Shayla POV
Glass exploded everywhere.
Dante's body covered mine, heavy and protective, as more bullets punched through the car windows. I couldn't breathe—not from panic this time, but because he was crushing me into the seat, shielding me with his own body.
"Stay down!" he shouted.
The car swerved violently. More gunshots. Rico cursed from the front seat. We were going so fast I thought we'd flip over.
Then suddenly—silence.
Dante stayed on top of me for three more seconds, listening. When he finally moved, I saw blood on his shirt. More blood. Fresh blood.
"You're hurt again!" I cried.
"Just the old wound. I'm fine." He pulled me up, checking me for injuries with quick, efficient hands. "Are you hit? Shayla, look at me. Are you hurt?"
I shook my head, too scared to talk.
"We lost them," Rico said from the front, breathing hard. "Took six illegal turns and ran four red lights, but we lost them."
Dante pulled me against his chest, his heart pounding like a drum. "Good. Get us to the safe house. Fast."
I buried my face in his bloody shirt and tried not to cry. Tried to be big and strong and brave like the champion everyone expected.
But I couldn't. I was so tired of being strong.
"It's okay to be scared," Dante whispered, reading my mind. "Daddy's scared too."
That broke me. The idea that this powerful, dangerous man was scared—scared for me—made tears spill down my cheeks.
"I want to be little," I whispered so quietly I wasn't sure he heard.
But he did. His arms tightened around me. "Soon, baby girl. Very soon. Daddy's going to take care of everything."
The safe house wasn't what I expected.
I'd imagined something cold and empty—just a place to hide. Instead, Dante led me through a beautiful penthouse with tall windows and comfortable furniture that looked actually lived-in.
"This way," he said gently, taking my hand.
He opened a door at the end of the hallway.
I stopped breathing.
The room was pink. Soft, gentle pink like cotton candy and ballet slippers. There was a bed with a white canopy and about a million stuffed animals. A rocking chair in the corner. Shelves filled with coloring books and toys and puzzles.
A nursery.
An actual, real nursery. For me.
"When?" I whispered. "How?"
"I had it built two months ago," Dante said quietly. "Just in case you ever needed it. Just in case you ever needed me."
My legs went wobbly. He'd built this. For me. Before he even knew if I'd accept his help.
"Why?" My voice cracked.
Dante knelt in front of me, taking both my hands. His dark eyes were so gentle. "Because two years ago, a brave young woman saved the most important person in my world. Because I watched you struggle alone for too long. Because you deserve to have somewhere safe to be little." He squeezed my hands. "Because the moment I saw you having that panic attack tonight, I knew. You were meant to be my little girl."
Tears streamed down my face. "Nobody's ever—I've never had—"
I couldn't finish. Couldn't explain that I'd never had anyone take care of me. Not my parents who only wanted my money. Not my sister who hated me. Not my ex who'd betrayed me. Nobody had ever built me something just because they wanted me to be happy.
"I know, baby," Dante said softly. "But you have someone now. You have Daddy."
I collapsed into his arms, sobbing. All the fear and pain and loneliness from the last three days—from the last three years—poured out of me.
Dante picked me up like I weighed nothing, carried me to the rocking chair, and held me while I cried. He rocked slowly, making soft shushing sounds, rubbing my back in gentle circles.
When I finally calmed down, I felt small. Really small. Little-space small.
"Daddy?" The word came out naturally, like it had always belonged there.
"Yes, baby girl?"
"I'm dirty from the car. And scared. And..." I looked up at him with my littlest voice. "Would you give me a bath?"
For a second, I worried I'd asked too much. That he'd realize this was weird and leave me like everyone else.
But Dante just smiled. "Of course, princess. Let's get you all clean and cozy."
He carried me to a bathroom attached to the nursery. Started running warm water in a big tub. Added bubbles that smelled like lavender.
"Arms up," he said gently.
I lifted my arms. He carefully pulled off my wrestling outfit—the same one I'd been wearing during the worst day of my life. It felt good to take it off. To leave the Savage behind.
