Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Dante
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Lorenzo.
"Talk to me," I answer.
"Webb's alive." Lorenzo's voice is tight. Controlled in that way that means he's furious. "And we have a problem."
I push myself up against the headboard, ignoring the pull of stitches in my side. "How big?"
"Cartel-backed."
The word lands like a second bullet. I close my eyes. "Which one?"
"Mendoza. Webb's been laundering money for them for the past eighteen months. The debt he owes us? That's pocket change compared to what he's moving for them." Lorenzo pauses. "You didn't just collect on a tech entrepreneur, Dante. You walked into cartel territory and killed one of their men."
Fuck.
The bathroom door opens. Marina steps out in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, her wet hair leaving dark spots on the fabric. She freezes when she sees my face.
"The cleanup crew," I say into the phone. "That wasn't Webb covering his tracks."
"No. That was Mendoza making sure nothing traces back to them." Lorenzo's voice drops. "They're going to want blood for this. Webb was their golden goose. Even if he's alive, you disrupted their operation. Killed their people on their turf."
Marina moves closer. She doesn't sit. Just stands at the foot of the bed, watching me.
"What's the play?" I ask.
"You stay exactly where you are. Don't move. Don't leave that apartment." Lorenzo's tone leaves no room for argument. "Nico and I are coming to Denver. We're bringing twenty men."
Twenty men. For a debt collection gone wrong.
This isn't damage control. This is war preparation.
"Lorenzo—"
"You're in no condition to handle this alone, and I'm not losing you because you're too stubborn to wait for backup." He exhales. "We'll be there in six hours. Private jet. Keep your head down until then."
"Copy."
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hand. The screen goes dark.
Marina hasn't moved. She stands at the foot of the bed like a statue, arms crossed over her chest.
"How bad?" she asks.
I could lie. Tell her it's nothing. That Lorenzo's just being cautious. That she'll be fine, that this will blow over, that the men outside her building are more than enough protection.
I look at her face. The dark circles under her eyes. The tension in her jaw.
"Bad," I say. "Really bad."
Marina's expression doesn't change. She expected this. Of course she did. She's not stupid.
"Define really bad."
"The man I went to collect money from." I set the phone on the nightstand. "He's been laundering money for a Mexican cartel. I killed the man who shot me. The man I killed worked for them."
Marina's face goes pale. Not the dramatic kind of pale from movies. The real kind. The blood draining from her cheeks, leaving her skin almost gray.
"Cartel," she repeats.
"Lorenzo and Nico are flying in with twenty men. They'll be here in six hours."
"Twenty men." Marina laughs. It's not a happy sound. "Twenty men. For what? To protect you? To start a war in my city?"
"To make sure this doesn't become a war."
"But it might." She's not asking.
"Yes."
Marina turns away. She walks to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to look down at the street.
"I have a job I love. An apartment that's mine. A routine that doesn't involve checking for exits or wondering if someone's going to shoot me."
Her voice cracks on the last word.
"Marina—"
"And you show up, and suddenly I'm back in it. All of it." She doesn't turn around. "The guns. The phone calls in the middle of the night. The men in SUVs watching my building."
I don't have a defense. She's right.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't." She spins to face me. Her eyes are bright. Angry. "Don't apologize. You don't get to apologize for something you're not actually sorry for."
"I am sorry."
"You're sorry I'm upset. You're not sorry you came here." Marina crosses her arms again. "You had a choice. You could have gone to a hospital. You could have died in an alley somewhere instead of dragging me back into this."
"You're right."
That stops her. She blinks.
"I had a choice," I say. "And I chose your door. I chose you." The words cost me something. I feel them scrape against my throat on the way out. "I'm not sorry for that. I'm sorry for what it's costing you."
Marina stares at me. The anger doesn't leave her face, but something else joins it. Something I can't name.
"Six hours," she says finally.
"Six hours."
"And then what? Lorenzo shows up with his army and you all go to war with a cartel?"
"Then we figure out how to make this go away without anyone else getting hurt."
Marina laughs again. Still not happy. "Anyone else. You mean anyone else besides the people you've already killed."
I don't answer. There's nothing to say.
She walks to the bedroom door. Stops with her hand on the frame.
"I'm going to make coffee," she says without turning around. "Because apparently I'm not sleeping tonight. Or any night until this is over."
She leaves.
I wait until I hear the coffee maker start in the kitchen. Then I call Lorenzo back.
He picks up on the second ring. "What now?"
"Marina. We need to shelter her."
Lorenzo sighs. The sound is heavy. Exhausted. I hear movement on his end—footsteps, a door opening and closing. He's walking somewhere. Away from whoever might be listening.
"You want me to what, exactly?" His voice is lower now. More private. "Pull her into a safe house? Uproot her entire life because you decided to bleed on her doorstep?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea what I'm dealing with right now?
" Lorenzo's composure cracks. Just a little.
"Sophia has been screaming at me for the past hour.
She wants to get on a plane. She wants to be there.
She doesn't care about the danger, doesn't care about the cartel, doesn't care that I need her safe in Chicago where I can protect her. "
I hear something crash in the background. Distant. Muffled.
"That was a vase," Lorenzo says flatly. "She's throwing things now."
"Lorenzo—"
"And Bruno." He laughs. It's not a happy sound.
"Bruno learned about the cartel twenty minutes ago.
You know what he did? He called me. Screaming.
Actually screaming, Dante. I've known that man for thirty-eight years and I've never heard him raise his voice like that.
He wants to know how we let this happen.
He wants to know why you were in Denver alone.
