20. Polina
Polina
He's there in seconds.
One second I'm alone on an empty street corner, phone pressed to my ear, heart hammering—and the next, a sleek black SUV pulls up beside me so smoothly it's like he materialized out of thin air.
The passenger door swings open.
"Get in."
I scramble inside, and before I can even close the door, Dante pulls me across the console into his lap. His arms band around me, crushing me against his chest.
"You're okay," he murmurs into my hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
My heart is still racing, but now for an entirely different reason. The solid warmth of him. The way his hands move over my back, checking for injuries he won't find.
I miss this so much.
"The man," I gasp. "He was following me—"
"I know." Dante pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing my cheek. "He's one of mine. Keeping you safe."
I blink. "What?"
"His name is Marco. He's been on your security detail since you left."
"Detail?" My brain struggles to catch up. He has a security detail on me?
I want to question him further about it, but something else niggles at me.
“How did you get here so fast?"
His jaw tightens. "I was already close."
"Close? Dante, I walked six blocks from Mirella's—"
"I know."
The pieces click into place. "You've been following me too.”
"Yes."
He says it so matter-of-factly. With no trace of shame.
Maybe I should be angry about that. Or feel violated.
But all I feel is breathless.
"Why?" The word comes out barely a whisper.
His eyes bore into mine. "Because you're mine and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Always."
"But why?" I ask again, needing to hear more.
“You're mine," he repeats, like it's the simplest truth in the world.
A laugh bubbles up, shaky and a little hysterical. "That's...that's a little creepy."
His mouth quirks. "Probably."
An emotion rises in me—an emotion that feels dangerously close to hope. "Dante, I don’t understand. I thought you viewed our marriage as a business transaction. I thought divorcing you would be a kindness. That I’d be letting you off the hook.”
I watch his expression shift.
“You're wrong." His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “You were never a transaction. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."
"What?" The word barely makes it past my lips.
"The marriage pitch was true. All of it. I married you to protect you, to keep you safe from your father and Volkov and anyone else who might try to take you."
So Bianca was right—
"But it was also a lie." His voice drops even lower. "It was the excuse I hid behind because 'to keep you safe' was the only sentence a man like me knew how to say out loud."
My heart stutters. "I don't understand."
"The truth?" His forehead touches mine. "The truth is simpler and so much worse. I couldn't let you go. From the moment I saw you, you were mine. And I'm selfish enough, obsessed enough, that I would've found any reason—any excuse—to keep you."
Tears blur my vision. "You never said—"
"I know." His voice cracks. "I'm not good at this. At feelings. I've spent my whole life being merciless. Being dangerous. But never once—not once—have I loved anyone.”
I reach up, my hand shaking as I touch his face. "Dante—"
"Until you." His eyes close. "Until a half-starved girl held my hand in the dark. You wanted me. Not the Don. Not the power or the protection. Just...me. And I fucked it up.”
Oh god.
“I just thought that after my father was gone, you'd want your freedom."
"Freedom?" He laughs, but it's broken. "Baby, there's no freedom without you. I feel like I’m wrapped in chains."
My tears spill over.
"I still want you. I never stopped,” I whisper. "Not for a second.
"Then come home." His voice is wrecked. "Please. Come home."
And just like that, I make a choice.
No deadline looming. No danger forcing my hand. No debt to repay.
I choose him.
"Yes," I say, my voice steady despite the tears. “Let’s go home.”