31. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dante
Dante didn’t wait for the SUV to stop. The moment the wheels hit the gravel of the upper drive, he threw the door open and hit the ground running. Luca shouted after him, but Dante ignored the words, his focus narrowed to a single point: the house.
All he heard was the echo of her last message: I’m trapped. East wing. Hurry.
His boots pounded up the steps. The mansion loomed above him—dark, silent, wrong. The front doors were sealed. He didn’t slow; he slammed his shoulder into the reinforced wood. Pain shot down his arm. He hit it again. And again.
Luca grabbed his arm. “Boss, stop—we’ll breach it together—”
Dante shoved him off. “She’s inside.”
Luca’s face tightened. “Then we move.”
The men lined up, weapons ready, explosives primed. Dante didn’t wait for the countdown; he detonated the charge himself. The doors blew inward with a roar of smoke and splinters.
Dante stepped through the haze like a man walking into hell. “Alina,” he whispered, “I’m here.”
The handle rattled again. Harder. Alina pressed her back against the door, candleholder raised like she was about to fight a demon. The voice on the other side was low, amused, wrong.
“Open the door.”
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “No.”
“Open it,” he repeated, “and I won’t hurt you.”
She laughed, a hysterical, terrified sound. “Yeah, that’s definitely a lie.”
A pause. Then, a heavy impact slammed into the door. Alina screamed. The wood cracked. It wasn’t broken, but it was compromised.
Dante… please…
Another impact. The crack widened. The guard who’d been with her was gone—dragged into another hallway. She was alone.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it with shaking hands.
Dante: I’m inside. Hold on.
She typed back: Hurry. He’s breaking through.
The door shook again.
Dante moved through the mansion like a predator, his weapon raised, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Luca followed close behind. “East wing is this way—”
“I know,” Dante snapped.
He didn’t need directions. He could feel her. Every violent, protective, primal instinct he possessed pulled him toward her like a magnet. A guard stumbled out of a hallway, bleeding from a cut on his forehead.
“Boss—east wing—they’re breaching—she’s—”
Dante grabbed him. “Where is she?”
“Room at the end of the hall—she ran—they followed—”
Dante didn’t wait for more. He sprinted.
Another impact. The door splintered. A hand forced through the crack, reaching for the lock. Alina screamed and swung the candleholder with everything she had. It connected with the intruder’s wrist. He cursed and pulled back.
She didn’t stop. She hit the door again, and again. Her arms shook, her breath broke, and her vision blurred—but she didn’t stop. Stopping meant dying.
The man outside growled, “Enough.”
Another impact. The door buckled inward. Alina stumbled back, gripping the candleholder like a lifeline. Her phone buzzed again, but she couldn’t look. The door cracked down the center. A boot slammed into it once, twice, three times. The wood split. A masked face appeared in the gap.
Alina choked on a sob. “Found you,” he said.
Dante heard her scream. Not faint, not distant. Close.
He sprinted down the hall, his heart slamming against his ribs, his vision tunneling. He saw the splintered door. He saw the masked man forcing his way inside. He saw Alina pressed against the far wall, the candleholder clutched in her white-knuckled grip, terrified but not broken.
Something inside Dante snapped. He didn’t shout her name. He didn’t warn the intruder. He didn’t hesitate.
He roared.
A sound ripped from deep in his chest—raw, violent, primal—the kind of sound that made men freeze. The intruder turned, but he was too slow. Dante hit him like a wrecking ball, and they crashed into the hallway wall.
Luca shouted behind him, and more guards stormed in. Chaos erupted, but Dante didn’t hear any of it. He only saw her.
The masked man flew backward, ripped away from the door like a ragdoll. Dante filled the doorway—breathing hard, eyes wild, jaw clenched, covered in dust and smoke. He looked like a storm given human form.
Her storm.
Alina’s knees buckled. “Dante,” she whispered.
He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her face in both hands, his breath shaking. “I’ve got you.”
She collapsed into him, sobbing into his chest. His arms wrapped around her instantly, pulling her against him as if he needed her to breathe.
“I’m here,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here. I’m here.”
She clung to him, fingers fisting his shirt, her body trembling uncontrollably. “I thought—” she choked, “I thought you wouldn’t make it.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I would burn the world before I let them take you.”
Her breath broke. For the first time since the attack began, she felt safe. Not because the danger was gone, but because he was here.