The steady rhythm of the heart monitor echoed in the sterile hospital room. Beep. Beep. Beep. To most, it was a sign of life, but to Serena, it was a reminder of how close she'd come to silence. Every beep was a borrowed second, a reminder that she had been on the brink of never hearing another sound.
Her chest ached with every breath. The bandages around her ribcage pulled uncomfortably, and the scent of antiseptic clung to her nostrils. But what suffocated her wasn't the pain or the smell — it was the atmosphere in the room.
Her friends had tried to make it lighter. Jade had waddled in with a protective hand over her pregnant belly, laughing softly as she whispered to Chloe, "Maybe she'll be my baby's godmother. It'd give Serena something to do other than keeping secrets."
Chloe, never one to miss a beat, teased, "Serena's too soft. She'd spoil the kid rotten."
Even Maya, the surgeon who had fought for hours to stitch her life back together, peeked in with haunted eyes and whispered, "Don't scare me like that again, Serena."
Their words, their presence — they should have soothed her. But Serena couldn't shake the shadow that lingered in her room.
Leo was there. Always. Sitting in the chair nearest her bed like a sentinel. His eyes never left her, dark and unblinking, as though she'd vanish if he looked away. When her breaths came shallow, he leaned closer. When her fingers twitched, he caught her hand, his grip warm and firm.
"You don't have to worry," Leo whispered, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "I'll protect you. I'll always protect you."
There was an edge to his devotion — something sharp enough to pierce. Serena's heart fluttered with gratitude, but somewhere deep inside, unease stirred.
And then there was Dante.
He didn't sit. He didn't hover. He stood by the window, hands tucked in his coat pockets, his sharp profile carved against the night sky. He said nothing, but his presence filled the room like smoke — suffocating, inescapable, intoxicating.
When Serena's gaze drifted toward him, he looked back with eyes so dark they pulled her in. Unlike Leo, Dante didn't reach for her hand. He didn't whisper promises. But his silence carried more weight than Leo's endless assurances.
It was unbearable — the two of them, so different yet so alike, locked in a silent war across her bed.
Finally, Serena broke the tension. Her voice was frail, but it cut through the stillness. "Leo, you should rest too. You've been here for hours."
Leo leaned closer, his lips curving into a strained smile. "I'm fine. Don't think about me. Just… focus on getting better. You're all that matters."
Her chest tightened. The way he said it — the way his eyes flicked briefly toward Dante, sharp and distrustful — unsettled her.
When Leo finally left the room to fetch her water, Dante moved. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he crossed to her bedside. Serena's heart rate quickened, the monitor betraying her nerves.
"You trust him too easily," Dante said, his voice low, almost dangerous.
Serena blinked, confusion knitting her brows. "Leo? He… he saved me. If it weren't for him, I'd—"
Dante cut her off with a sharp glance. His voice was silk over steel. "Debts chain tighter than chains themselves. Be careful, Serena. Sometimes the hand that saves you is the same hand that drags you under."
She stared at him, shivering though the room wasn't cold. "Why are you saying this? What do you know?"
His eyes softened for just a second, but then the mask returned. "Just… keep your eyes open."
The door creaked open. Leo returned, carrying a bottle of water. His gaze darted between them, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
Dante straightened, stepping back into the shadows near the window. The silence between the men thickened, electric and dangerous.
And Serena lay in the middle, her fragile body trapped between forces far greater than she could yet understand.
Chapter 32 – Andres' Report
The night was colder than the day deserved. Dante stepped out of the hospital, the faint smell of disinfectant still clinging to his coat. He lit a cigarette, though he didn't inhale, letting the ember glow like a warning in the darkness.
He wasn't alone. He never was.
Andres appeared from the shadows of the parking lot, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. The easy grin he always wore was there, but tonight it was thinner, weighed down by the heaviness of what he carried.
"You followed him," Dante said flatly, not even turning to look.
Andres tilted his head. "Didn't need much convincing. The kid's too squeaky clean to be real." He paused, eyes narrowing. "And you were right, boss. He's hiding more than a skeleton or two."
Dante's jaw tightened. "Talk."
Andres exhaled slowly, the fog of his breath hanging in the night. "His name is Leo Alvarez. Ring any bells?"
Dante's fingers stilled on the cigarette. His eyes snapped to Andres, sharp as a blade.
Andres nodded grimly. "Yeah. Alvarez. As in Miguel Alvarez. The bastard who put Vale six feet under."
The words dropped like a stone between them.
For the first time in years, Dante let the cigarette slip from his fingers, the ember snuffed out against the pavement. His jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut.
Andres went on, voice quieter now. "The boy's his son. Been living under the radar, trying real hard to look harmless. But he's not. He's too smart for harmless."
Dante's silence was dangerous. His eyes, those cold black pools, glittered with something merciless.
Andres shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "What's worse? Serena doesn't have a damn clue. She thinks he's just a friend who showed up at the right time. If she knew…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
Dante finally spoke, his voice low and lethal. "She won't know. Not yet."
Andres tilted his head, watching him carefully. "So what's the plan, boss? Do I put a bullet in him before he gets too close?"
"No," Dante snapped, his voice a whipcrack in the cold. He caught himself, tone softening into something darker, more controlled. "Not yet. I want to know what he's after. He didn't crawl this close to Serena by accident."
Andres leaned back against the hood of a car, sighing. "Could be vengeance. Could be guilt. Hell, could even be love. But you're right. It's no accident. And…" He hesitated, unusual for him. "…Serena's heart is tangled up in him. You cut too deep, you might bleed her worse than the bullet did."
Dante's eyes flicked to the hospital window. He could almost see her there — pale, fragile, her chest rising and falling under the weight of truths she didn't yet know.
"No one touches her," Dante said finally, voice like an oath. "Not Leo. Not fate. Not the ghost of his father."
Andres studied him for a long moment, then smirked faintly. "You know, for a man who claims he doesn't get attached, you're sure making a liar out of yourself."
Dante didn't respond. His silence said enough.
The cigarette's ashes scattered on the wind, like promises burned away.
And in the night, Dante made his vow: If Leo thinks he can play games with her, he'll learn what it means to cross me.