Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Natasha
Something hard and cold pressed against my temple, tight against my skin. My neck burned—something digging into my flesh, bit by bit.
I forced my eyelids open.
Everything blurred, swaying. It took forever before things came into focus. My head felt like lead, pounding at the temples. Every pulse sent my stomach lurching. I tried to lift my hand to rub it, but my wrists were bound behind me. Couldn't move an inch.
Where the hell was I?
I turned my stiff neck, slowly taking in my surroundings. Rusted pipes crisscrossed overhead. Thick dust covered the floor. A few harsh work lights lit up a small area nearby. The air was cold and damp, reeking of rust and—blood.
My last memory stopped at the gallery.
I'd been taken.
And the person who'd taken me was my own sister. Vera had dragged me to this place.
About forty feet away, in that harsh pool of light, a man lay on the ground, clutching his mangled arm, sweating through the pain.
Right next to him stood Dante.
He held a gun. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, those black eyes locked on me.
The moment I saw him, my foggy heart clenched.
Dante... he came. Did he come to save me?
"Let Viktor go," Vera screamed at Dante, every word shaking. "Drop your gun. Get away from him. Now!"
Dante didn't move. Didn't even glance at Vera. Those black eyes stayed fixed on my face.
"Vera." He finally spoke, voice low. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Let Natasha go first."
"Whatever I want?" Vera laughed—sharp, trembling. The sound made my scalp crawl. "You still think this is about money?"
I instinctively tried to struggle, only to realize the chair and ropes had me pinned. Couldn't move half an inch.
Worse—the moment I moved, Vera noticed. Her hand tightened around my throat, yanking me back hard.
"Oh, awake?" She glanced down at me, her tone sickeningly gleeful. "Sister, your timing's perfect."
She leaned down, mouth at my ear.
"Good. Now you can watch your baby's father die right in front of you."
I went rigid. I couldn't understand why Vera suddenly wanted Dante dead.
"Vera, why are you doing this?"
Vera straightened, looked at Dante in the center of the room, then back down at me. She smiled. Beautiful. Chilling.
"Why? Because he's a blind fool?" she said. "Because he chose you."
Her nails dug deeper into my flesh.
"But don't get too excited." Her voice went cold. "You think you won? Let me tell you something—I never gave a damn about any of you. Not from the start."
She lifted her head, shouting the rest.
"You know why I ran from that wedding?" Vera stared at Dante, face twisted. "Because I never planned to marry you. Katerina fucking looked down on me? Fine. I never loved you anyway."
I held my breath.
Dante's face showed nothing, but I saw his hand slowly curl into a fist.
"But you still bit me, Dante." Vera's voice shot up, nearly a scream, eyes full of hate. "You were so stupid. For this worthless piece of trash, you dumped me! Broke our engagement in front of all of New York!"
She got more agitated, shaking all over. The gun at my temple shook with her. I closed my eyes, afraid to think how fragile that trigger was.
"Biggest humiliation of my life." Vera's teeth ground together. "Now you're going to pay me back. Every. Last. Bit."
"I say it, you do it." She bit out each word. "First, let Viktor go. Second, drop the gun. Then—"
She paused.
"Put that gun to your own head and pull the trigger. Dante, pay me back with your life."
Something snapped inside me. I shook my head frantically, tried to scream "no," but Vera's grip crushed my throat. I couldn't get out a single syllable, just broken whimpers through my teeth.
Don't agree. Dante, please, don't agree.
But Dante didn't hesitate.
He slowly raised both hands. His fingers opened. The gun hit the concrete with a clatter. He kicked it hard—it scraped across the floor in a shower of sparks, sliding into the darkness. Out of reach.
He stood there under those harsh lights, hands empty, exposing himself completely to the two guns aimed at him.
Tears flooded my eyes.
You bastard. How could you... how could you throw your life away so easily?
Viktor stared at the kicked gun, then looked up at Dante's empty hands. A vicious smile crawled across his face.
He pushed himself up from the pool of blood, clutching his ruined arm, staggering to the wall. He bent down and grabbed a steel pipe half as tall as a man.
"Dante, oh Dante." He dragged the pipe back, metal shrieking against concrete. "Your day has come."
I saw Dante's jaw tighten. But he made no move to dodge. He just turned his head, looking past half the warehouse, past Viktor's twisted face, at me behind the pillar.
Then the first blow came down.
The pipe slammed into Dante's shoulder—a dull thud, followed by a groan he crushed in his throat. He staggered but stayed on his feet. Didn't fall.
Second hit. Third.
Viktor's eyes blazed red. He swung again and again—shoulders, back, ribs. Nowhere was safe. I heard an especially sharp crack—
Bone breaking.
