Chapter Fifteen
Dante's POV
The gunshots still echoed in my ears as I stood over the spy's corpse.
Six bullets. I'd put six bullets in him. Two in the chest. One in the throat. Three in the head. Overkill, maybe. But the bastard had shot Nina.
My Nina.
No. Not mine. The asset. The collateral. The girl we were being paid to protect.
Except she was bleeding out on the stone floor while Nikolai pressed his hands against her arm, his face white as death, and I couldn't make myself think of her as just an asset anymore.
"Boss." One of my men approached carefully. Marco. Good soldier. Knew when to speak and when to shut up.
"Take his DNA," I said, my voice flat. Cold. The voice I used when I was three seconds from losing control. "Search the body. Every pocket, every seam, every hidden compartment. I want to know what he was carrying, what he ate for breakfast, and what fucking cologne he wore."
"Yes, boss."
"And his property. His apartment, his car, his mistress's house if he had one. Search everything. Find out who sent him, who paid him, and where the rest of his cell is hiding." I looked down at the dead man, his face barely recognizable after what I'd done to it. "I want names. Addresses. Bank accounts. Everything."
"We're on it."
"Dispose of the body when you're done. Cleanly. No trace."
Marco nodded and gestured to two other men. They moved in with body bags and evidence kits, efficient and silent.
I turned away, wiping blood spatter from my face with the back of my hand. My hands were steady. They were always steady. Twenty years in this business, and I'd never shaken after a kill.
But my jaw was clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
I took the stairs two at a time, leaving the dungeon behind. The smell of death and gunpowder clung to my clothes. I'd need to burn this suit. Shame. I liked this suit.
Upstairs, I could hear Nikolai's voice, tight with barely controlled panic. "Stay with me, Kitten. Don't you dare. Nina, open your eyes."
I rounded the corner into the main living area.
They'd laid her on the leather couch, the expensive one I'd imported from Italy. Blood soaked into the cushions, spreading in a dark stain that would never come out. I didn't give a fuck about the couch.
Enzo had his hands on her arm, applying pressure with a kitchen towel already soaked through. Nikolai knelt beside her, one hand on her face, the other checking her pulse at her throat.
Her eyes were closed. Her face was white. Too white.
"How bad?" I asked, moving closer.
"Bad," Enzo said shortly. "Bullet grazed her, tore through muscle. She's losing blood fast."
Nikolai looked up at me, and I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before. Fear. Real fear. "She's in shock. Pulse is weak. We need the doctor. Now."
"He's on his way." I'd called him the second Nikolai had carried her upstairs. "ETA three minutes."
I looked down at Nina. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths. Her lips were pale. The oversized shirt she wore, the one that had belonged to Enzo, was drenched in blood.
Something twisted in my chest. Something I didn't have a name for and didn't want to examine.
This was my fault.
I'd taken her to the dungeon. I'd made her clean blood off stone floors while we tortured a man ten feet away. I'd been so focused on breaking her will, on teaching her that defiance had consequences, that I'd put her directly in the line of fire.
The spy's gun had been meant for me. The bullet should have been mine.
Instead, she'd taken it.
"Move," I said.
Enzo shifted, giving me room. I knelt beside the couch and looked at the wound. Deep. Ugly. Still bleeding despite the pressure.
"Press here," I told Enzo, positioning his hands. "Harder. Don't let up."
The front door burst open. Dr. Messina rushed in, his medical bag already open, a nurse behind him carrying additional supplies. He was in his sixties, gray-haired, steady-handed. We kept him on retainer for situations exactly like this.
"Move," he ordered, dropping to his knees beside Nina.
We stepped back, giving him room to work.
He cut away the bloody shirt with scissors, exposing the wound. Examined it with quick, practiced efficiency. "Bullet grazed the brachial artery. She's lucky. Two centimeters to the left and she'd be dead already."
Lucky. Right.
"She needs blood," he continued, pulling supplies from his bag. "Type O-negative. At least two pints, maybe three. Do any of you match?"
I didn't hesitate. "Test me."
Nikolai moved forward. "Me too."
Enzo nodded. "All of us."
Dr. Messina's nurse, a middle-aged woman named Rosa, pulled out testing supplies. "This will take a few minutes."
"Do it fast," I said.
She nodded and started with me. Quick finger prick, blood on a test strip, some solution I didn't care about. The seconds ticked by like hours while she worked.
Beside me, Nikolai was rigid, his hands clenched into fists. Enzo stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, watching Nina's face.
None of us spoke.
Finally, Rosa looked up. "You're compatible," she said to me. "O-negative. Perfect match."
"How much do you need?" I was already rolling up my sleeve.
"A pint for now. We'll monitor her and see if she needs more."
Dr. Messina had already started an IV, threading the needle into Nina's arm with practiced ease. She didn't even flinch. Unconscious still. Maybe that was better.
"Sit," Rosa said to me, gesturing to a chair.
I sat. Let her tie off my arm. Felt the needle slide into my vein. Watched my blood flow through the tube into the collection bag.
Nikolai and Enzo stood over me like guards.
"I've got this," I said. "Take care of business for today. The suppliers need confirmation on the next shipment. The warehouse inventory needs verification. And someone needs to call our contact at the port about the security breach."
"Dante—" Enzo started.
"That's an order."
