Chapter 24 Dante
DANTE
I shouldn’t be out here. I know it the second I leave the warmth of the car and step into the city’s night air.
The mall lights behind me cast long shadows on the slick pavement, but I keep my eyes on the blinking dot on my phone screen.
Adriana’s location. She left the theater.
Bella’s still inside, Oleg still clueless. Adriana is alone.
She thinks I don’t notice the little lies—the “girl’s night out” that she has planned with her friend, which is obviously a front for something else. So I cancelled the rest of my plans for the night and hoped that I would be wrong. But I wasn’t.
Her dot moves, slipping out the far exit of the mall. I pocket the phone and keep my distance, cutting through the crowds and across the parking lot, staying in the shadows. I don’t know what I’m expecting—maybe a secret meeting, maybe just a chance to see for myself what she’s gotten herself into.
I follow her down a side street, past a strip of closed shops and the rattling whine of a bus. She walks quickly, glancing over her shoulder once, and then ducks into a narrow alley. My heart hammers in my chest. I quicken my pace, staying silent.
My father’s warning rings in my mind, the words still sharp. He told me women like her can’t be trusted, that letting them out of your sight is just inviting trouble. I used to think he was bitter, clinging to old rules. Now I wonder if he wasn’t just being careful.
The further she gets from the main lights of the mall, the more the neighborhood shifts.
I slow down, shoving my phone in my jacket, and watch her turn down a side street, past the trash bins and old glass doors of shuttered storefronts.
She moves fast, but she’s nervous. I see it in her shoulders.
I almost call out to her, but something keeps me back.
She needs to feel the risk if she’s going to understand what she’s playing with.
She slips into an alley behind a dead pizzeria, and I follow, careful to keep my footsteps quiet.
The cold, sour smell of the city is thick here, mingled with the iron tang of adrenaline in my mouth.
I hear voices ahead, hers and a man’s, too low to make out the words at first. My hands curl into fists.
I get close enough to see the shadows on the brick. The man moves too close. The guy is practically in her face, threatening her. Rage almost binds me, but I need to get to the truth.
Then I hear Adriana, her voice firmer than I expect, not backing down.
My jaw tightens with pride and fear, old feelings colliding.
I remember my father’s warning—Sentiment is a weakness, son.
You can’t protect everyone. But that was before I met her.
That was before I learned what it meant to want something that isn’t just power.
The argument grows. I see the man grab her arm. My vision narrows to a pinprick. I take a step forward, ready to end it, but Adriana moves first—her knee comes up fast, hard, and the guy folds. She breaks free, running.
I force myself to hang back, biting down the urge to rush in. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for, but she shouldn’t have to be.
I don’t let Adriana out of my sight until she disappears from the alley. Only then do I step out of the shadows and stalk after the dealer, rage simmering just beneath my skin. He’s moving fast, glancing over his shoulder, but not fast enough.
I grab him by the back of his jacket, slam him hard against the brick wall. The force rattles his teeth. I press my forearm to his chest, holding him in place.
“How dare you lay your hands on her?” My voice is low, steady, pure threat.
He stares at me, wild-eyed, trying to get his bearings. “Who the fuck are you?” he spits.
I step closer, pressing my forearm to his chest, letting him get a good look at me in the light of a flickering streetlamp. Recognition dawns. He goes pale, mouth opening.
“You…you’re Dante Volkov.”
I don’t let up. “That’s right. And you’re filth.” My voice drops. “What were you doing with my wife?”
He blinks, thrown, fear creeping in. “Wait—your wife? That crazy woman was your wife? Shit, man, I didn’t know, I swear! She came at me asking about some missing girl—”
I shove him harder. “If you ever touch her again, you’ll beg for the river. You understand?”
He’s sweating now, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Look, if Romanov hears about this, I’m already dead—”
The name stops me cold. My grip tightens. “Romanov? You mean Mikhail Romanov?”
He nods, voice shaking. “Yeah. Sometimes I move stuff for him, just deliveries.” His eyes dart around, wild with fear. “I can’t be seen talking to you,” he mutters, glancing toward the mouth of the alley.
I loosen my grip just enough for him to breathe, my other hand never leaving his collar.
The Romanovs and the Volkovs are sworn enemies, our families tied together by blood and bad history. Anyone caught between us knows there’s no easy way out.
“What was she asking you?” I press, keeping my voice low and cold.
He hesitates, fear clouding his features, and I don’t have time for it. I draw my gun, pressing the muzzle into his ribs. His breath hitches, the bravado draining out of him.
“My girlfriend—ex-girlfriend,” he rushes out, voice shaking. “She disappeared. Her name was Samie. Your wife kept asking about her, said she was worried, wanted to know who Samie talked to at the club, who she was with last.”
I study him, mind racing. Why the hell is Adriana so interested in a missing girl? Is this about her old life, her sister, maybe? Or is she just chasing trouble? I can’t figure out her angle, but I know one thing—she’s getting in too deep.
I press the gun a little harder. “What club?”
“Portello…we used to go there sometimes, but then Samie got a new boyfriend, she wouldn’t tell me who it was.”
I don’t care about this part, but I do care who he talks to.
“If you repeat this conversation, I’ll find you and I’ll put a bullet in your head. You get that?”
He just nods slowly. I shove him away and stride out of the alley, my jaw clenched.
I scan the streets, searching for any sign of Adriana, but she’s nowhere.
