Chapter Nineteen
Nina's POV
I didn't leave Dante's side.
Not when Enzo told me to get some rest. Not when Nikolai brought food I didn't eat. Not when the doctor came back to check vitals and change bandages.
I sat in that chair beside his bed for eighteen hours straight, holding his hand like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to earth.
Because somewhere between the gunfire and the blood and watching him take a bullet meant for me, something inside me had broken.
Or maybe it had finally healed.
The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor and Dante's slow, even breathing. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver shadows across his face. He looked younger in sleep. Less dangerous. Almost peaceful.
But the bandages covering his shoulder reminded me he was anything but safe.
He'd stepped in front of a bullet. For me.
Three men had attacked. Dante had been outnumbered. He could have retreated, could have let his guards handle it, could have prioritized his own safety.
Instead, he'd put himself between them and me.
And taken the hit.
I traced my thumb over his knuckles, careful not to disturb the IV taped to the back of his hand. His skin was warm. Alive. His pulse beat steady beneath my fingers.
"You're an idiot," I whispered. "Getting shot for me. What were you thinking?"
He didn't answer. Just kept breathing, kept existing, kept being alive when he could so easily have been dead.
The door opened softly.
Enzo slipped inside, moving quietly despite his size. He'd changed clothes, showered, but I could still see the exhaustion in his eyes. The white bandage on his arm where a bullet had grazed him.
"You should sleep," he said.
"I'm fine."
"Nina, you haven't moved in eighteen hours."
"I said I'm fine."
He sighed and crossed to the bed, checking Dante's monitors with practiced efficiency. Satisfied, he turned back to me.
"He's stable. The doctor said he'll wake up soon. You don't need to keep watch like this."
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
The question hung in the air between us.
Because I need to see him open his eyes. Because I need to know he's really okay. Because if I leave this room, I might fall apart completely.
Because I love him.
The thought hit me like a physical blow.
No. No, that wasn't right. I couldn't love him. He'd bought me. Owned me. Dragged me to dungeons and forced me to watch torture.
But he'd also given me his blood. Protected me. Valued me. Made me feel safer than I'd ever felt in my father's world.
"Nina?" Enzo's voice was gentle.
"I need to make sure he's okay," I said finally. "That's all."
Enzo studied my face for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I'll bring you some food. And water. You need to take care of yourself too."
He left before I could argue.
I turned back to Dante, this man who'd changed everything. Who'd forced me to confront parts of myself I'd been hiding from.
"I don't know what I am anymore," I told him. "I don't know if I'm your prisoner or your… something else. I don't know if I'm supposed to hate you or…"
Or what?
Love you?
Want you?
Need you?
All of the above?
Hours passed. Enzo brought food I picked at. Nikolai checked in, squeezed my shoulder, left without a word. The sun set. Rose again. The house settled into an uneasy quiet, guards posted everywhere, everyone on edge after the attack.
And still I sat. Still I held his hand. Still I watched him breathe.
Until midnight of the second night, when his fever spiked.
The monitors started beeping frantically. Dante's skin went from warm to burning hot in minutes. He stirred, restless, his face twisting with pain.
I hit the call button for the doctor, my heart racing.
Dr. Messina arrived quickly, checked Dante over with calm efficiency.
"It's normal," he said, adjusting the IV. "The body's response to trauma and surgery. The antibiotics will bring it down. Keep him cool. Ice packs on his forehead and neck. It should break by morning."
"Should?"
"Will," he corrected, seeing my face. "It will break by morning. He's strong. He'll be fine."
He left me with supplies and instructions.
I filled a basin with ice water, soaked washcloths, pressed them to Dante's burning skin. His forehead. His neck. His chest where I could reach without disturbing the bandages.
He was so hot. Too hot.
"Come on," I whispered, changing the cloth again. "Don't do this. Don't scare me like this. You don't get to take a bullet for me and then die of a fever. That's not how this works."
He didn't respond. Just kept burning, kept fighting whatever war was happening inside his body.
I couldn't sit in the chair anymore. Couldn't maintain the distance.
I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder. Pressed my cooler hands to his face, his neck, anywhere I could reach.
"I'm sorry," I whispered against his temple. "I'm sorry I fought this so long. I'm sorry I was too proud and too scared to admit what I was feeling. I'm sorry it took you almost dying for me to understand."
His breathing hitched slightly, but his eyes stayed closed.
"Don't leave me," I continued, the words spilling out now that I'd started. "I know that's selfish. I know I have no right to ask. But please don't leave me. Not now. Not when I'm finally starting to understand what this is."
What we are.
What I want us to be.
"I need you," I breathed. "I need all three of you. And I know that's crazy and twisted and wrong, but I don't care anymore. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of pretending I don't feel this. I just… I need you to wake up so I can tell you for real. So you can hear me say it."
His fever raged on. I stayed curled against his side, one hand on his chest feeling his heartbeat, the other cooling his burning skin.
At some point, exhaustion dragged me under.
