Chapter 29 Estella
Barcelona, Spain
Aslight breeze coaxes my skin into a shiver, goosebumps rising in its gentle wake.
A faint ray of sunlight slips through the milky curtains, pouring a soft, endless glow across the room.
My fingers drift lazily through his hair, combing the dark, silken strands as I soak in the heat radiating from his body.
I breathe in the crisp, salty morning air and try to think about breakfast. I’ve been awake for maybe twenty minutes, and the thought has been tapping insistently at the back of my mind, but I can’t summon an ounce of energy to move.
Dante and I have a serious problem: neither of us can detach from the other.
From the moment we got home, we picked up exactly where we left off—pausing only long enough to shove food or water into our bodies before we were clawing at each other again.
We shower together, cook together, and even brush our teeth side by side.
And every second of it, I keep circling back to the same startling certainty.
This feels like the way it was always meant to be. Like my whole life I’d been chasing something just out of reach—and now, finally, it’s right here in my hands, filling every cold, empty place I’ve carried for years.
A vibration trembles through the sheets, faint but insistent, and I blink, unsure if I imagined it. When it buzzes again, I muster what little strength remains in my limbs and twist around. The creamy sheets whisper as I reach for my phone, an unknown number pulsing on the screen.
I lean toward the nightstand and snag Dante’s black T-shirt, pulling it over my naked body. My hand scrubs across my sleep-swollen face before I hit the green button and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I whisper, easing my feet onto the cool floor, slipping them into my fluffy slippers. Through the ache pulsing between my legs, I go out of the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind me.
He sleeps like the dead. I don’t want to wake him.
“All silent,” a gravelly, unfamiliar voice says.
It takes a moment for my half-asleep mind to realize what he’s talking about. They rarely call me on the phone, but when they do, they use that stupid coded language. To me, it’s the most cliché of all clichés, but I don’t get a say in any of their tricks.
“Except the clock on the wall,” I finish dryly.
There’s a pause, a crackle of static on the other line. “Grey Audi. Middle of the street. Now,” he orders.
I freeze, frowning, trying to place why the fuck they’re calling me now. My mouth opens, the obvious question forming—but the telltale chime cuts me off. The call is already gone.
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the black screen for a long, suspended moment. Instinct presses my thumb toward the Contacts tab, and I scroll until I find Cane.
My teeth catch the corner of my mouth as I hesitate. But the tightening coil in my gut refuses to loosen, so I tap his name and call.
My gaze lifts to the mirror. The faint bruises beneath my eyes stare back at me—shadows of the nights Dante and I spent refusing to sleep. I trace them lightly with my fingertips, as if trying to prove to myself that all of this is real.
The ringing drags on, long enough for nerves to coil tight in my stomach, yet Cane never answers.
The line cuts out abruptly, with a hollow finality that echoes in my ear.
I lower the phone, my brows knitting as a storm of thoughts crashes through my mind, each darker and more frantic than the last.
But time isn’t on my side. Whoever called wants me outside, and hesitation isn’t a luxury I can afford.
So I force every rising worry back down my throat, swallowing the unease until it burns.
I reach for my hairbrush and concealer with hands that slightly tremble, piecing myself together with methodical precision.
Then, bracing myself, I get ready to head downstairs.
“You’re late.”
My eyes widen into exaggerated saucers the moment I slide into the Audi. Slowly, I turn my head toward the source of the accusation, struggling not to burst into laughter. It swells in my chest and pushes at my cheeks as I take him in.
He’s wrapped in a long grey trench coat, a turtleneck tucked neatly beneath it, cigarette-cut pants pressed to perfection.
A wide-brimmed fedora sits atop his head, paired with enormous round black sunglasses that swallow half his face.
Wisps of short hair escape the hat, catching the morning light—ginger strands glowing like someone spilled gold across them.
He looks like a Bratz-themed parody of a secret agent.
“Halloween was a few days ago,” I say, unable to hide the derision in my voice. He refuses to look at me, eyes fixed stiffly on the road ahead, so I sink into the seat with a tired sigh. “What’s this about?”
He inhales sharply, adjusting his sunglasses with a practiced flick before reaching into some hidden interior pocket and producing a folded piece of cardboard.
