hotter than ever.
One day, Dante Moretti. When I kill you, it will be with these very hands.
And yet… tonight, they had survived because they were together.