23. Dante
Chapter 23
Dante
T he flight from Italy to New York had been silent. Carmen didn’t speak, and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything that would make a difference.
She sat by the window, staring blankly out at the clouds, her hands curled into fists in her lap. I spent the entire flight pretending I wasn’t stealing glances at her, pretending I didn’t want to reach out.
Pretending I didn’t feel like I was being carved open, inch by inch, the closer we got to Brooklyn.
Now, as we step into the Prince’s Guild Casino, the weight of what I’ve done slams into me like a freight train.
Carmen doesn’t fight when the men move in to take her.
They don’t need to grab her—she follows with a quiet sort of resignation that makes something in my chest twist violently. There’s no fire in her eyes, no sharp remark on her lips. Just acceptance.
The contrast between now and how she fought, tooth and nail, for every inch of freedom when we were last here…
That’s what kills me the most.
But these men don’t acknowledge her as anything more than a body to be moved. They don’t know what she’s been through, what we’ve been through. They don’t care.
I remind myself that neither should I.
Mia’s life is on the line. This is the deal. This is what has to happen.
But watching Carmen disappear down the hall, her back stiff, her head high despite everything—I feel it. The ache of her absence. A wound torn open inside me that I have no idea how to close.
I force myself to move.
Leon is waiting. Rocco, too.
I shove everything down—the anger, the regret, the unbearable urge to turn around and go after her. I keep walking past the flashing lights, the familiar faces, the place I once thought of as home.
But nothing feels like home anymore.
The back rooms haven’t changed much since I was last here, but there’s still evidence of my five months of absence littered across the space.
Maps cover the far wall, battle plans pinned alongside them, red ink marking territory lost, alliances severed. The air is thick with tension, the scent of stale coffee and cigarettes lingering beneath the sharper tang of gun oil.
Rocco stands near the center, arms crossed, his usual easy smirk nowhere to be found. When he visited the Iron Castle months ago, there was still a glimmer of light in his eyes. Now, he just looks tired. He looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him look.
Teo Vitale is at the head of the table, his fingers tapping absently against the surface as he stares at the screen before him. He’s as dark and unreadable as ever, his mind likely three steps ahead of whatever conversation is about to take place.
And then there’s Leon.
The don of the Prince’s Guild sits at the far end of the room, leaning back in his chair, exhaustion carved into the lines of his face.
He’s always been formidable and brutal in the face of war, the only one capable of pulling us through this mess.
But months without Mia have taken their toll. There’s an edge to him now, something fraying at the seams. His dark blonde hair has outgrown its style. The deep, black rings beneath his eyes are evident on his usually tan skin.
His sharp gaze lifts as I enter, and for the first time since I landed, I see something other than exhaustion. Relief.
“Dante,” Leon says, his voice steady despite everything. “Good. We need to move quickly.”
I nod and take a seat, eyes scanning the table. I recognize most of the men here, but the gaps are obvious. There are fewer familiar faces than before. The war has been bleeding us dry.
“The exchange will take place in forty-eight hours.” Leon gestures to the map spread before us, a neutral location marked in black ink. “Everything is set, but we all know the Cartel. We can’t trust them.”
A murmur of agreement moves through the room.
“If all goes well, we’ll walk away with Mia, and Rubio will take his daughter without incident.” Leon exhales sharply. “But we’d be fucking idiots to believe that’s how this will go down.”
No one argues.
Because we all know it’s true.
This war has been going on too long, the losses too steep. And Leon is desperate, clearly holding himself together by sheer force of will.
But there’s that voice in my head that reminds me that Amos Rubio wouldn’t give up Mia unless he thought he was getting something more in return.
Carmen should be enough. She’d been enough for me to consider sacrificing everything.
But why did Rubio care about her now?
* * *
The air in the warehouse is thick with the stench of oil and dust, the silence pressing down on us like a weighted shroud.
Carmen stands between us, her face unreadable. She hasn’t looked at me once since we arrived. I pretend it doesn’t hurt.
I glance instead at Leon, who’s speaking with Rocco and Teo in low tones. They stand close together, eyes never leaving the door. Even Teo, who’s usually so detached, has a hard edge to him today.
“It’ll work,” Leon says, the words coming out steady, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a crack in the resolve. “We’ll walk out with Mia.”
Rocco gives a humorless chuckle. “And if it doesn’t, we’re packing enough heat to blow them out of the water, right?”
Teo triple-checks the safety on all six of his firearms.“We’ve got the upper hand here. No matter how it plays out, we control the room. The four of us can take four of them, even if Amos walks through those doors.”
I want to believe them. I want to. But there’s a weight in my chest that won’t go away, a feeling deep in my gut that something is wrong. Something we’ve overlooked.
