56. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Alina
She expected Dante to take them deeper into the woods, but instead, he drove them straight into the heart of the city.
They bypassed the outskirts and quiet suburbs, plunging directly into the center of downtown—a maze of skyscrapers, heavy traffic, and pulsing neon lights.
It was the last place she expected him to go, which, she realized, made it perfect.
Dante parked the SUV in a crowded, multi-level underground garage. He killed the engine and sat still for a moment, listening to the ambient sounds of the city.
“You okay?” Alina asked softly.
He nodded, his eyes scanning the periphery. “Just making sure no one followed.”
She glanced around, seeing only the mundane chaos of urban life: rows of parked cars, distant footsteps, and voices echoing off the concrete. No one looked at them twice. “Dante,” she murmured, “this is… brilliant.”
He smirked. “I know.”
He led her up two flights of stairs and through a side door into a back alley tucked behind a row of historic brick buildings.
The city noise wrapped around them—a discordant symphony of horns, chatter, and distant music from a bar.
Alina stayed close, her hand brushing his. This time, he didn’t pull away.
They turned a corner, slipped through a narrow walkway between two looming structures, and stopped at an unmarked metal door. Alina raised a brow. “This is it?”
Dante typed a code into a keypad hidden behind a loose brick. With a sharp click, the lock disengaged, and he pushed the door open. Inside, they found a dim hallway that smelled faintly of dust and aged paint.
“Where are we?” Alina asked as Dante closed the door behind them.
“A place no one remembers,” he replied.
They climbed a narrow, creaky staircase to the third floor, where Dante unlocked a second door—one that was older, heavier, and reinforced from the inside. Alina stepped into a wide, open loft, and her breath hitched at the sight of the space.
Later, when she handed him a mug of coffee, their fingers brushed.
The contact was warm, soft, and undeniably electric.
Neither of them pulled away. They sat at a small table, sipping their drinks as the city lights cast a cinematic glow through the large windows.
Alina tucked her legs under herself, her hair falling over her shoulder.
She looked tired, beautiful, and vibrantly alive.
Dante couldn’t stop watching her.
She caught him staring. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She smirked. “Liar.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Fine. I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“You,” he said simply.
The air in the loft seemed to thicken. She looked down at her mug, her pulse quickening. “Dante…”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”
Her eyes lifted to meet him, soft and open. “I’m not pretending either,” she whispered.
They didn’t kiss, and they didn’t touch, but the silence between them was heavy with everything left unsaid. They simply sat there, staring at each other across the table while the city hummed around them like a shared heartbeat. In that moment, she felt safe, seen, and unequivocally his.
The moment, however, was fragile. A distant siren wailed, a car horn blared, and a shadow moved momentarily across the window. Alina’s pulse jumped. “Dante,” she whispered, “do you think the traitor—”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“But they will,” she swallowed, looking out at the street below where people moved like ants in a giant machine. Somewhere in that chaos, someone was hunting them.
Dante walked up behind her, close enough to feel her warmth and breathe her in. “We’ll plan tomorrow,” he murmured.
“And tonight?”
He touched her hand lightly. “Tonight we rest.”
She leaned into him—just a little, just enough. Outside, somewhere in the maze of streets and shifting shadows, the traitor was already closing in.