Irritation sparks instantly.
Coats with secret pockets are Cane’s signature.
“Where’s Cane?” I ask before he even has a chance to speak.
His lips twitch, annoyance flashing across his face, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Cane is gone. You work for me now,” he says, each word dry and clipped.
A cold coil tightens in my gut, climbing toward my throat until I can barely breathe. My brief lightness evaporates, replaced by something sharp and heavy.
“Your new target—”
“What do you mean Cane is gone?” I cut in, my voice tight and thin. My pulse kicks up, and every worst-case scenario floods my head, overlapping and choking.
“Your new target is here,” he repeats, deflecting without even an ounce of hesitation. He slaps the cardboard onto my lap, the scrawled notes stinging my eyes. “This is the last time you and Dante will work together.”
The panic surging inside me combusts into adrenaline. Heat pours through my veins, flooding my chest, sharpening every sound, every breath. The air in the car grows dense, almost suffocating.
“Why? Where will he go without me?” My voice rises with every word. “And where is Cane?”
Finally, he turns toward me, leaning in as if to intimidate. With his thin frame and ridiculous outfit, it only makes him look more absurd.
“You will not ask any further questions. If I say Cane is gone, then he’s fucking gone. Interpret it however you want, Iris,” he hisses through his teeth. “The same goes for Dante. You’ve worked with him long enough. Cane was too soft on both of you—we should’ve cut him off ages ago.”
His lips curl into a cruel, malicious smile. “But that won’t be an issue anymore. We’re bringing back the old school methods.”
I bite down on my lower lip hard, trying to hold everything in as thunder cracks through my chest. Anger surges, thick and electric—but braided tightly with it is something colder.
Fear. Pure, sinking dread that drops into my stomach like a stone plummeting to the bottom of a lake.
He drinks in my reaction, his smile twisting into something uglier. I shake my head, searching for any kind of answer, though only two words pulse at the edge of my tongue.
“Fuck you,” I say, and the satisfaction of watching that warped grin collapse is immediate. The corners of his mouth sink, and he goes still.
My hand finds the door handle, and I pull it toward me, ready to walk out, but he snatches the collar of my T-shirt and yanks me back inside. The door slams shut when instinct fires through me, my body coiling to strike his jaw.
But I am too slow.
Something slips around my neck with practiced ease. It cinches tight, biting into my skin as he drags me closer, the back of my skull hitting his chest with a thud. His grip tightens, and my lungs seize, a rush of heat washing over my face from the sudden lack of air.
His other hand fists in my hair and smashes my head against the window. My frantic breath fogs the glass while he drains the air from my throat.
His breath ghosts against my ear as he leans in and murmurs, “You forgot who you’re working for, didn’t you?”
I try to wrench free, but his hold is iron. Every muscle in my body locks, instincts screaming to fight, to claw, to survive, but I can’t move. He keeps me pinned in a chokehold, savoring every second of my helplessness.
“You impressed the bosses, I’ll give you that,” he growls, teeth clenched. “But that ends now. God, I’ve been waiting for this—imagining a shock collar around your neck, with me pressing the button every time you show your fangs.”
Tears slip past my lashes, warm against the cold hopelessness settling under my skin. My strength bleeds out of me as he crushes whatever fight I have left.
And suddenly, I am dragged into the past, trapped again against a wall of muscle, held in place with no escape in sight.
The chill of death and rot crawls into my bones. Through blurred eyes, I catch a silhouette in the window of my apartment complex. His hand rakes through his hair as he scans the area, searching for me.
“Enjoy your last few days. After you deal with the target, two days later at nine a.m., you will report to me in this exact spot,” he commands. He jerks me closer, sending sparks of pain across my scalp and my neck. “Do what you’re told. Don’t make me kill you.”
Finally, he lets me go. My forehead hits the window, and I gulp down air like it might vanish again. My face burns, my neck throbs, and my hand rises on instinct to feel the marks he left behind. Disgust twists low in my stomach.
I need to leave.
I need to run.
But my body won’t move. My face feels frozen in place as I stare at the glass, at Dante’s distant figure, a question pounding inside my skull.
How the fuck am I supposed to fix this?