“Carmen—”
“Cállate.”
It’s the first thing she’s said to me since our conversation in the car back in Italy. God, I’ve missed the sound of her voice.
God, I wish I could take her and leave this place.
I press on anyway. “If something happens?—”
“I told you to shut up. ”
And then the door creaks.
The sound is like a trigger. The tension that’s been coiling in my chest snaps. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. My heart rate jumps, thumping so loudly I can’t hear anything else.
The Cartel is here.
They step into the warehouse, four of Rubio’s men dragging someone behind them. None of them are Amos.
That, I realize too late, is the first sign that this is not going to go as planned. They move in silence, their eyes cold, and they bring Mia with them. Her head is covered by a bag, and she’s tied and bruised. She’s clearly been beaten.
My blood runs cold.
I feel my hands tighten into fists at my sides.
The sight of her, how broken she looks, makes something twist inside me.
I can’t stop the flare of anger, the sense of helplessness that rises up like a wave crashing over me. I see the damage they’ve done to her. My friend .
Leon steps forward, voice cold and sharp. Impressive, considering that his hands are shaking. “Take it off.”
There’s a pause. Then, one of the men yanks the bag from her head.
The sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence is Carmen’s .
Because once upon a time, Mia had been Carmen’s friend, too. Which is why I’d never told her, never wanted her to be burdened with this like I was.
But now, there was no escaping this.
Mia’s red hair is matted with dried blood, and her pale skin marred with bruises. Her wrists are bound, her mouth set in a tight line despite the evidence of suffering carved into every inch of her. But her eyes—her eyes still hold fire.
A whisper of movement, and Carmen takes a step forward without encouragement.
Leon stiffens beside me, and I feel every man in the room hold their breath as the two women begin their walk.
A slow, measured exchange.
Mia on one side.
Carmen on the other.
Each step brings them closer until they meet in the center of the warehouse, standing in the dim pool of light from the skylight above.
“Red,” Carmen sounds racked with guilt.
Mia looks at Carmen, and despite the bruises, despite the fucking months of captivity, she still manages a smirk.
“I’d say I’ve had worse,” Mia croaks.
Carmen doesn’t speak again. She just reaches for her.
Her fingers brush against Mia’s wrist, a fleeting moment of warmth in a place that has none.
But then the moment shatters. Time fractures.
One second, Carmen’s fingers are brushing Mia’s wrist. The next, the air erupts in gunfire.
The tender moment had surprised someone’s trigger-happy finger. Whether it was us or them, all illusions of this being a simple exchange crumble as reinforcements gather on either side of the warehouse.
Shouts. Boots scraping against concrete. The deafening crack of bullets ripping through space.
We move without thinking. Rocco reaches Mia first, yanking her back behind us, where Teo is already laying down suppressing fire. Leon’s roar cuts through the chaos as he commands our retreat.
But I don’t hear him.
Because Carmen stumbles.
I don’t know where the shot came from. But I do know when a sharp, breathless sound leaves her lips as she collapses to the ground.
My world stops.
Everything—every gunshot, every shouted command, every goddamn breath—ceases to exist.
All I see is her.
Carmen, swaying like a marionette with cut strings. Carmen, her lips parting in shock, in pain. Carmen, crumpling to the cold, filthy warehouse floor, red blooming across her chest.
No.
No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
A mistake. I made a mistake. I never should have brought her here. Never should have let them take her from Montecroce, from the warmth of the Italian sun, from me.
The war. The Prince’s Guild. The goddamn exchange—none of it is worth this. None of it is worth her.
Not when she could die for it.
Carmen was supposed to live. Carmen was a creature designed to live.
Carmen, laughing over espresso in the markets. Carmen, twirling in a summer dress Evelina had made just for her. Carmen, bathed in golden light, stretching out in my bed like she belonged there.
Carmen, safe.
Carmen, mine.
I stagger forward, propelled by something primal, something unstoppable. I have to get to her. I have to.
Hands clamp down on me.
“Dante!” Rocco’s voice, sharp as a blade. “We have to go!”
No. No. No.
I fight against him, but he’s stronger than he looks, dragging me back as gunfire explodes around us.
I can’t reach her.
I can’t save her.
A fresh wave of horror crashes over me as the Cartel closes in, their hands on her , pulling her away. She doesn’t move.
My mind rejects it, my entire being rejects it.
I would burn the world down to keep her safe. I would tear apart anyone who tried to take her from me.
And yet, I am powerless.
A fucking coward being dragged away while she bleeds on the ground.
Rocco yanks me toward the exit. Teo is covering our retreat. Leon keeps barking orders. The warehouse blurs, my vision tunneling in on the last image of her I might ever see?—
Carmen, limp in the arms of her father’s men, disappearing into the dark.