Chapter 4
DANTE
Fuck. What did I just do?
I stand in Antonio’s office with a dead man at my feet and the sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway, and the reality of my mistake crashes over me like ice water.
I just let a fucking witness walk away. Disappear into the night with my face burned into her memory and the knowledge of what I’ve done.
What the fuck was that?
This goes against every rule I’ve ever followed. Every lesson my father beat into me. Every instinct I’ve honed over a decade of surviving in this world.
You don’t let witnesses live. Ever. No exceptions, no mercy.
And I just broke that rule for a girl whose name I don’t even know.
My father’s voice echoes in my head, cold and cutting. “Weakness gets you killed. Hesitation gets you buried. You leave a witness alive and you might as well put the gun to your own head.”
He’s right. He’s always right about this shit.
If he finds out I let someone walk away, someone who saw my face, who can identify me, who witnessed a hit, he’ll put a bullet in me himself. Family or not, there are lines you don’t cross in this business.
And I just crossed the biggest one.
Move. Fix this. Now.
My feet finally cooperate and I’m moving through the mansion, following the path she took. Down the hallway lined with bodies. Past the other rooms where Antonio kept god knows how many girls locked up.
The front door is still open, swinging slightly in the night breeze. She can’t have gotten far. Barefoot, wearing torn scrubs, covered in blood—she’ll be easy to spot.
Easy to finish.
I hit the street and scan both directions. It’s that dead hour between late night and early morning when the city holds its breath. A few cars pass but no pedestrians. No sign of her.
Think. Where would she go?
Not the police. Not immediately. She’s too scared and traumatized. She’ll run first, process later.
Somewhere public. Somewhere with people. Somewhere she thinks she’ll be safe.
I pick a direction and start walking, keeping my pace measured even though every instinct screams at me to run. Running draws attention. Running makes people look twice.
And I can’t afford anyone remembering my face tonight.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Marco calling.
I let it ring. Can’t take my eyes off the streets for even a second. Can’t risk missing her in the maze of alleys and side streets.
Three blocks down I catch movement ahead. A flash of torn blue fabric disappearing around a corner.
There!
I speed up, hand moving to the gun under my jacket. She’s heading toward the club district where the streets get more crowded. If I don’t catch her before she reaches the crowds, this gets infinitely more complicated.
The phone buzzes again. Marco, persistent as always.
I answer this time, keeping my voice low and irritated at the interruption. “What.”
“Boss, the mansion’s torched. No bodies that can be identified, no evidence. It’s done,” Marco reports.
“Good.”
“We didn’t find the ledger. Tore that place apart before we lit it up. Antonio must have hidden it somewhere else or destroyed it like you said.”
Or it never existed in the first place. Or it’s buried so deep we’ll never find it.
“Doesn’t matter now. Job’s done,” I tell him.
“Understood. Anything else you need?”
“No.”
I hang up without waiting for a response and refocus on tracking her.
She’s moving through increasingly crowded streets now. We’re getting closer to the club district. More people on the sidewalks, more noise, more witnesses.
Too many witnesses to risk a public execution.
She’s limping badly, leaving small drops of blood on the pavement from the cut on her feet.
I follow at a distance, keeping her in sight but staying back far enough that she won’t spot me in the growing crowds. She keeps looking over her shoulder, checking for pursuit.
Then she stops in front of a club with a line of people waiting outside. I watch from across the street as she approaches the bouncer and dashes inside, ignoring the bewildered man.
I wait thirty seconds, then cross the street and approach the same bouncer. He looks me over, expensive suit, confident posture, the kind of presence that says I belong wherever I decide to stand.
“Cover’s twenty,” he says.
I hand him a fifty. “Keep it.”
He waves me through without another word.
The club is exactly what I expected. Dark, loud, packed with people wearing masks ranging from simple black eye coverings to elaborate Venetian designs. The perfect environment for someone trying to blend in and disappear.
Or for someone trying to kill without being identified.
I grab a simple black mask from an abandoned table near the bar and scan the crowd systematically. She’s here somewhere. Probably hiding in a corner, trying to stay invisible.
And there she is.
Huddled in a dark corner like a wounded animal, wearing a black lace mask she must have grabbed from the same table I did. Still shaking. Still alive because I made the first mistake of the night by not pulling the trigger when I had the chance.
I need to finish it. Walk over there and put a bullet in her before anyone notices.
But even as I think it, I know a bullet is too obvious. Too loud. Too many witnesses even in a club this packed and dark.
