Aria's legs trembled as the last echo of gunfire faded into the night. Her lungs still burned, the metallic stench of blood thick in her nose. She stared at her hands—shaking, slick with crimson that wasn't hers—and pressed them hard against her dress to still them.
A hand caught her wrist.
"Stop," Dante said sharply. His voice was low, commanding, but his grip was firm, steadying. "You'll make yourself bleed if you keep pressing like that."
Aria's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Don't touch me."
Dante ignored the venom in her tone. He dragged her toward the car, shoving the ruined door open. The driver, bleeding but alive, slumped against the wheel. One of Dante's men rushed forward to take the wheel, and soon they were speeding away, leaving the bodies and smoke behind.
Inside the car, silence hung heavy. Aria pressed herself against the window, her chest rising and falling too fast. But when Dante reached for her again, she flinched—only for him to yank her hand into his lap.
"Hold still."
He tore open his jacket pocket, producing a knife and cutting away a strip of his shirt sleeve. His movements were quick, efficient, almost clinical as he began binding the shallow cut on her arm she hadn't even realized was bleeding.
Aria's throat tightened. His hands were calloused, warm, steadying her tremors.
"Why—why are you doing this?" she asked, the defiance in her voice cracking into something softer, something she hated.
Dante glanced up, eyes storm-grey in the dim light. "Because I don't need my wife collapsing from blood loss on the first night."
Wife. The word landed heavy, bitter.
Her pulse stuttered as his fingers brushed her skin, tying the makeshift bandage with a precise knot. For a moment, there was no gunfire, no vendetta—just the silence of two people breathing too close.
"You fight well," he murmured, his tone softer now. "Too well for a politician's daughter."
Aria's lips curled. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
A smirk ghosted over his lips. "Not yet."
The air grew charged. She hated how her body betrayed her, how her heart raced at the way he looked at her—not like prey, but like a fire he wanted to touch even if it burned him.
The car jolted suddenly. Dante's gaze snapped to the window, his expression darkening.
They weren't heading home.
The vehicle rolled into a dimly lit warehouse, headlights bouncing off steel beams and crates. Men waited in the shadows, dragging forward one of the attackers—bloodied, bound, and gagged.
Aria stiffened.
Dante stepped out of the car, pulling her with him. His hand was firm around her wrist, a leash disguised as a lifeline.
The captive man thrashed, muffled curses spilling through the gag. Dante approached him slowly, unhurried, like a predator savoring the kill. He crouched low, lifting the man's chin with the barrel of his gun.
"Who sent you?" Dante's voice was calm, too calm.
The man spat blood, sneering.
Dante's smirk vanished. He pressed the gun against the man's kneecap and fired.
The scream tore through the warehouse. Aria flinched, her stomach twisting—not from pity, but from the cold precision in Dante's eyes.
"Answer me," he said again, voice steel.
The man gasped, trembling now, sweat dripping from his temple. His words broke through the gag. "The… Valerios. They want the girl… they want her dead—"
Aria froze.
Dante's gaze snapped to her. In that instant, the storm in his eyes shifted from rage to something darker. Possessiveness.
He turned back to the bleeding man, pressing the barrel under his chin. "You made two mistakes tonight. Coming after me…" His gaze flicked briefly to Aria. "…and touching what's mine."
The shot rang out, echoing through the steel rafters. The man's body crumpled to the ground.
Aria's breath hitched.
Dante stood, sliding his gun back into his holster like it was nothing. He looked at her, storm-grey eyes locking onto hers, unflinching.
"This is the world you married into, Aria. You wanted blood? Now you have it."
Her jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palm until crescent moons marked her skin.
"I didn't choose this," she spat. "I'll never be part of your empire."
Dante stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between them. His breath brushed her ear as he whispered, low and certain, "You already are. Every bullet fired at you tonight says so."
Aria's heart thundered. She wanted to scream, to claw at him, to burn the tether he'd just knotted around her. But beneath her fury was something else. Something far more dangerous.
The terrifying realization that with every shared wound, every battle, every brush of his hand—
She was no longer sure whether she wanted to kill him…
Or kiss him.