Dante POV
I replayed the video for the fifth time, and my anger grew hotter with each viewing.
Someone was going to die for this.
On my computer screen, Shayla sat on the floor in pigtails, talking in that sweet, innocent voice that made her sound like a child. She looked so small. So vulnerable. So completely unaware that someone was filming her most private moment.
"Mr. Salvatore?" My assistant Rico stood in the doorway of my office, nervous. Everyone was always nervous around me. "The video has reached four million views. It's trending worldwide."
I didn't look away from the screen. "Find out who leaked it. I want a name in the next hour."
"Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Sir, why do we care about some wrestler's personal problems?"
I finally looked at him. Rico took a step back. Good. He should be afraid.
"Because two years ago, that wrestler saved my niece's life," I said quietly. Quiet was more dangerous than yelling. "And I don't forget my debts."
Rico left quickly. Smart man.
I leaned back in my chair, remembering that night two years ago. The worst night of my life, until it wasn't.
TWO YEARS AGO
My brother Lorenzo had called me at midnight, his voice breaking. "Dante, she's gone. Sofia's gone."
Sofia. My six-year-old niece. My goddaughter. The only pure thing left in our dark world.
"What do you mean gone?" My blood went cold.
"She was playing in the yard. I turned around for two minutes—just two minutes—and she vanished." Lorenzo was crying. My brother, who'd killed men without flinching, was crying. "The Russo family. It has to be them. They took her."
The Russos. Our rival crime family. They'd been trying to hurt us for years, ever since I'd refused to share my territory with them. But kidnapping a child? That was a new low, even for them.
I mobilized every man I had. We searched for three hours. Nothing. No trace. No ransom call. Just silence, which was worse than any threat.
Then my phone rang. Unknown number.
"Is this Dante Salvatore?" A woman's voice, young and breathless.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Shayla Morrison. I'm at the corner of Fifth and Hamilton Street. I found a little girl here, and she says her name is Sofia Salvatore. She's scared but she's okay. I called the police, but she keeps asking for her Uncle Dante."
I almost dropped the phone. "Don't let her out of your sight. I'm coming now."
I broke every traffic law getting there. When I arrived, I found Shayla sitting on the curb with Sofia wrapped in her jacket. A police car was already there, but Sofia wouldn't let go of this stranger's hand.
Shayla looked up at me with these bright, determined eyes. "Are you her uncle?"
"I am." I knelt down, and Sofia threw herself into my arms, sobbing.
"She was wandering alone," Shayla explained to the police officer. "I was walking home from training when I saw her. She looked lost and terrified."
The police officer nodded. "Miss Morrison stayed with her the whole time. Kept her calm. Even bought her a hot chocolate from the convenience store."
I looked at this young woman—this stranger—who'd protected my niece when she could have just walked past. When she could have ignored a crying child like most people in this city would.
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it with everything in me.
Shayla smiled. "I'm just glad she's safe." She handed me a stuffed animal, a small wolf. "I gave this to her. She seemed to like it."
Sofia clutched the wolf tight. "The nice lady said wolves protect people."
I studied Shayla's face, memorizing it. "I owe you a debt."
She laughed like I was joking. "You don't owe me anything. Just take care of her."
But I did owe her. In my world, debts were everything.
I had Rico find out everything about Shayla Morrison. Wrestler. Age regression therapy for childhood trauma. Troubled family. Manipulative manager. Cheating ex-boyfriend.
I'd been watching her ever since, making sure she stayed safe. When drunk men followed her home from the gym, they mysteriously got arrested. When her ex-boyfriend tried to break into her apartment, he ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. When her manager tried to sell her to an underground fighting ring, that deal fell through permanently.
I protected her from the shadows because that's what you did for people who saved your family.
But now she needed more than shadows.
PRESENT DAY
My phone buzzed. Rico calling back.
"Talk," I said.
"The leak came from Derek Collins, her ex-boyfriend. He admitted it to some friends at a bar tonight. Said he wanted to ruin her career because she dumped him and he wanted revenge."
My hand tightened around the phone. "Where is he now?"
"Still at the bar. O'Malley's on West Street."
"Send someone to bring him to the warehouse. I'll deal with him personally." I paused. "And find out who her manager is. Marcus something."
"Marcus Holloway. He's been stealing from her for years. Skimming sixty percent of her earnings through fake contracts."
My jaw clenched. Shayla didn't even know she was being robbed by the people supposed to protect her.
"I want Holloway's contracts on my desk in ten minutes. All of them."
"Sir, if you're planning what I think you're planning—"
"Ten minutes, Rico."
I hung up and made another call. To a lawyer I kept on retainer for special situations.
"Vincent, I need you to buy out a wrestling contract. Tonight. I don't care what it costs."
"Who's the wrestler?"
"Shayla Morrison."
Vincent whistled. "The one from the viral video? Her manager will charge triple just for the scandal."
"I don't care if he charges ten times the amount. Buy it. Now."
I ended the call and stood, grabbing my suit jacket. It was time to collect on that debt Shayla didn't even know existed.
My phone buzzed with a text from one of my men who I'd stationed outside Shayla's apartment building months ago: Target appears distressed. Multiple calls. Possible panic attack.
I was already moving toward the door when another text came: She's alone. Building has no security. Anyone could get to her.
I started running.
Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Shayla's apartment door. I could hear her breathing on the other side—fast, panicked, broken.
I knocked. "Shayla Morrison? Open the door."
No answer. Just that terrible breathing that told me she was having a full panic attack.
I knocked harder. "I know you're in there. I can hear you breathing."
Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened.
And there she was. The woman who'd saved my niece. The woman I'd protected for two years. Standing in front of me with tears streaming down her face, shaking so hard she could barely stand.
She looked so small. So breakable. So in need of someone to fight for her.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"My name is Dante Salvatore," I said quietly. "And I just bought your wrestling contract."
Her eyes went wide with shock. Then her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her against my chest. She weighed almost nothing.
"It's okay, little one," I said softly, the words coming naturally. "Daddy's got you now."
Her eyes fluttered closed.
And then I heard it. A sound that made my blood run cold.
Footsteps. Heavy boots. Multiple men. Coming up the stairwell toward us.
I looked up to see three men at the end of the hallway. They wore all black. Professional. Armed.
The Russo family had finally found out about my interest in Shayla.
And they'd come to take her from me.
The lead man smiled, pulling out a gun. "Dante Salvatore. Giovanni Russo sends his regards. He says you took something from him two years ago. Now he's taking something from you."
I held Shayla tighter, her unconscious body limp in my arms.
I had no weapon. No backup. No way to fight three armed men while protecting her.
But I'd be damned if I'd let them touch her.
"You'll have to kill me first," I said.
The man's smile widened. "That's the plan."