He wants to know why I didn't send backup. "
"I didn't need backup for a debt collection."
"Apparently you did." Lorenzo's voice goes sharp. "So now I have a furious wife who wants to fly into a war zone, a Don who's ready to burn down half of Mexico, and you're calling me to tell me what, exactly?"
I don't flinch.
"I'm calling to tell you that the only problem I'm responsible for is that I dragged Marina into this."
Lorenzo goes quiet. Either we shelter her." My voice doesn't waver. "Or I get out of this fucking building right now and go hunting every Mexican I can find until I'm dead for real."
The silence stretches.
"You're serious," Lorenzo says.
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life."
"Cazzo." The word comes out sharp. Angry. "You stubborn, reckless—"
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone. The screen goes dark.
My hand is shaking. Not from pain. Not from blood loss. From rage.
I throw the phone across the bed. It bounces off the mattress and lands on the floor with a dull thud.
The coffee maker stops gurgling in the kitchen. I hear Marina's footsteps. She appears in the doorway, a mug in each hand.
She looks at me. Looks at the phone on the floor.
"That sounded productive," she says.
I don't answer. I can't. If I open my mouth right now, I'll say something I can't take back.
Marina sets one mug on the nightstand beside me. She doesn't comment on my silence. Doesn't push. Just stands there, holding her own coffee, watching me with those blue-green eyes that see too much.
"Lorenzo's dealing with a lot right now," I finally manage.
"I heard." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Thin walls."
Fuck.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough." Marina's expression doesn't change. "You just threatened to go on a suicide mission if they don't protect me."
I close my eyes. "Marina—"
"Don't." Her voice is quiet. Not angry. Something worse. "Don't explain. Don't justify. Just... don't."
I open my eyes. She's still standing there. Still watching me.
"You barely know me," she says. "We've had maybe ten real conversations in our entire lives. Most of them happened while I was being held hostage by your family."
"That's not—"
"And you're willing to die for me." She shakes her head. "That's insane. You know that, right? That's actually insane."
"Probably."
"Definitely. Drink your tea before it gets cold. And stop throwing your phone. You might need it when Lorenzo calls back to yell at you."
She gives me the phone and leaves the room.
Marina
I grab my phone and dial Sophia before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the second ring. "Marina? Is everything okay?"
"Put Lorenzo on the phone."
Silence. Then Sophia's voice, careful. "He's in the middle of—"
"Sophia." I keep my voice flat. "Put me on speaker."
More silence. I hear movement, muffled voices. Then Lorenzo's voice cuts through, deeper than I remember. "Marina."
"What's going to happen?"
Lorenzo sighs. The sound carries exhaustion and something else—calculation.
"There's no lead that suggests they know you exist. They're searching for Dante in hospitals.
Our doctor reported someone asking questions about a man matching Dante's description at three different emergency rooms in the Denver area. "
I process this. "That's the good news."
"Yes."
"And the bad?"
Another pause. I hear Sophia breathing in the background.
"We don't know if it's safe to move him yet," Lorenzo says. "The cartel has eyes everywhere. If they're watching hospitals, they might be watching roads out of the city. Private airfields. Bus stations."
My stomach drops. "What does that mean?"
"It means you might need to stay put. In your building. With Dante." Lorenzo's voice is measured, like he's delivering a business report instead of telling me my life is on hold. "Possibly longer than a day."
"How much longer?"
"We don't know yet. Could be two days. Could be a week."
A week.
"Marina—" Sophia starts.
"No." I cut her off. My hand grips the phone so hard my knuckles ache. "I need guns."
Silence.
"I need guns," I repeat. "And more people around my building. Not three. I want enough men that a cartel hit squad thinks twice before approaching."
"Marina, we have security in place—" Lorenzo begins.
"I don't care what you have in place. I care about what happens if they find us.
" My voice doesn't shake. I'm proud of that.
"I survived getting shot once. I rebuilt my entire life.
I moved across the country. I learned to use my left hand because my right one doesn't work properly anymore.
If something happens to me because you didn't take this seriously enough—" I pause, letting the words settle.
"I will hunt every single one of you. Even if I'm dead. I will find a way."
The silence stretches.
Then Lorenzo speaks, and his voice has changed. Harder. More respectful.
"Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable. I'll have one delivered within the hour along with ammunition."
"Two."
"Two guns?"
"Yes. And bullets. Plenty."
"Done." Lorenzo's tone is clipped now, all business. "I'm doubling the security detail. Eight men, rotating shifts. Two on your floor, two in the lobby, four outside covering all exits."
"Good."
"Marina." Sophia's voice breaks through. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted—"
"I know." I close my eyes. "I know you didn't want this. But I'm in it now. And I'm not going to sit here waiting to die because someone underestimated the situation."
"You won't die." Lorenzo's voice is absolute. "Dante won't let that happen. And neither will I."
"Dante can barely stand up."
"He's killed men in worse condition."
I don't know what to say to that. The casual way Lorenzo mentions killing, like it's a job skill on a resume.
"The guns will arrive within the hour," Lorenzo continues. "One of my men will knock three times, pause, then knock twice more. That's the signal. Don't open the door for anyone else."
"Three times, pause, twice more. Got it."
"And Marina?"
"What?"
"Thank you. For saving him."
I hang up without responding.
My hands are shaking now. Both of them. I set the phone down on the kitchen counter and press my palms flat against the cool surface, forcing myself to breathe.
Guns. Security. A cartel hunting for the man bleeding in my bedroom.
This is my life now. Again.