The silence after the gunfire felt unreal.
For several seconds, I didn't move. My body was still pressed against Dante's side, my fingers gripping the sleeve of his jacket as if letting go might make the nightmare start all over again.
The mansion smelled different now.
Gunpowder.
Smoke.
Blood.
My chest rose and fell unevenly as I tried to steady my breathing. The adrenaline that had kept me moving during the attack was fading, leaving behind a wave of exhaustion and delayed fear.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway as guards rushed past us, their voices low and urgent.
"Clear the west wing."
"Two intruders down."
"Check the perimeter again."
The mansion that had seemed so controlled and elegant only hours ago now looked like a battlefield. Broken glass glittered across the marble floor. A shattered vase lay near the staircase. One of the guards leaned against the wall while another pressed cloth against a wound on his arm.
This was Dante's world.
And tonight, I had finally seen the truth of it.
Dante slowly stepped away from me, but his hand remained at the small of my back, steadying me when my legs wobbled slightly.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
I hadn't noticed until he pointed it out.
My hands trembled violently when I looked down at them.
"I'm… fine," I murmured.
It was a lie.
Dante clearly knew it.
His dark eyes studied my face carefully, like he was trying to measure the exact level of damage the night had done to me.
"You almost died tonight," he said calmly.
My throat tightened.
When he said it like that—so blunt, so matter-of-fact—it made the reality crash down harder.
"Yes," I whispered.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then another familiar voice broke the silence.
"Dante."
Luca approached quickly from the opposite hallway, a gun still in his hand. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a thin cut across his cheek.
His eyes moved immediately to me.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded automatically.
"Yeah."
He studied me for a moment longer before looking at Dante.
"Most of them are dead," Luca reported. "Two escaped through the east wall. Our men are already tracking them."
Dante's expression didn't change.
"Good," he said.
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
It was the kind of calm that made you realize just how used he was to violence.
Luca continued, lowering his voice slightly.
"One of them is still alive. Barely."
Dante's eyes darkened just a fraction.
"Where?"
"Basement."
For a brief moment, something dangerous flickered in Dante's gaze. Something cold. Calculating.
Predatory.
"Keep him alive," Dante said. "I want answers."
A chill ran down my spine.
I suddenly felt very aware of the fact that the man standing beside me was capable of terrible things.
Luca nodded once.
"Understood."
Before walking away again, he glanced at me one more time.
"Welcome to the family business," he muttered dryly.
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
When Luca disappeared down the stairs, the hallway grew quiet again.
Dante turned back to me.
"You should rest," he said.
I shook my head immediately.
"I don't think I can sleep."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
Despite the firmness in his voice, there was no anger in it.
Just concern.
Which somehow unsettled me more.
"I'm not tired," I insisted.
Dante sighed softly, running a hand through his dark hair.
For the first time since the attack started, he looked… slightly exhausted.
"Come," he said.
Without waiting for a response, he started walking down the hallway.
I followed him.
What else could I do?
We entered a quieter part of the mansion, far away from the broken entrance hall and the wounded guards. This wing felt calmer, though the tension still hung in the air.
Dante pushed open the door to a small sitting room.
Soft lights illuminated the space.
A fireplace flickered quietly against one wall.
The contrast from the chaos outside felt almost surreal.
"Sit," he said.
I sank onto the couch slowly, my body finally beginning to feel the weight of everything that had happened.
Dante remained standing for a moment.
Then he removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair.
That's when I noticed it.
A dark stain spreading along the side of his shirt.
My eyes widened.
"Dante…"
He looked at me.
"You're bleeding."
He glanced down briefly.
"It's nothing."
"That is not nothing."
I stood up immediately, stepping closer before I could stop myself.
The bullet must have grazed his ribs during the attack. The fabric of his shirt was torn slightly, and blood had soaked through.
"How long has that been there?" I demanded.
"A few minutes."
"A few minutes?"
He said it like it meant nothing.
Like it didn't matter.
"You were shot!"
"Grazed."
"That's still being shot!"
For a moment, Dante just stared at me.
Then something unexpected happened.
He smiled.
Not a full smile.
Just the faintest curve of his lips.
"You're worried about me."
"I'm not worried," I snapped automatically.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then closed it again.
Because… he was right.
I was worried.
And that realization confused me more than anything else tonight.
"Sit down," I said instead.
Dante looked mildly amused.
"You're giving me orders now?"
"Just sit."
To my surprise… he did.
I grabbed a small medical kit from the cabinet nearby—something the staff must keep there for emergencies.
When I turned back toward him, he had already unbuttoned part of his shirt.
My breath caught.
Not because of the wound.
Because of the scars.
Several faint silver lines crossed his chest and ribs. Old injuries. Knife wounds. Bullet marks.
Proof of a life filled with violence.
Proof that this wasn't the first time someone had tried to kill him.
"You've been through a lot," I murmured before I could stop myself.
Dante followed my gaze.
His expression darkened slightly.
"That's part of the job."
I cleaned the wound carefully, trying to ignore the fact that my hands were still shaking slightly.
Dante didn't move.
He simply watched me.
Intently.
"You shouldn't be doing this," he said quietly.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the reason you were in danger tonight."
My hands paused for a moment.
Then I continued.
"That doesn't mean I want you bleeding on your expensive furniture."
Another small smile flickered across his face.
"You're stubborn."
"I've been told that before."
When I finished, I stepped back.
The wound wasn't deep.
Just a graze.
But seeing the blood had still made my stomach twist.
Dante stood slowly.
For a moment, we were standing very close.
Too close.
His dark eyes held mine, searching my face like he was trying to understand something.
"You stayed with me tonight," he said quietly.
"You told me to."
"Most people would have run."
"Where?" I asked softly.
His gaze lingered on me.
Then he said something that made my heart skip.
"Nowhere."
The word hung in the air between us.
Heavy.
Meaningful.
After a moment, Dante stepped back and grabbed his jacket.
"You should get some rest, Elena."
"And you?"
"I have work to finish."
The captured attacker.
The basement.
Answers.
I suddenly felt very glad I wouldn't be part of that conversation.
As he reached the door, he paused.
Without turning around, he spoke.
"No one will touch you in this house."
His voice was quiet.
Deadly certain.
"If they try… they won't survive long enough to regret it."
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
And I stood there alone in the quiet room, realizing something I wasn't ready to admit yet.
Dante Moretti terrified me.
But tonight…
He had also made me feel safer than anyone ever had before.