I pull out my phone, checking her location again, but the signal is dead.
She must have turned it off. My jaw tightens.
I shove the phone back into my pocket, anger simmering beneath the surface. She’s too clever for her own good.
With no other choice, I turn back toward the parking lot and get into my car. The city lights flicker past as I drive, my mind running over every conversation I’ve had with my wife.
I pull out my phone and dial Eddie. He answers on the second ring.
“I want everything you can find on Adriana. People she knew. Every address, every job, every friend from her life before the marriage. All of it. I want it by morning.”
He doesn’t ask questions. He never does. “You got it, boss,” he replies, already typing. The call ends. I toss the phone onto the seat beside me.
I take the elevator up, my shoulders tight, the city’s cold anger still coiled inside me. When I unlock the apartment, the lights are already on. Liam is sitting on the arm of the couch, beer in hand, looking entirely too at home for someone who’s supposed to have his own place.
He grins as I walk in, raising the bottle. “Took you long enough.”
I drop my keys on the counter and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water instead of a drink. “What are you doing here, Liam?”
He shrugs. “Dad’s pissed. Thought I’d warn you before you showed up at the house. Says you’re letting your wife make a fool of you in public. Says you’re soft.”
I snort. “Yeah, I bet he does.”
Liam looks at me for a long moment, something almost like pride in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s wrong. You should have seen his face when you walked out with Adriana. About time someone told him to go to hell.”
I sink onto a stool, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t need a cheerleader, Liam. And I didn’t do it for her. I did it because I’m tired of Dad treating everyone like chess pieces.”
He takes a swig of his beer. “Maybe. But you could have left her behind and came back anytime. You didn’t.”
I meet his eyes, bristling. “Don’t start. I haven’t come to love her.”
Liam leans back, a sly grin on his face. “You sure about that? Because it looks a lot like you’re doing things a man does when he cares.”
I scowl at him. “I told you, I don’t love her. Drop it.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, still smirking, when the apartment door swings open. Oleg steps in first, looking tired and irritated, his shirt rumpled. Adriana follows, a little breathless, her cheeks flushed. She pauses just inside the doorway, the tension in the room instantly heavier.
Liam clears his throat, suddenly awkward. “Evening.”
Adriana glances between us, her gaze landing on me for a split second before she looks away. “I’m—I’m going to my room,” she says, voice quiet, already moving down the hall without waiting for a response.
Oleg hovers in the entryway for a beat, then shrugs at me and steps outside, closing the door behind him.
It’s obvious from the way Adriana keeps her head down that she heard every word. I was supposed to confront her, to ask her where she’d been, but she’s already vanished down the hall before I can say a thing.
Liam stands, stretching. “Can I crash in the guest bedroom tonight? I don’t feel like dealing with Dad or the drama back at the house.”
I nod. “Go ahead. You know where everything is.”
He grabs his bag and disappears down the hall, leaving me alone in the living room, the silence settling thick around me.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up, the screen showing Eddie’s number.
I answer, voice low. “Yeah?”
His voice is tense. “I found out what you asked. But you’re not going to like it.”
I pace the kitchen, frustration building. “Spill it.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Check the folder I just sent you. It’s all there.”
The line clicks dead before I can say another word. My heart thuds as I open my email, the subject line glowing at the top of the inbox: VOLKOV – PRIVATE REQUEST.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, knowing whatever’s inside will change everything.
I open the folder and start sifting through the documents.
At first, it’s just the usual background details.
Old addresses, bank records, school enrollment forms. Then I see it—a scanned press badge, The Herald, dated three years ago.
The name on the badge is different. It says A.
Voltskaya, but the photo is Adriana, younger, her hair shorter.
The subject matter is nothing like the fluff pieces most interns write. Missing women, police misconduct, city corruption, a long-form story about the aftermath of a club raid.
I recognize the name of the club instantly. Serrano’s club. My eyes scan the byline again. Adriana was the one who broke the story. She’s the reason Serrano went down. She’s the reason the cops raided the club in the first place.
I lean back, memory replaying that night with painful clarity. I was at Serrano’s club, waiting for him, handling business as usual. I’d taken the back way to his lounge, impatient with all the noise and crowd. I remember walking down the dark hallway, on my way to get things moving.
There was a girl leaning against the wall, half her face hidden by her hair, wearing a dress that didn’t belong there. I glanced at her once, barely paid attention. Just another woman bored with the party. I kept walking, never thinking twice.
There’s no denying it. My wife is responsible for bringing down one of my business partner’s operations, one that was bringing in a shit ton of money for me.
It should make me angry—she cost me a fortune and a business partner—but instead, something in me breaks loose and I start to laugh.
I laugh because it’s ridiculous. All the careful deals, all the quiet threats, all the power plays to keep my father satisfied, and the person who undid one of my biggest earners is the woman I wake up next to every morning.
I laugh at the picture of her in my mind from that hallway, notebook hidden in her purse, looking small and harmless while Serrano’s guards strutted past her.
I laugh at myself for never putting the pieces together, for marrying a Petrova who turned out to be a reporter with sharper teeth than half the men on my payroll.
The amusement lingers even after the laughter fades. There’s something almost admirable about the size of her secret. She walked straight into a nest of criminals, took notes, and brought the whole place down without blinking.
Only a fool would underestimate her again—and I’m done being that fool.