Dante helped me into the bath, never once looking at me in a way that felt wrong or scary. Just careful and respectful and kind.
"Close your eyes, sweetheart." He poured warm water over my hair, washing away the fear and glass and blood.
I obeyed, letting Daddy take care of everything.
He washed my hair gently. Cleaned behind my ears like I was really little. Used a soft cloth to wash my arms and legs. When I was all clean, he wrapped me in the fluffiest towel I'd ever felt.
"There's my good girl," he said, drying me off. "All clean now."
He dressed me in the softest pink pajamas with little hearts on them. Carried me to the bed. Tucked me under blankets that felt like clouds.
A stuffed wolf sat on the pillow. Big and soft with kind eyes.
"Sofia wanted you to have this," Dante said. "She said the lady who saved her likes wolves too."
Fresh tears filled my eyes, but happy tears this time. "Really?"
"Really." He kissed my forehead. "Sleep now, little one. Daddy will be right here watching over you."
He turned on a nightlight shaped like a moon. Sat in the rocking chair where he could see me.
"Daddy?" I whispered, clutching the wolf.
"Yes, baby?"
"Thank you for saving me."
His smile was sad and gentle. "Thank you for saving Sofia. And for saving me too."
I didn't understand what he meant, but I was too tired to ask. My eyes were already closing.
"I love you, Daddy," I whispered before I could stop myself.
For a moment, silence. Then:
"I love you too, my brave little girl."
I fell asleep feeling safer than I'd ever felt in my entire life.
I woke up screaming.
The nightmare had been so real—guns, glass, Marcus laughing, my sister filming me, a man with cold eyes saying I belonged to someone named Russo.
Strong arms grabbed me. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Just a bad dream."
Dante held me, rocking me, making the nightmare go away.
"They're gonna find us," I sobbed into his chest. "That Russo man. He wants me. He's gonna take me away from you."
"No one takes you from me," Dante said firmly. "No one."
"But he knows where we are! He was following us! He—"
My phone rang.
We both froze.
My phone was in Dante's pocket—he'd grabbed it from my dressing room. He pulled it out slowly.
Unknown number.
"Don't answer it," I whispered.
But it kept ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
Finally, Dante answered. Put it on speaker.
Heavy breathing. Then a woman's voice I knew too well.
"Shayla?" My sister Vanessa. "Shayla, please, you have to help me. They took me. The men who were chasing you—they took me instead. They're gonna hurt me unless—"
Gunshot. Scream. Then a man's voice, cold and cruel:
"Hello, Dante. Giovanni Russo here. We have the sister. You have twenty-four hours to bring us the wrestler, or we start sending Vanessa back to you in pieces. Literally."
The line went dead.
I stared at Dante in horror.
My sister—the sister who hated me, who'd helped leak the video, who'd betrayed me—was kidnapped because of me.
"This is my fault," I whispered.
"No," Dante said sharply. "This is Russo's fault."
"But they took her because of me! Because you're protecting me!" Tears flooded my eyes. "I have to go. I have to trade myself for her."
"Absolutely not."
"Dante, she's my sister!"
"She's the person who destroyed your life!" His eyes blazed. "She helped leak that video. She posted your address online. She put you in danger. And now Russo is using her to manipulate you."
"I don't care!" I was crying, my Little space gone, the champion coming back. "I can't let her die! I have to save her!"
Dante grabbed my shoulders. "If you go to Russo, he'll kill you both. You know that, right?"
I did know. But what choice did I have?
My phone buzzed. A text from Vanessa's number. A photo attached.
My sister, tied to a chair, crying, bruised.
And standing behind her with a knife to her throat—a man I'd seen before.
Marcus.
My manager. My betrayer.
Working with Russo.
"Oh god," I whispered.
Dante's face went dark with rage. "Now we know who the traitor is."
Another text: Clock's ticking, baby wrestler. Sister dies in 24 hours. Your choice.
I looked at Dante. At the man who'd saved me, bathed me, built me a nursery, called me his little girl.
"What do we do?" I asked.
His eyes were cold. Dangerous. The mafia boss, not the Daddy.
"We go to war."