12. CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dante
The safe house felt smaller tonight. Dante was doing that thing where he took up more space than his body actually occupied.
He had returned from the docks bruised, bloodied, and burning with a fury she didn’t understand.
He’d barely spoken since. He paced the living room like a caged animal, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark.
Alina watched him from the couch, the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. “Dante,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”
He didn’t stop pacing.
“Dante.”
He froze. Slowly, he turned toward her—and she knew, instantly, that whatever he was about to say would change everything.
“You deserve the truth,” he said.
Her pulse quickened. “About what?”
“About why they were watching you.”
Her breath caught. “I thought it was because of the flash drive.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “Not at first.”
She swallowed. “Then why?”
He exhaled—slow, controlled, as if he were bracing himself. “Because you treated one of them.”
Alina blinked. “What?”
“Months ago,” Dante said. “A Vescari soldier came into your hospital under a fake name. You stitched him up. You calmed him down. You didn’t know who he was.”
Her stomach twisted. “I treat dozens of people a week. I don’t remember—”
“You wouldn’t,” Dante said. “But he remembered you.”
She felt the room tilt. “Why would that matter?”
“Because the Vescari keep lists,” Dante said. “Of everyone who touches their people. Everyone who might have seen something.”
A cold sickness washed over her as the implications slotted into place. “I was on their list,” she whispered, the words tasting like poison.
“A watch list,” he confirmed. “When the courier stole the drive, they cross-referenced everything. Every name they already had.” He paused, his gaze unflinching. “Yours came up again.”
She felt hollow. “So they thought I was involved.”
“They thought you were connected to him,” Dante said. “And then—” He hesitated.
“Then what?” she pressed.
He met her eyes. “Then they saw me watching you.”
Her breath stopped. “What?”
“They sent someone to the hospital,” Dante said. “To observe. To see who the courier might have contacted. And they saw me.”
She stared at him, stunned. “So they assumed—”
“That you were mine,” Dante said quietly. “That you were part of my network. That you were helping me.”
Her pulse hammered. “But I wasn’t.”
“I know,” he said. “But they didn’t. It was a perfect storm: my job, the courier, you… a series of accidents and choices that led right here, to me making you a target.”
He didn’t deny it.
She whispered, “Dante… you put me in their line of sight.”
His jaw tightened. “I know.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate, like he was approaching something fragile. “Because I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”
Her breath trembled. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m afraid of what’s happening. I’m afraid of the Vescari. I’m afraid of this war. But you—” She swallowed. “You’re the only thing that feels steady right now.”
Something in his expression cracked—just slightly, just enough for her to see the man beneath the armor. “Alina,” he said softly, “I never meant for you to be part of this.”
“But I am.” “And now they want me dead.”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “They won’t get you.”
“How can you be sure?”
He stepped closer, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Because I won’t let them.”
Her breath caught. “Dante—”
“You were never supposed to be in this world,” he said, his voice raw.
“But tonight, at the docks… I saw it. A whiteboard with a list of targets. Your name, circled in red.” He swallowed hard, the rage from earlier returning to his eyes.
“At that moment, I knew I’d burn their empire to the ground before I let them touch you. ”
The silence that followed was heavy and unavoidable.
Alina whispered, “Why me?”
He looked at her the way a man looks at something he’s already decided he won’t leave behind. “Because I saw you before any of this started,” he said. “And I haven’t been able to look away since.”
Her heart muttered. For the first time, she understood: she wasn’t just caught in the crossfire. She was the reason Dante Moretti was going to war.