The pipe came down hard on Dante's knee. He finally couldn't hold up anymore. His whole body dropped heavily into the pool of blood at his feet, splashing dark red.
He knelt there, half his face covered in blood, black hair dripping. Viktor kept hitting him, but Dante's eyes never left me. Not for a second.
His lips moved.
Across that distance, I read what he said.
I'm sorry.
Kneeling in blood, beaten half to death, he said sorry. Over and over.
I struggled like crazy, wrists twisting bloody in the ropes. But that little strength meant nothing.
No. This wasn't right.
I'd hated him. I thought I'd stopped loving him. I thought I'd never shed another tear for this man.
But now, kneeling there, taking this beating for me without a word, putting his life on the line—his eyes only held me.
No. I could hate him forever, but I couldn't watch him die here.
Vera was still absorbed in her show, leaning over my shoulder, eyes glued to the scene, breathing hard and fast. The hand at my temple loosened slightly in her excitement.
Now.
I took a deep breath, pouring twenty-plus years of submission, hate, and resentment into this one move. I snapped my head back and sideways—hard.
My skull cracked solidly into Vera's face.
"Ahhh—!!"
A piercing scream exploded in my ear. I felt something warm splash my neck. Vera's blood. That hit broke her nose—and struck her gun hand.
She jerked in pain, fingers loosening. The gun clattered to the floor.
In that same instant, Dante's hand shot up, grabbing the pipe swinging at his head. With all his strength, he threw the unprepared Viktor to the ground. Then, ignoring his nearly useless leg, he half-crawled, half-scrambled toward me.
I'll never forget how he looked coming at me. Then Dante moved with impossible speed, grabbing me—chair and all—crushing me into his chest.
"Hold on to me." He gasped in my ear. That's all he could say.
Then, holding me, he threw us both into the narrow gap between two massive cargo containers.
Vera grabbed the gun and fired like a madwoman.
Bullets flew. Dante shoved me deep into that gap, using his broad back as a shield.
The impact was too much—the broken chair fell apart, the ropes loosened. We rolled together into the safe, pitch-black shadow behind the containers.
Gunfire still rang outside.
Dante pressed down on me, one hand trembling up to touch behind his ear.
"Don't be scared." He forced out a whisper. "My people are outside. You'll be okay."
"I don't care about your people!" I sobbed, shaking my head, trying to cover the wound on his back still bleeding out. But the blood wouldn't stop, running through my fingers. "I'm not worried about me—it's you! Look at yourself, you're bleeding so much..."
"I'm fine." He cut me off.
But he couldn't fool me.
His face was deathly pale, lips blue. The body pressing on me grew heavier, colder. Every word made his chest heave, throat rattling.
He didn't look fine at all.
"Don't lie to me..." My voice shook apart, tears falling one after another, hitting his face. "Dante, don't lie to me. Hold on, please hold on..."
I was falling apart.
He didn't speak again. He used his last bit of strength to turn his head and kissed me softly.
The kiss was light, tasting of blood. So light it terrified me.
"I'm sorry." He whispered against my lips, word by word, hoarse. "Natasha, I'm sorry. I owe you so much."
Then, at my ear, with barely any breath left, he murmured three final words.
"I love you."
My whole body shook violently.
He had to wait until now. Until he was covered in blood, barely alive, pressed on top of me about to die—only then would he say it. This overdue love.
After those last words, his strength seemed to drain away. He went limp, collapsing heavily into the curve of my neck. His burning blood soaked through my shirt, then slowly cooled.
"Dante?" I called hoarsely. "Dante, don't scare me. Open your eyes and look at me..."
But his arms around me had already fallen limp.
He didn't move. No sign of waking up.
"Dante!!"
I held his drooping head, letting out a grief-stricken wail I didn't even recognize. I shook him hard, but he didn't respond. His face pressed against my neck, losing warmth bit by bit.
I lowered my head, pressing my face to his cooling forehead.
Gunfire still echoed outside, but I heard nothing. My whole world contained only this man in my arms, growing heavier, colder.
If he died, what would I do?
For a moment, it felt like there was nothing left in this world worth holding on to.
I'd spent over twenty years being unwanted by my father, trampled by my sister, and treated like I was less than nothing.
The only thing that ever made life feel worth living was this man—and the late, burning love he had finally given me.
If he was leaving, let me go with him.
Like this, holding him, staying here, going nowhere. That would be okay. At least we'd never miss each other again.
In that same instant—
"BOOM—!!"
A deafening explosion. The whole warehouse shook violently. Those rusted iron doors—smashed apart by a black armored vehicle. Metal and concrete shattered everywhere.
Then came gunfire so dense you couldn't tell the intervals.
Through the gap in the containers, I looked out and saw a team in black tactical gear pouring into the warehouse, guns raised. The figure leading them—I knew so well.
Katerina.