26. Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Then here, in this moment, I understand with sudden clarity why he tried to keep me from this mission. Not because he doubts my strength, but because he knows the cost of this life.
We reach a heavy steel door marked with Russian lettering that I assume indicates the isolation wing. Marco's electronic device makes short work of the electronic lock, and we slip inside.
The cells line both sides of a narrow corridor, most empty, their doors standing open. But at the far end, a guard sits outside a closed door, his attention focused on a small television.
Dante signals to Marco, who takes position at the opposite angle. They'll converge from both sides, trap him in a pincer movement.
But before they can execute their plan, the guard looks up, sees us, and reaches for his radio.
I don't think. Don't hesitate.
My hand finds the gun at my side, raising it in one fluid motion. The suppressed weapon coughs once. The guard slumps forward, a neat hole where his right eye had been.
Dante looks at me with something between surprise and pride before quickly moving to the fallen guard to check for keys.
"Thank my father's paranoia," I say, my voice strangely calm despite the trembling of my hand. "He made sure I could shoot to kill."
Dante cocks a brow and blows a heavy breath. "And that you did, princess."
The unprotected cell door opens with a metallic groan, revealing darkness beyond. The smell hits me first—blood, urine, and something worse.
"Antonio?" I whisper, moving into the darkness. "Antonio, it's Francesca. I'm here."
A shuffling sound comes from the far corner. As my eyes adjust, I make out a figure huddled on a thin mattress, chains connecting wrists to a bolted ring in the wall.
"Frannie?" The voice is cracked, disbelieving. "No... trap... they said..."
I rush forward, falling to my knees beside my brother. The sight of him tears a gasp from my throat. His face is barely recognizable beneath the bruising, one eye swollen completely shut, lips cracked and bleeding. His expensive suit hangs in tatters, revealing burns and cuts across his torso.
"I'm here," I assure him, hands hovering uselessly over his injuries. "I'm real. We're getting you out."
Dante appears beside me, bolt cutters in hand. He makes quick work of the chains, freeing Antonio's wrists.
"Can you walk?" Dante asks him directly.
Antonio's good eye fixes on Dante with visible effort. "You... shouldn't be here. The youngest... Ravelli... fucking asshole."
"Nico," Dante confirms. "We know."
Antonio tries to stand, his legs buckling beneath him. Dante catches him effortlessly, supporting his weight.
"Marco, lead the way," Dante commands. "We're moving. Now."
Marco nods, taking point as we begin our retreat. I stay close to Dante, who half-carries Antonio through the dungeon corridors. We're making good progress when the first alarm sounds—a wailing siren that echoes through the stone passages.
" Shit ," Dante says grimly, increasing his pace. "Move! Now!"
We break into a run, retracing our steps through the labyrinth maze. Behind us, shouting erupts, followed by the distinctive sound of boots on concrete. Many boots.
"Almost there," Marco encourages as we reach the tunnel entrance. "Two hundred meters to extraction point."
We push forward, the narrow passage forcing us into single file. Dante transfers Antonio to Marco, taking rear position to cover our retreat.
The first gunshots come as we near the tunnel's exit. Bullets ricochet off concrete walls, showering us with fragments.
"Go!" Dante shouts, returning fire. "Get them out!"
I hesitate, torn between following his orders and staying with him.
I look back, my heart clenching at the sight of Dante silhouetted against the tunnel's darkness. His broad shoulders fill the narrow space as he crouches, weapon raised. Blood spatters his tactical gear, some his, some not.
I can't tear my eyes away.
This is Dante stripped bare. Not the polished, well-dressed crime lord or even the dominant lover, but the warrior beneath it all.
The man who would sacrifice everything to protect what's his.
His missing ring finger catches my attention as he reloads. That first sacrifice he made for me, cutting off his own flesh to send a message.
Now he's ready to give so much more.
A bullet grazes his shoulder, drawing blood. He doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate. But I see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing has grown labored. He's already taken hits I can't see, pushing through the pain to buy us time.
His eyes meet mine one final time, and in them I see everything we've left unspoken. Every promise, every possibility, every future we might never have.
"Francesca, GO!" he roars, the command shattering my flying thoughts.
With tears in my eyes, I run, following Marco and Antonio toward the fading daylight ahead. We burst from the tunnel into the maintenance shed, then out into the forest where the rest of the team waits with stretchers.
"Get him stabilized," Marco orders the medic as Antonio is transferred to a gurney. "We move as soon as Dante—"
More gunfire erupts from the tunnel. My heart stops.
"Dante!" I cry, turning back toward the entrance.
Before I can take a step, he emerges, backing out while continuing his rapid fire. Relief floods me, only to transform into horror as I see the dark stain spreading across his left shoulder.
"You're hit," I gasp, running to his side.
"Just a flesh wound," he dismisses, though his face has paled beneath his tan. "Is Antonio secured?"
"Yes, but you—"
"Later. Move!"
We race through the trees, the sound of pursuit growing fainter as we put distance between ourselves and the compound. By the time we reach the helicopter, darkness has fallen completely, providing cover for our escape.
The rotors spin to life as we load Antonio onto the aircraft. Medics work over him, attaching IVs, monitoring vitals, applying pressure to the worst of his wounds.
Dante collapses into a seat beside me, his breathing labored. I help him remove his vest, slowly peeling it away to reveal a gunshot wound that looks much worse than "flesh wound" implies.
"You need medical attention," I insist, pressing a dressing against the bleeding hole in his shoulder.
He grimaces but doesn't argue, allowing the medic to cut away his shirt and apply proper treatment. The bullet passed clean through, missing major arteries but causing significant blood loss.
As we lift off, flying away from the cursed castle and its horrors, Antonio stirs on his stretcher.
"Frannie," he mumbles, good eye opening to focus on me. "How... how did you find me?"
I take his hand, careful of the IV line. "The Volkovs sent the video. Do you remember it? They wanted to trade you for Nico."
His expression darkens and he nods. "Nico... approached me... months ago. Business deal... exclusive route through... Castellano shipping." He coughs, blood speckling his lips. "I refused... warned him... dangerous game."
Dante leans forward despite his injury. "What game, Antonio? What was Nico planning?"
My brother's gaze shifts between us. "Building his own network... using both families... called it 'independence'... but it was betrayal of everyone."
His fingers tighten around mine and I squeeze his hand.
"Rest now. You're safe."
When his breathing evens out, indicating sleep or unconsciousness, I turn to Dante. The medic has finished bandaging his shoulder and administered painkillers, but his face remains drawn with pain and something deeper. Something too familiar to him.
Betrayal .
"Dante?" I reach for him, my hand finding his uninjured arm. "Why would you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Take that bullet for me?"
His eyes meet mine, pupils dilated from pain medication. "I would take a thousand bullets for you." His words are slightly slurred, but the meaning behind them is unmistakable. "You are mine to protect. Mine to love."
The admission, spoken so openly before his men that surround us, warms something deep inside me.
This is not the Dante who first claimed me as property, who paraded me around in skimpy lingerie so other men would see.
This is a man transformed by love. Still dangerous, still deadly, but now with purpose beyond power.
"I love you," I whisper, pressing my forehead against his. "My monster. My king."
"Your monster needs sleep," he murmurs, eyes growing heavy as the medication takes full effect. "And then... we hunt my brother."