The kitchen of the [Grand Ballroom] was a cacophony of clattering pans, shouting chefs, and the oddly rhythmic thud of combat boots echoing from the hallway behind them. When the storming police pivoted in their march, it was akin to a taiko drum performance until they got back into step.
"Move!" Dante commanded, his grip on Tisha's hand firm but not painful.
He navigated the labyrinth of stainless steel prep tables with a fluidity that Tisha found... unexpectedly efficient. Like a shark in water.
His spatial awareness is actually amazing, Tisha noted, her breath catching in her throat as he pulled her around a corner, narrowly missing a waiter carrying a tray of soup.
He anticipates obstacles before they appear. It's... impressive—if one doesn't consider his aggressive dancing style.
"The loading dock!" Lorenzo shouted, clutching his pockets to secure the liberated shrimp. "Kael is bringing the car around!"
They burst through the heavy double doors onto the loading dock. The night air was freezing, and the rain had turned into a proper thunderstorm. The sky cracked, flashed, and rumbled, masking the sirens wailing out front.
"It's a dead end!" Lorenzo panicked, pointing to a 10-foot chain-link fence separating them from the alley where the SUV was idling. "The gate is locked!"
Dante looked at the fence. He looked at Tisha. "Do you trust me?" he asked. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead, stripping away the perfect "Don" styling and leaving something raw and real underneath.
"Hell no," Tisha said emphatically. "I trust physics," Tisha shouted over the thunder. "And physics says that fence is too high to vault in a dress!"
"Then we improvise."
Dante scooped her up with his arm behind her knees and lifted her against his chest. It wasn't the dramatic, spine-snapping dip from the dance floor. It was solid. Secure.
Tisha instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck to stabilize her center of gravity.
His trapezius muscles are rock hard; her brain supplied unhelpfully. He is supporting approximately 60 kilograms of weight without visible strain. His breathing is regulated. His heat output is... pleasant.
"Hold on," Dante growled.
He took three steps and launched himself at the fence, and used the momentum of his run to kick off a dumpster, grab the top rail with his freed hand, and swing them both over in a clean, parabolic arc. They landed on the other side—Dante taking the impact in a crouch, shielding Tisha from the jar.
Tisha blinked. She was still in his arms. Her face was inches from his neck. She could smell the rain, the expensive cologne, and—beneath it all—the scent of a man who had just done something incredibly dangerous to keep her safe.
Her heart pounded harder than it ever had.
Adrenaline, she told herself. This is just a sympathetic nervous system response to free-fall. It's not an attraction. It's a survival instinct. I am absolutely NOT being influenced by a crappy otome game, even if it's just a weird dream.
But she didn't let go.
"Are you okay?" Dante asked, his voice rough. He had dropped the pose. Gone was the "smoldering gaze" and the tilted head. He simply scanned her hairline with genuine concern, checking for injuries.
"I'm... fine," Tisha snapped a little more harshly than she intended. She waved him off and slid out of his arms. Before she turned to stare at him. "Your trajectory was... surprisingly sound," she admitted, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. "For a guy who defies gravity."
Dante let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. "High praise, coming from you."
The black SUV screeched to a halt in front of them. The back door flew open.
"Get in! Get in!" Lorenzo yelled from the front seat.
Dante grabbed her again and hopped inside, which placed her on his lap. Kael slammed the gas before the door was fully closed, peeling out of the alley with a roar that shook the chassis.
"Seat belt," she whispered.
"What?"
She wiggled away from him. "We need to fasten our seatbelts."
Zips and clicks filled the interior of the SUV, which was otherwise quiet, save for the rhythmic thump-thump of the windshield wipers and the wet, squishing sound of Lorenzo peeling a shrimp in the front seat.
Tisha sat shivering in the corner. The adrenaline crash hit her hard. Her hands trembled, and her teeth started to chatter.
"You're freezing," Dante stated. He unclasped his velvet tuxedo jacket and shrugged it off. He draped it over her shoulders, pulling the lapels together to trap her body heat.
