3:00 AM.
The island was cloaked in a thick, wet fog that muffled the sound of the crashing waves. Anna moved through the manor like a ghost, her boots muffled by thick wool socks she'd pulled over them. She carried nothing but her small bag and the combat knife Dante had given her during their training—the only gift of his she intended to keep.
She reached the service entrance. The door creaked, a sound that felt like a scream in the silence. She slipped out into the humid night, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She saw the signal: a faint, double-flash of a red light near the East Gate.
Leo was waiting in the shadows of the motor-pool, a dark poncho covering his uniform. His face was pale, his eyes darting toward the security cameras he had supposedly looped.
"You came," he whispered, grabbing her hand. His grip was cold and trembling.
"I can't stay here, Leo. He... he isn't who I thought he was."
"None of them are," Leo said, pulling her toward the narrow stone staircase that led down to the sea-gate. "The boat is tied to the lower pylon. I've disabled the pressure sensors, but we only have a five-minute window before the next patrol."
They scrambled down the wet, moss-covered steps. The sound of the ocean grew louder, a hungry roar that promised freedom. They reached the iron gate at the bottom. Leo fumbled with a heavy ring of keys, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Almost there, Anna. Just a little further and we're—"
The floodlights hit them with the force of a physical blow.
Anna blinded, threw an arm up to cover her eyes. Above them, on the stone gallery that overhung the sea-gate, a dozen soldiers stood with rifles aimed.
And in the center of them stood Dante.
He looked like a shadow carved from the night itself. He wasn't wearing a suit now; he was in black tactical gear, his arms crossed over his massive chest. Behind him, Isabella stood, her face twisted into a mask of gleeful malice.
"Leo," Dante's voice boomed, amplified by the stone walls. It wasn't the husky whisper Anna knew. It was the voice of the Underground King—absolute and terrifying. "You were a good soldier. A bit sentimental, perhaps, but loyal. Until tonight."
Leo fell to his knees, pulling Anna down with him. "Dante, please! She's just a girl! She doesn't belong here!"
"She belongs exactly where I put her," Dante growled. He gestured with a flick of his wrist.
The soldiers descended like vultures. Anna fought, kicking and biting, her slum-born survival instinct flaring to life, but she was overwhelmed by four grown men. They wrenched the knife from her hand and pinned her arms behind her back.
Leo didn't fight. He let them drag him toward the center of the pier.
Dante walked down the stairs, his movements slow and deliberate. He stopped in front of Anna. He didn't look angry. He looked disappointed, which was infinitely worse.
"I told you, Anna," he whispered, leaning in so only she could hear the gravel in his voice. "I don't lose things. I destroy them so no one else can have them."
"Kill me then!" she screamed, spitting at his boots. "Do it! End it!"
Dante wiped his boot with a look of bored indifference. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Anna. I'm going to make you watch what happens to those who try to steal from the Vane legacy."