Chapter 25
SCARLETT
“Widen your stance,” Dante says from behind me, calm and professional, the same tone he’s been using for the past two hours as he walks me through basic firearms training in the estate’s underground range. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Weight slightly forward.”
But the gun feels strange and wrong in my hands.
It’s heavy and cold, feeling exactly like what it is; a weapon designed to kill people. My fingers keep wanting to loosen around the grip, like my body knows instinctively that I shouldn’t be holding this thing.
But my son is out there with a monster, and I’m done being helpless.
I adjust my position and he moves closer behind me, his hands coming to my hips to correct my balance. The touch is innocent, nothing like how those same hands moved over my body last night, but I still feel the warmth of him through my clothes.
“Now lift the weapon. Both hands, firm grip, arms extended but not locked.”
I raise the Glock and sight down the barrel at the paper target twenty feet away. My arms are already tired from the repetition and my shoulders ache from the unfamiliar tension.
“Breathe in. Exhale halfway. Squeeze the trigger on the exhale, don’t pull.”
I do what he says and the gun kicks in my hands, the sound sharp even through the ear protection. The bullet goes wide, hitting the outer edge of the target.
“Again.”
I fire again and miss again. Third shot clips the shoulder of the silhouette, which is at least closer to center mass.
“Better. Keep going.”
We’ve been at this since dawn. After Dante showed me the war room and walked me through the assault plan, he insisted I learn the basics of defending myself. Not because he expects me to fight, he made that clear, but because he needs to know I can protect myself if everything goes wrong.
I empty the magazine and set the gun down, my hands shaking slightly from the recoil.
“How am I doing?”
“You won’t win any marksmanship awards.” He reloads the weapon and hands it back to me. “But you can hit a target at close range, which is all that matters.”
I take the gun and line up another shot. This one hits the chest area, and I feel a small leap of satisfaction that immediately turns to a sickening realization. I’m learning to shoot people. This is actually happening.
“Dante.”
“Keep firing.”
“I need a minute.”
He doesn’t argue, stepping back and waiting while I lower the weapon and try to breathe through the tightness in my chest. The fluorescent lights in the range are harsh and the smell of gunpowder is making me nauseous.
“I keep thinking about what happens if I freeze,” I finally say. “If we get Luca out and something goes wrong and I can’t pull the trigger when it matters.”
“Then you run. You grab Luca and you run and you let my men handle the rest.”
“And if running isn’t an option?”
He moves to stand in front of me, blocking my view of the target. His grey eyes are steady and certain in a way that makes me want to believe everything he says.
“You’re not going to freeze. When it comes to protecting Luca, you’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve seen the way you are with him. The way you’ve been fighting for him since the moment you found out you were pregnant.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He takes my face in his hands, tilting it up so I have to meet his eyes. “You’re the strongest person I know, Scarlett. Stronger than me. Stronger than anyone in this house. And when the moment comes, that strength is going to carry you through.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.
“Okay.” I take a breath and step back, raising the gun again. “Show me what else I need to know.”
The next hour is a maze of instruction. Dante teaches me how to take cover, how to move through a space while staying low. He shows me where body armor won’t protect me and how to position myself to minimize exposed areas.
Marco joins us around midday, carrying a set of tactical gear that looks like they’re from a military movie.
“Custom fitted,” he says, holding up a vest designed for someone my size. “Lightweight composite. It’ll stop most handgun rounds and slow down rifle fire.”
I let him help me into the vest and adjust the straps until it fits. The weight is noticeable but not unbearable, and I can still move freely enough to run.
“How does it feel?”
“Like I’m about to go to war.”
Marco and Dante exchange a look that tells me how much they hate this plan. But neither of them tries to talk me out of it because they know it won’t work.
“There’s one more thing.” Marco pulls a small pistol from behind his back. “This is a Sig P365. Smaller, easier to conceal, and holds ten rounds. Dante wants you to carry it tomorrow.”
I take the gun and the weight of it, lighter than the Glock, settles something in my stomach.
“I hope I don’t have to use it.”
“So do we.”
