8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alina
The safe house door clicked shut, sealing out the world—the gunfire, the Vescari, the chaos he’d dragged her into.
But not the guilt.
Alina stood in the center of the room, the small flash drive clutched in her hand, her eyes wide but steady. She was calmer than she should have been after what she’d seen.
Dante watched her from the doorway. Every choice he’d made had led to this: her, in his safe house, holding the evidence that could get her killed.
He’d followed an impulse—a need to keep her in his sight—and in doing so, he’d painted a target on her back.
This wasn’t protection. This was possession, and the cost would be paid in her blood if he failed.
Luca’s voice crackled through Dante’s earpiece. *“Boss. Are you good?”*
Dante didn’t answer. He wasn’t good. He wasn’t anything close to it.
He stepped into the kitchen and pressed both palms against the counter, staring at his hands until they steadied. He needed control. He needed clarity. He needed distance. But distance was impossible with her in the next room.
*“We need to talk about strategy,”* Luca pressed.
“Later,” Dante said.
*“Later might be too late.”*
Dante closed his eyes. “I know.”
He turned, watching Alina as she studied the safe house—the reinforced windows, the steel-bolted door, the quiet hum of the generator. She didn’t look afraid. She looked aware. Like she was finally seeing him clearly. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.
He walked toward her, each step deliberate. “You shouldn’t have been there.”
She looked up. “I was leaving town. I needed a break.”
“You shouldn’t have been alone.”
Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t know I needed a bodyguard.”
“You don’t,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You need me.” He hadn’t planned to say it, but the truth was its own imperative, and he refused to take it back.
Her breath caught. “Dante…”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I crossed a line today.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. The air between them was already charged.
“Alina,” he said quietly, “I’m going to end this war. But I need you to stay alive long enough to see it.”
She swallowed. “And if I don’t want to be part of this?”
“You are,” he said. “Because I am.”
Her pulse jumped. Dante knew—with a clarity that terrified him—that he would burn the world down before he let anything happen to her.
The safe house basement was small but heavily fortified—concrete walls, a steel door, and a long table covered in maps, burner phones, and encrypted tablets.
Luca stood over the table, arms crossed. “We need to move fast. The Vescari won’t sit still after the airport.”
Dante nodded. “What do we know?”
Luca tapped a map. “They’ve locked down their docks, doubled security at the north warehouse, and they’re sweeping the city for the courier.”
“He’s dead,” Dante said.
“They don’t know that.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “Good.”
Alina hovered near the stairs, listening. She didn’t interrupt, but she absorbed every word.
Luca glanced at her. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“She’s staying,” Dante said.
Luca sighed. “Then she needs to understand what’s coming.”
Alina stepped forward. “I’m listening.”
Luca exchanged a look with Dante, then continued. “The Vescari aren’t subtle. They’ll retaliate hard. They’ll hit our businesses, our allies, our supply lines.”
“And they’ll come for the drive,” Dante added.
Alina held it tighter.
“Proof,” Dante said. “Of everything they’ve done. Enough to bury them.”
“And enough to get us killed,” Luca muttered.
Dante ignored him. “We need to decode the files, extract the names, and build a timeline.”
“And then?” Alina asked.
“Then,” Dante said, “we take them apart piece by piece.”
Luca leaned over the table. “We hit their docks first. Cut off their shipments. Then the warehouse. And then their money.”
Alina frowned. “Won’t they expect that?”
“Yes,” Dante said. “That’s why we do it anyway.”
Luca smirked. “Classic Moretti logic.”
Alina looked between them. “So this is… war?”
Dante met her eyes. “It always was.”
Luca cleared his throat. “We need to move. Tonight.”
Dante nodded. “Prep the team.”
When Luca left the room, Dante turned to Alina. “You should rest.”
She shook her head. “I’m not tired.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry,” she said. “Not scared.”
He stepped closer. “Good. Anger keeps you alive.”
She looked up at him—steady, unflinching. “What keeps you alive?”
He didn’t answer. Because the truth was standing right in front of him.