I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, my hand over his heart, whispering promises I wasn't sure I could keep.
I woke to fingers threading through my hair.
Gentle. Careful. Deliberate.
My eyes flew open.
Dante was awake, watching me with dark eyes that saw too much. His fever had broken. His skin was cool now, normal. The monitors beeped steadily, calmly.
And he was awake.
Looking at me like he could see straight through to my soul.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked, my voice rough with sleep.
His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Long enough."
My blood turned to ice.
Long enough.
Long enough to hear what I'd said. What I'd confessed. What I'd admitted in the dark thinking he couldn't hear me.
"Oh God." I tried to scramble away, suddenly mortified. "I didn't— you weren't supposed to—"
His hand caught my wrist, holding me in place despite the pain it must have caused him. "Don't."
"Dante, I—"
"Don't run from this anymore, Nina." His voice was rough, weak from disuse, but the command in it was unmistakable. "I almost died. You stayed. You climbed into my bed. You told me you need me."
Heat flooded my face. "You were supposed to be sedated."
"I was. Until about an hour ago." His thumb traced circles on my wrist, the touch gentle but possessive. "Long enough to hear you apologize for fighting this. Long enough to hear you say you're tired of pretending. Long enough to hear you say you need us."
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to take it back. Wanted to pretend I'd been delirious or talking in my sleep or anything other than laying my heart bare.
But I couldn't. Because he'd heard. And because it was true.
"I was scared," I whispered.
"I know."
"I'm still scared."
"I know that too." He tugged gently on my wrist, pulling me closer. "But you're here anyway. You stayed anyway. That means something."
"What does it mean?"
"It means you're done fighting." His hand came up to cup my face, fingers gentle against my cheek. "It means you're ready to stop running from what you feel. From what we are."
"What are we?" I asked, even though I knew. Even though I'd known for weeks now.
"Mine," he said simply. "Ours. Whether you wanted to be or not. Whether you chose it or not. But now…"
"Now?"
His eyes searched mine. Looking for something. Finding it.
"Now you're choosing," he finished. "Say it again. When I can see your eyes. When you know I can hear you."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. The moment of truth. The point of no return.
I could lie. Could pretend I hadn't meant it. Could run back to my room and hide behind walls and pride and fear.
Or I could jump.
"I need you," I whispered, the words barely audible. "I need all of you. And I don't know what that makes me or what it means, but it's true. I need you."
Something fierce and possessive flared in his eyes. "Again."
"I need you."
"Louder."
"I need you." Stronger now. Surer. "I need you and I'm tired of fighting it. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of—"
He pulled me down and kissed me.
Finally.
After weeks of tension and fighting and wanting and denying, his lips met mine and the world caught fire.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't soft or sweet or careful. It was claiming. Possessive. Demanding. His good hand fisted in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wanted it. His mouth moved against mine with bruising intensity, like he was trying to brand me from the inside out.
I kissed him back just as fiercely. Poured everything into it. All the fear and want and need and confusion. All the things I couldn't say with words.
I'm yours. I'm theirs. I choose this. I choose you.
The door slammed open.
We broke apart, both breathing hard.
Enzo and Nikolai stood in the doorway, weapons drawn, alert and deadly.
Then they saw us. Saw Dante awake. Saw me on his bed, my lips swollen, my hair messed from his hands.
Saw what had clearly just been interrupted.
"He's awake," Nikolai said unnecessarily.
"We can see that," Enzo replied, a small smile playing at his lips.
Dante didn't let me go. Kept his hand in my hair, his eyes on mine. "This better be important."
"It is." Enzo's smile faded. "We have a situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"Her father is here."
The words hit like cold water.
My father. Here.
"What?" I pulled back slightly, looking at Enzo. "What do you mean he's here?"
"Showed up at the gate twenty minutes ago with a lawyer and two cops. Demanding to see you. Says he's here to rescue you from your kidnappers." Nikolai's tone made it clear what he thought of that. "He's threatening to get a warrant. Threatening to call the FBI. Making a lot of noise."
Dante tried to sit up. Pain flickered across his face.
I pushed him back down. "Don't even think about it. You're not going anywhere."
"Nina, your father—"
"Is my problem. Not yours." I looked at him, then at Enzo and Nikolai. "You're hurt. All three of you are hurt because of me. Because you protected me. I'm not letting you deal with this too."
"What are you going to do?" Enzo asked carefully.
A plan was forming in my mind. Dangerous. Reckless. Exactly what my father would never expect.
"Bring him to me," I said. "Here. With his lawyer and cops. I'll talk to him."
Dante's hand tightened in my hair. "Nina—"
"I'm not a hostage," I cut in. "I'm not a prisoner. If he wants proof I'm okay, I'll give it to him. On my terms."
"If you tell them—" Nikolai started.
"I know what I'm doing." I looked at Dante. "Trust me."
He studied my face for a long moment. Then nodded once. "Enzo, bring them up. Nikolai, make sure the bodies are gone and the house is clean. No evidence of yesterday's attack."
