32. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The mansion was still humming with cleanup—muffled voices, radio chatter, boots on marble—but inside Dante’s private suite, everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
Alina sat on the edge of his bed, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of cedar and smoke. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and her brain kept replaying the door cracking, the masked face, the voice saying Found you.
She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I can’t… I can’t stop hearing it.”
A warm hand closed over hers. Dante.
He knelt in front of her, still in his tactical gear, dust in his hair, a smear of blood across his knuckles. His eyes were dark, stormy, and locked on her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
“You’re safe,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “I don’t feel safe.”
“You will.”
“How?”
His jaw tightened. “Because I won’t let anything touch you again.”
She swallowed. “You keep promising that, and every time something happens when you leave”
“I know and I’m sorry.”
Her breath trembled. He didn’t move away, and he didn’t give her space. He stayed right there, close enough that she could feel the heat and steadiness of him—the way his presence wrapped around her like armor.
He had killed men before. He had walked into gunfire, faced down entire families, and survived ambushes, betrayals, and wars.
But nothing—nothing—had ever terrified him like the sound of her screaming behind that door.
He couldn’t shake it. He couldn’t breathe around it. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.
So, he didn’t.
He sat beside her on the bed, pulling her gently into his arms. She didn’t resist; she folded into him as if she’d been waiting for him to do exactly that. Her head rested against his chest, her fingers curled into his shirt, and her breath hitched against his throat.
He held her too tight, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“Dante,” she whispered, “you’re crushing me.”
He eased up half an inch. “I’m not letting go.”
She didn’t ask him to. She should have pushed him away, said she needed space, or reminded herself that this was temporary—that she didn’t belong in this world and that he was dangerous.
But she couldn’t. The moment he wrapped his arms around her, the shaking stopped. The panic eased. The world felt less sharp.
She whispered, “You came back.”
He exhaled shakily. “I always will.”
Her throat tightened. “You don’t know that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Alina. I will always come back to you.”
Her heart stuttered. Her brain screamed, but her mouth said nothing, because she didn’t trust her voice. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen.
“I should’ve been here,” he said quietly.
“You were on a mission.”
“I should’ve been here.”
“You can’t be everywhere.”
“I can be where you are.”
Her breath caught. He didn’t take it back, he didn’t soften it, and he didn’t pretend it was anything other than the truth. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m not leaving you tonight.”
She whispered, “Okay.”
He pulled her fully into his lap—slow, careful, like she might break—and she let him. Her arms slid around his neck, and he wrapped around her waist. He held her like he was afraid she might disappear; she held him like she wasn’t sure she’d survive if he let go.
She should have said something. She should have told him she was scared, that she didn’t want to sleep alone, or that she never wanted him to leave her side again. But the words tangled in her throat.
So, she whispered the only thing she could manage:
“Stay.”
His arms tightened. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She closed her eyes. For the first time since the breach, she felt like she could breathe. It wasn’t easy, not yet, but it was a start. The unsaid words between them were louder than anything either of them dared to speak.