POV: Lily Ashford
I don't sleep.
I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word Dante said. You're leaving tomorrow.
Like it was already decided. Like I had no choice in the matter.
The irony isn't lost on me.
Around 3 AM, I can't take it anymore. I get up and search my room, running my hands along the ceiling, the walls, behind the paintings. Looking for something I can't name.
That's when I find it.
A tiny lens, barely visible, hidden in the smoke detector above my bed.
My stomach drops.
I search the rest of my suite methodically. The bathroom mirror. The closet. There are at least six cameras. Maybe more.
Someone's been watching me. Constantly. Sleeping, showering, breaking down—everything.
I'm furious and humiliated and terrified all at once.
I storm toward Dante's office, not caring that it's the middle of the night. Not caring that guards try to stop me.
I push the door open to find him at his desk with three other men, reviewing surveillance footage. When he sees me, his expression shifts from calculating to cautious.
"Leave," he commands his men.
They file out without question.
"You've been watching me," I say, my voice shaking with rage. "In my bedroom. In the bathroom. Everywhere."
"Yes."
The lack of denial hits harder than any lie would.
"That's disgusting," I say.
"That's survival," Dante replies coldly. "You're the most valuable thing I have. You're also the most vulnerable. My enemies would use you against me in a heartbeat. The cameras keep you safe."
"The cameras keep me controlled."
"Perhaps both are true," Dante says. He stands and walks toward me. "You wanted honesty. Here it is: I watch you because I can't stop thinking about you. I watch you because it's the only way I can function when you're not in front of me."
"That's not love, Dante. That's obsession."
"I know," he says. "And I also know I'm no good for you. That's why I'm setting you free."
"I don't want to be free."
"You will," Dante says. "When you're away from here, when you have distance, you'll realize this wasn't love. It was captivity Stockholm syndrome wearing a beautiful mask."
"You don't get to decide what I feel."
"No," Dante agrees. "But I get to decide what I do. And I'm letting you go."
I want to argue. Want to scream that he's wrong. But there's something in his expression that tells me: his mind is made up.
That night, Sofia brings me documents. A new identity. Cash. Plane tickets.
"Where will I go?" I ask.
"Anywhere," Sofia says gently. "Mr. Morelli has set up accounts in your new name. You'll have resources. You'll be free."
"I don't want to be free from him."
Sofia sits on my bed. "I know, dear. But sometimes love means letting go. And sometimes people need to be saved from themselves."
The next morning, Roman arrives for his shift.
When he realizes I'm leaving, something breaks in his face.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"I don't know yet. Away. Somewhere I can be normal."
Roman is quiet for a long moment. Then: "Tell me something. Do you love him?"
"Yes," I say. "Even though I shouldn't."
"Then don't leave," Roman says. It's the most forceful I've ever heard him. "Stay and fight for him. Make him believe he deserves love."
"He doesn't want me to stay."
"Because he's terrified," Roman says. "He's been alone his whole life. And when you got close to me—when he thought he might lose you—he panicked. So he's pushing you away first, before you can abandon him like everyone else did."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I would do the same thing," Roman says. "Because I'm broken the same way he is. We Bratva learn to survive by hurting people before they can hurt us."
I look at this massive, scarred man who's been so gentle to me, and I realize: he's right.
I'm about to respond when alarms suddenly blare.
Not like before. This is different. More aggressive. More coordinated.
Roman's hand immediately goes to his gun. "Stay here. Don't move."
"What's happening?"
"Antonio. Again. But this time he's not trying to take the perimeter. He's trying to take—"
The door bursts open and guards flood in.
"Roman, you need to move her. Now," one of them says.
"To where?" Roman demands.
"Mr. Morelli's orders. Panic room. He's mobilizing everyone to defend the north section."
Roman grabs my arm. "Move! Now!"
We're running. My heart is pounding so hard I think I might die before the bullets reach me.
Gunfire erupts all around us. We hit the ground floor and Roman drags me toward what looks like a closet. He touches a hidden panel and a section of wall slides open, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
"Go!" he shouts.
I run down the stairs as fast as I can. At the bottom, there's a reinforced bunker. Security monitors. Supplies.
And Dante.
He's there with Eli—a younger man with nervous eyes and brilliant features. Dante's covered in blood that doesn't appear to be his.
When he sees me, his expression goes absolutely raw.
"You're still here," he says. It's not a question.
"I was leaving. The attack—"
"You were leaving," Dante repeats, and there's something breaking in his voice. "You actually got in the SUV? You were going?"
"Yes. I was. But—"
"But you came back." He steps toward me, and I realize he's crying. Actually crying. "Even when I told you to leave, even when I pushed you away, you came back."
"Dante—"
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry for the cameras. I'm sorry for trying to control you. I'm sorry for being so terrified of losing you that I tried to lose you first."
He pulls me against him, and I can feel him shaking.
"Don't leave," he whispers into my hair. "I can't do this without you. I can't be better without you."
"I'm not leaving," I say.
On the monitors above us, I watch the battle unfold. Antonio's men breaching sections of the estate. Dante's forces fighting back. Roman moving through the chaos, protecting Dante's flank.
This is the life I'm choosing.
This darkness. This violence. This man.
"I love you," Dante says. "I don't deserve it, but I do."
"I know," I reply.
And in the bunker, surrounded by monitors showing the war being fought for us, I finally understand:
Sometimes salvation comes from the darkest places.
And sometimes the monster is the only one willing to save you.