They exchanged a look. Then Enzo nodded. "We'll handle it."
Nikolai hesitated. His eyes went to Nina, still pale and still on the couch, Dr. Messina working over her with efficient precision.
"She'll live," I said. "Go."
He left. Reluctantly. But he left.
Enzo lingered a moment longer. "You never donate blood."
"There's a first time for everything."
"You never stay for medical procedures either. You always leave that to us."
I didn't answer. Just watched my blood drain from my arm into the bag. Watched Rosa monitor the flow. Watched Dr. Messina clean and stitch Nina's wound with thread so fine it looked like spider silk.
"She got to you," Enzo said quietly. "Didn't she?"
"Shut up and go handle the shipments."
He almost smiled. Almost. Then he turned and left.
The room was quieter now. Just the sound of Dr. Messina's instruments clicking against the tray. Rosa's soft counting under her breath. Nina's shallow breathing.
It took twenty minutes to collect a pint. Rosa checked it, labeled it, then hooked it up to Nina's IV with practiced efficiency. I watched my blood flow into her veins. Watched a little color return to her face.
"You can go," Rosa said to me. "Drink some juice. Eat something. You'll be lightheaded for a few hours."
"I'm staying."
She looked like she wanted to argue. Didn't. Just nodded and went back to assisting Dr. Messina.
The stitching took another hour. The wound was deeper than it looked, messier. The doctor worked in silence, methodical and focused. Finally, he tied off the last suture and bandaged the arm with clean white gauze.
"She'll need antibiotics," he said, standing. "Pain medication. And rest. Lots of rest. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks."
"She'll get it."
"I'll check on her tomorrow. Call me if her fever spikes or the wound shows signs of infection." He packed his supplies, gave Rosa a few quiet instructions, then left.
Rosa stayed long enough to adjust Nina's IV, check her vitals one more time, then followed him out.
And then it was just me and Nina.
I pulled a chair close to the couch. Sat down. Looked at her.
She looked younger in sleep. Vulnerable. The hardness she wore like armor when she was awake had melted away, leaving just a girl. A scared girl who'd lost her mother and been sold to strangers and nearly drowned and then been shot in a dungeon full of corpses.
A girl I'd hurt. A girl I was supposed to protect.
I reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair off her face. Her skin was warmer now. The blood transfusion was working.
My blood. In her veins. Keeping her alive.
The thought did something strange to my chest.
My phone rang. Loud in the quiet room.
I pulled it out, ready to ignore it if it wasn't important.
The name on the screen made my jaw clench.
Victor Alvarez. Nina's father.
The man who'd sold his daughter to pay his debts. The man who'd put her in this situation in the first place. The man I'd made a deal with and had been regretting ever since.
I almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail.
But business was business. And Victor was still useful.
I answered. "Salvatore."
"Dante." His voice was smooth. Too smooth. The voice of a man used to charm and manipulation. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"What do you want, Victor?"
"Straight to business. I appreciate that." A pause. "I was calling to check on my daughter. I'd like to speak with her."
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
He wanted to speak with her. The daughter he'd sold. The daughter he'd traded like livestock to save his own ass. The daughter who was currently unconscious on my couch with my blood in her veins and a bullet wound in her arm because of the enemies he'd made.
"That's not possible right now," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
"Oh? And why not?"
"She's unavailable."
"Dante, I'm her father. I have a right—"
"You have nothing," I cut in. "You signed that right away when you signed her over to me. She's mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. Mine to decide who she speaks to and when."
Silence on the other end. Then, carefully, "Is there a problem?"
"Your enemies sent a spy to kidnap her. He got past our outer perimeter during the confusion when she nearly drowned trying to escape. He failed. She's safe. But she was injured in the process."
Another pause. Longer this time. "Injured how?"
"She was shot."
"Shot?" His voice rose. "Is she—"
"She's alive. She'll recover. No thanks to you."
"Now wait just a—"
"You called me because you want something, Victor. Not because you care about your daughter's wellbeing. So let's skip the concerned father act and get to what you really want."
Silence. Cold and heavy.
Then Victor's voice came back, all pretense of warmth gone. "I need to know she's secure. My creditors are asking questions. They want proof she's alive and unharmed. If they think the deal is compromised—"
"Your creditors can go fuck themselves," I said. "Nina is fine. She's protected. And she's not going anywhere. Tell them whatever you need to tell them to keep them off your back. But understand this, Victor. She belongs to us now. Not to you. Not to your creditors. To us. And the next person who tries to take her ends up like the spy. In pieces. Understood?"
"Understood," he said quietly.
"Good. Now unless you have actual business to discuss, don't call about your daughter again."
I hung up before he could respond.
Looked down at Nina, still sleeping, still breathing.
Still mine.
Fuck.
Before I could even put the phone down, it lit up again with his name. Of course. I answered without a word this time.
"If I can't talk to my daughter," Victor said, his voice harder now, "then I want to at least see her on a video call. That was part of our agreement, Dante. You're a man of your word."
For a moment I said nothing, just watched Nina's chest rise and fall, watched the IV drip my blood into her veins.
He was right, it had been part of the deal. Proof of life. Regular confirmations.
A way to keep his creditors calm while he slept at night and we carried his danger for him but he mustn't know that Nina just got shot.
"Damn it"