It was warm. It smelled like rain, cedar, and him.
"Thank you," Tisha said, pulling the jacket tighter. She looked at him. He sat in his dress shirt now, soaked through and clinging to him in a way that—if she were writing this scene—would be described as 'distractingly sculpted.'
"You're going to get hypothermia," she muttered. "Thermodynamics works both ways, Dante. You're losing heat."
"I run hot," Dante said simply. He leaned his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes. With the mask lost somewhere in the jump, Tisha finally saw the lines of fatigue around his eyes. The 2D sprite villain vanished, leaving a guy who had just carried a woman over a ten-foot fence in a thunderstorm.
"That was close," Lorenzo mumbled around a mouthful of seafood. "Too close. The police response time was faster than the simulation predicted. Nero must have tipped them off."
"Nero," Dante opened his eyes, the darkness returning to them. "He ruined my Tango."
"He ruined my appetite," Tisha lied. She actually could have eaten a horse, but she refused to ask Lorenzo for a pocket-shrimp.
She looked at Dante. He stared out the window, watching the city lights blur by. His hand rested on the seat between them, inches from hers. Tisha looked at his hand. It was large, scarred at the knuckles.
He caught me, she thought. He carried me over a fence. In my books, the hero usually hesitates. He calculates the risk. Dante just... moved.
Without overthinking it—without trying to frame it as a plot point or a chemical reaction—Tisha reached out and covered his hand with hers. Dante flinched slightly. He looked down at their hands, then up at her face. His expression softened.
"You have a good grip," Tisha murmured, looking away, her cheeks heating up. "For a criminal overlord."
Dante turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, sending a shiver up her arm that she couldn't blame on the rain.
"And you," Dante said quietly, "are warmer than you pretend to be, cara."
"Well, now you just ruined it," Tisha said, but her words had no bite.
Okay, she admitted to herself, letting her head rest against the cool window. This fits the dream's narrative arc. It's fine. I'm just... gathering character data. Research.
"Boss," Kael rumbled from the driver's seat, interrupting the moment. "We have a problem."
"Police?" Dante asked, straightening up, keeping his hold on Tisha's hand.
"No," Kael said, tapping the GPS screen. "We can't go back to the Lair. The raid compromised the location. If Nero tipped the cops, he knows where we live."
Lorenzo stopped chewing. He turned around, looking horrified. "But... my spreadsheets are there. My exfoliating masks are there! We can't just be homeless, Dante! We have standards!"
"We need a safe house," Dante said, his voice tight. "Somewhere off the grid. Somewhere Nero wouldn't think to look."
The car went silent. As a mafia organization in a romance game, their assets consisted of penthouses, clubs, and dungeons. Subtlety seemed absent from their skill tree.
Tisha sighed. She looked at the three men: a pouting financial advisor as a lieutenant, a giant bodyguard, and a soaking wet Don holding her hand. They looked lost.
"I know a place," Tisha said.
Dante looked at her. "You do?"
"It's secure. It has low foot traffic. And the rent is paid through the end of the month." Tisha pointed to the GPS. "Turn right, Kael. We're going to…"
She said it, and everyone seemed to hear it. But the actual name wasn't there.
Did I just get edited?
She tried again. "We're going to…"
The name was missing, like the sound of the entire world had been silenced while she said it.
Lorenzo crinkled his nose. "Is that a code name for a secret bunker?"
"Uhm…No," Tisha said, still trying to get her head around what was happening. "It's my apartment. And if any of you judge my decor, I will never dream about you again."
Dante grinned. "So you're already dreaming about me," he said as he let go of her hand and moved his own to her thigh. "And letting me spend the night?"
"No. You're not staying," she said, wiping away his hand. "It's just a place to regroup and decide what to do next."
[Chapter 7 Complete]
[Status Update: Daring Escape Achieved. Tango Ruined. Pocket-shrimp Avoided.]
[Chapter Bonus: Princess Carry.]