"Already done," Nikolai said.
"Then bring her father to me. Let's end this."
They left to make arrangements.
Dante pulled me back down, his forehead against mine. "What are you planning?"
"To choose you," I said simply. "Publicly. So there's no going back."
Understanding flickered in his eyes. Along with something that looked like pride. "You're sure?"
"I'm terrified," I admitted. "But yes. I'm sure."
He kissed me again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A promise and a brand and a beginning all at once.
"Then let's give your father a show he'll never forget."
Twenty minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Multiple sets. Voices. My father's voice, loud and demanding.
I didn't move from Dante's bed. Didn't let go of his hand. Just sat there, exactly where I wanted to be, and waited.
The door opened.
Victor Alvarez walked in first, his eyes scanning the room, landing on me. He looked older than I remembered. Grayer. More worn.
Behind him came a woman in a expensive suit. Lawyer. And two men in uniforms. Cops.
Witnesses. Perfect.
Victor's eyes widened when he saw me. Sitting on Dante's bed. Still wearing yesterday's clothes, stained with blood. Holding Dante's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Nina," he breathed. "Thank God. I'm here to take you home. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
I looked at him. This man who'd sold me. Who'd traded me like property. Who'd made deals with criminals and put me in danger.
And I felt nothing.
No love. No hate. Just… nothing.
"I'm not afraid," I said calmly.
"They've hurt you. I can see the blood. The—"
"This blood?" I gestured to my stained clothes. "This is from the fifteen men your creditors sent to kidnap me yesterday. Fifteen men who are dead now because these three men protected me."
Victor paled. "What? No, I didn't— I wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't you?" I stood up slowly, walked toward him. Let him see my face. Let him see the truth in my eyes. "You sold me to pay your debts. You signed papers making me collateral. You knew what that meant. You knew what could happen."
"I was protecting you—"
"You were protecting yourself." My voice was cold. Steady. "And your creditors decided I was more valuable as a hostage than as collateral. So they sent men with guns to take me. To hurt me. To use me against you."
I looked back at Dante, at Enzo and Nikolai flanking his bed like guards.
"But these men?" I continued. "These men you call kidnappers? They fought off fifteen armed attackers. They took bullets to keep me safe. They killed anyone who tried to hurt me."
I turned back to my father.
"You want to rescue me, Dad? From what? The men who took a bullet for me? Who gave their blood to keep me alive? Who kill anyone who tries to hurt me?"
Victor's mouth opened and closed. No words came out.
I took a step closer. "Let me make this very clear so there's no confusion. I'm not your daughter anymore."
"Nina—"
"I'm theirs." I looked at Dante when I said it. Held his eyes. Let him see the truth. The choice. The surrender. "And unlike you, they've earned me."
The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. The cops exchanged glances. My father looked like I'd slapped him.
"You don't know what you're saying," Victor tried. "They've brainwashed you. Manipulated you. This is Stockholm Syndrome or—"
"This is me making a choice," I cut in. "The first real choice I've made since Mom died. Maybe the first real choice of my life."
I walked back to Dante's bed. Sat down beside him. Took his hand again.
"You can go," I said to the lawyer, to the cops. "Tell whoever sent you that I'm exactly where I want to be. That I'm safe. That I'm protected. That I'm staying."
"Nina, please—" My father's voice broke.
I looked at him one last time. "You made your choice when you signed those papers. Now I'm making mine."
Then I did something I'd been wanting to do since Dante first kissed me. Something that would make this real and public and irrevocable.
I leaned down and kissed Dante.
In front of my father.
In front of the lawyer and the cops.
In front of witnesses who could tell the world exactly what they'd seen.
I kissed him slowly, deliberately, claiming him as thoroughly as he'd claimed me.
When I pulled back, Dante's eyes were burning with possession and pride and promise.
"I'm theirs," I said again, loud enough for everyone to hear. "And I'm staying. Now get out of my house."
The cops left first. The lawyer followed, already on her phone.
My father stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at me like he didn't recognize me.
Maybe he didn't. Maybe I wasn't the same girl he'd sold six weeks ago.
Maybe I was something new. Something dangerous. Something that chose monsters and blood and protection over safety and lies and betrayal.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I'm so sorry, Nina."
"I know," I said. And I meant it. "But it doesn't matter anymore."
He left.
The door closed behind him.
And then it was just the four of us. Me and Dante and Enzo and Nikolai.
My men. My monsters. My choice.
"Well," Enzo said after a moment. "That was dramatic."
"She's ours now," Nikolai added, something fierce and satisfied in his voice. "Publicly. No taking it back."
Dante's hand tightened on mine. "No taking it back," he agreed.
He pulled me down for another kiss. Deeper this time. Hotter. A promise of everything to come.
When we broke apart, I was breathing hard and my heart was racing and I felt alive for the first time in months.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
Dante's smile was dark and possessive and full of wicked promise.
"Now, baby," he said, "we show you exactly what you just signed up for."