Elena arrives at the estate around two in the afternoon. I hear her voice in the foyer and something in my chest cracks open at the sound of it, familiar and warm and exactly what I need right now.
I find her in the main hallway arguing with one of Dante’s guards. The moment she sees me, her face lightens with relief and she pulls me into her arms.
“Oh honey. Oh god, Scarlett.”
I break, having bottled up a lot.
All the fear and guilt and terror I’ve been holding together comes flooding out and I sob into her shoulder. She holds me tight and strokes my hair and doesn’t say anything, just lets me fall apart.
“He’s so scared,” I finally manage to say. “Luca’s out there and he’s scared and he doesn’t understand why his mama didn’t come for him and I can’t—”
“Stop.” Elena pulls back and takes my face in her hands, her eyes fierce. “You listen to me. You are doing everything you can to get that boy back. Everything.”
“What if we don’t? What if Viktor—”
“No.” Elena pulls back and takes my face in her hands. “You don’t get to think like that. Dante has sixty men. Sixty. And he’s been planning this since the moment Luca was taken.”
“He has my son.”
“And that’s exactly why he’s going to lose. Because there is nothing more dangerous than parents fighting for their child.” She pulls me close again. “Love makes you stronger, not weaker. Remember that.”
We sit together in one of the smaller sitting rooms while Elena holds my hand.
She tells me about Marco, about how he proposed three years ago and how scared she was to marry into this life.
She tells me that loving someone in the mafia means accepting that danger is always present, but it also means knowing that these men will burn down the world to protect what’s theirs.
“Dante loves you,” she says quietly. “I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
“He hasn’t said it.”
“Men like him don’t always have the words. But he showed you that war room, didn’t he? Showed you everything he’s built?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bigger than words. That’s trust. And for Dante, trust is the same as love.”
I think about that after Elena leaves. Trust and love being the same thing. Maybe for someone like Dante, who’s spent his whole life surrounded by betrayal, letting someone see the truth of him is the most intimate thing he can do.
Later that afternoon, I receive good news that Rosa is awake. I don’t waste time, I immediately go to check on her.
The doctor cleared her to move around, though she’s still pale and unsteady. The bruises on her face have darkened to purple and yellow.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I failed him.” Her voice is hoarse. “I was supposed to protect that boy and I let them take him.”
“There were too many of them. You did everything you could.”
“It wasn’t enough.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it tight. “I’ve been praying since I woke up. Praying to the Virgin, to every saint I can name. God will watch over Luca. He won’t let evil men win.”
I don’t know if I believe in god anymore, but the certainty in Rosa’s voice gives me hope.
We’re going to get him back. We have to.
Father Benedetto arrives at Dante’s request around dinnertime. He’s an old man with kind eyes. Dante meets with him privately first, and then the priest comes to find me.
We talk for almost an hour. He tells me about redemption and sacrifice, about how love can transform even the darkest acts into something meaningful.
“You’re afraid of what tomorrow will bring,” he says, and it’s not a question.
“Yes.”
“That fear is natural. But remember this, child: you are not fighting for violence. You are fighting for your son. For your family. And when the cause is just, even violence can be an act of love.”
I don’t know if I believe that either. But I want to. God help me, I want to believe that what we’re about to do is right.
That night, I find Dante in his room, standing by the window. Tomorrow feels enormous, this crushing weight hanging over both of us.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. He’s tense at first, but after a moment his hand comes up to cover mine.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” I press a kiss to his spine through his shirt. “But I’m going anyway.”
He turns in my arms and looks down at me with those grey eyes that have seen so much death and somehow still manage to be tender.
“Scarlett…”
“Don’t.” I reach up to touch his face. “Don’t tell me to stay behind again. I can’t wait in a safe room while you risk everything for our son.”
“I know.” His voice is rough. “I’m not going to ask you to stay. I just need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me that if things go wrong, you’ll run. You’ll grab Luca and run. Not even for me.”
The thought of leaving him behind makes something twist in my chest. But I look at his face and see that he needs the assurance and to know that no matter what happens, Luca and I will survive.
“I promise.”
He kisses me then, and it’s deep and desperate. And I kiss him back with the same intensity.