Morning came with blood still staining the hallway carpet.
I stood in Dante's bathroom, scrubbing the Russian's blood from under my fingernails, trying not to think about the fact that I'd possibly killed a man last night. The water ran red, then pink, then finally clear, but I kept washing anyway.
"Isabella." Dante's voice came from the doorway. "He's not dead. Concussion, broken jaw, but alive."
I should have felt relieved. Instead, I felt… nothing. Just numb.
"Good," I said flatly, continuing to wash my already clean hands.
Dante moved behind me, gently taking my hands and turning off the water. "You're in shock. That's normal after your first fight."
"First fight?" I laughed, but it came out broken. "You mean first time I bashed someone's skull in with a bookend?"
"First time you defended your life." He wrapped his arms around me from behind, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "You did what you had to do to survive. There's no shame in that."
"I don't feel shame. I don't feel anything."
"That's the shock talking. It'll pass." He kissed the top of my head. "But Isabella, what you did last night fighting back, saving yourself I've never been more proud of anyone in my life."
"Proud that I'm becoming like you? A killer?"
"Proud that you're becoming a survivor." He turned me to face him. "There's a difference. I kill because I choose to. You fought because you had no choice. That's not the same thing."
Maybe he was right. Maybe there was a difference. But standing there with his blood-stained t-shirt still clinging to my body, I wasn't sure I believed it.
"The Russian," I said, changing the subject. "What are you going to do with him?"
Dante's expression hardened. "Question him. Find out how they breached my security. Who gave them access to the panic room codes. And then" He paused. "Do you want to know the rest?"
"You're going to kill him."
"Yes."
"Will you make me watch again?"
"No." His hand cupped my face gently. "Last night was different. Marco's execution was a lesson showing you the consequences of betrayal in my world. But this? This is just necessary cleanup. You don't need to see it."
"Thank you." I leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his solid presence. "What happens now? With the Volkovs? They know where I am. They'll try again."
"Let them try." His voice turned cold, lethal. "I'm done playing defense. It's time to remind the Volkovs why they should fear the Moretti name."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I'm going to war. And this time, I'm going to finish what I started five years ago." He released me, moving toward the closet. "But first, I need answers from our guest downstairs."
"Can I" I stopped myself, not sure what I was asking.
"Can you what?"
"Can I be there? When you question him?" The words tumbled out before I could think them through. "I want to see. I want to understand this part of your world too."
Dante turned to face me, surprise flickering in his grey eyes. "You want to watch an interrogation?"
"You said I'm not just property anymore. That I'm becoming something else. If that's true, if I'm really going to be part of your life, then I need to see all of it. Not just the parts you think I can handle."
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing the decision. Finally, he nodded.
"Alright. But if it becomes too much, you leave. No arguments. Understood?"
"Understood."
Twenty minutes later, after I'd changed into clean clothes and forced down some breakfast I couldn't taste, Dante led me through the mansion to a door I'd never noticed before. Hidden behind a bookshelf in his office, it opened onto a staircase leading down into darkness.
The basement.
"This is where I handle business that needs to stay private," Dante explained as we descended. "Most of my staff don't know it exists. Rosa does, but she never comes down here. She knows better."
"And you're bringing me down here anyway."
"Because you asked to see the truth. I'm giving it to you." He paused at another door, this one heavy steel. "Last chance to change your mind, Isabella."
"I'm not changing my mind."
The room beyond was exactly what I'd expected and somehow worse. Concrete floors with drains. A single chair bolted to the center. Bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. And strapped to that chair was the Russian who'd tried to take me, his face swollen and bloody, his eyes filled with fear when Dante entered.
Two of Dante's men stood guard large, silent, intimidating. They nodded respectfully when we entered but said nothing.
"Leave us," Dante commanded. "Miss Martinez and I will handle this alone."
The guards hesitated, glancing at me with uncertainty, but obeyed without question.
Once we were alone with the prisoner, Dante pulled up a second chair and gestured for me to sit. I did, my heart pounding, trying to look braver than I felt.
"You know who I am," Dante said to the Russian, his voice conversational. "And you know what I'm going to ask. The only question is how much pain you experience before you answer."
"Go to hell, Moretti." The Russian's accent was thick through his broken jaw. "I tell you nothing."
"We'll see." Dante walked to a table I hadn't noticed covered with tools that made my stomach turn. Knives. Pliers. Things I couldn't identify and didn't want to. "Let's start simple. How did you get the panic room codes?"
"Fuck you."
Dante picked up a knife, testing its edge against his thumb. "Wrong answer. Isabella, you might want to look away for this part."
But I didn't. I kept my eyes on the Russian, on Dante, on everything. Because if this was going to be my life, I needed to see it. All of it.
What followed was twenty minutes of systematic brutality. Dante worked with cold efficiency causing pain without causing fatal damage, extracting information one scream at a time. The Russian tried to hold out, but everyone breaks eventually.
"Alright! Alright!" The Russian finally sobbed. "It was Sergio! Sergio Moretti! Your cousin! He gave us the codes!"
Dante froze. "Sergio?"
"Yes! He's been feeding us information for months! He wants you dead, wants to take over your territory! We were supposed to grab the girl, use her as bait to draw you out!"
I saw something flicker across Dante's face pain, betrayal, rage, all mixed together. His own family. His own blood had sold him out.
"Where is he now?" Dante's voice was deadly calm.
"I don't know! I swear! He just gave us the codes and told us when to strike!"
Dante turned to me. "Isabella, go upstairs."
"No."
"This isn't a request." His eyes were cold. "What I'm about to do you don't need to see this."
"You're going to kill him."
"Yes. And I'm going to make it hurt." He moved toward the Russian, who was now begging through broken teeth. "This piece of shit tried to take you from me. Tried to hurt you. That's a death sentence in my world."
I should have run. Should have left like he'd asked. But something made me stay. Maybe it was the fact that this man had put his hands on me, had threatened to use me as bait. Maybe it was something darker a part of me that wanted to see justice served, no matter how brutal.
So I watched as Dante Moretti showed me exactly how merciless he could be.