My knife is quieter, but getting close enough to use it means getting close enough for her to see me. To recognize me. To scream and make a scene that brings attention I don’t need.
I could wait until she leaves. Follow her outside and handle it in an alley where there are no cameras and no witnesses.
She looks up suddenly, her eyes sweeping across the crowd. Looking for threats. Looking for anyone who might be hunting her. Her gaze lands on me and stops.
She sees me.
Not me specifically. She can’t possibly recognize me through the mask and the distance and the flickering lights. But she sees someone watching her with too much intensity.
Look away. Blend back into the crowd and wait for her to leave.
But I don’t. Instead, I hold her gaze, letting the tension build, and I see the exact moment something shifts in her expression. Caution fading, replaced by something else entirely.
What are you doing? Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.
But she stands up and starts walking toward me.
No. This is fucked up. This makes everything more complicated, I think with annoyance.
She moves through the crowd with purpose, her hips swaying to the music, her eyes locked on mine through both our masks.
Every step brings her closer and I’m frozen. Caught between what I should do and what I’m actually doing, which is standing here like an idiot waiting for her to reach me.
When she stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell blood and soap mixed with her perfume, every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“You’ve been watching me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Bold considering she should be terrified of every man in this club right now.
I should lure her away now and finish this.
“Maybe,” I grunt.
“Why?”
Because I’m trying to decide how to kill you.
The truth is right there on my tongue, but what comes out is, “You’re interesting.”
Her lips curve into something that’s almost a smile. “Interesting. That’s one word for it.”
She reaches for my hand and I know I should pull away, finish her right here, and deal with the consequences. Literally do anything except what I’m doing, which is letting her fingers wrap around mine.
“Come. Dance with me.”
I’m follow her onto the dance floor like I’ve lost complete control of my own body.
The music shifts to something darker, heavier, and she presses against me without hesitation. Her body fits against mine and I’m acutely aware of every point of contact.
Her hands slide up my chest, exploring, and I catch her wrists. More to stop myself from pulling her closer than to stop her.
“Careful.”
“Why?” She tilts her head back to look at me through her mask. “Are you dangerous?” She chuckles.
Yes. I’m the most dangerous thing in your world right now.
“Everyone’s dangerous in a place like this.”
“Good.” Her wrists twist in my grip until I release them. “I don’t want to be safe tonight.”
She has no idea what she’s saying. No idea who she’s dancing with.
We move together and I’m slowly losing the battle with myself. My hands find her waist when they should be reaching for the knife in my boot.
“What’s your name?” she asks, her mouth close to my ear.
“What’s yours?”
“I asked first.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m answering.”
She pulls back enough to study my face. What she can see of it through the mask anyway. “Fair enough. Anonymous it is.”
“Why are you here?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “In this club. Dancing with strangers.”
“Because I’m alive.” Her voice cracks slightly and something in my chest constricts. “I shouldn’t be, but I am. And I need to feel it.”
And I’m the reckless thing she chose.
My hands tighten on her waist and I tell myself it’s just automatic. Just muscle memory from a thousand other encounters that meant nothing.
We dance and I’m at war with myself. Half of me knows I should end this now. Walk away. Come back later with a clear head and finish what I started.
The other half doesn’t want to let go.
Then she presses her face into my chest and I feel wetness soak through my shirt.
She’s crying. Silent tears that she’s trying to hide.
Fucking hell.
She looks up at me with those green eyes swimming with tears, and whatever resolve I had left begins to crack.
“Please.” Her voice breaks. “Please make me forget.”
Fuck. Don’t ask me that.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” Her hands fist in my shirt. “I need to forget. Just for tonight. I need to feel something other than terror.”
“You’re in shock. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I don’t care.” She pulls me down closer. “Please. I need this. I need you.”
That’s when something in me shatters completely.
Not because I’ve decided to spare her life. Not because I have stopped thinking of snapping her neck or slitting her throat.
But because for one moment—just one—I want to be something other than what I am. Something other than a killer. Something other than the man who’s supposed to end her life.
Just for tonight, I want to be the man she thinks I am when she looks at me with those desperate green eyes.
Because I realize I want her badly, I need to feel too.
She pulls me toward the back of the club. Through the crowd to where I can see private rooms with doors that lock.
And I follow her.
Because I’ve already made my choice. I made it the moment I lowered my gun in Antonio’s office.
I just didn’t want to admit it until now.