The drive back to the city was quieter than the one before.
Elena sat beside Dante in the back of the car, staring out the window as Chicago's skyline slowly grew closer. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky with deep orange and violet.
Her mind was racing.
Syndicates. Revenge. Being used as leverage.
She felt like a pawn on a chessboard she hadn't even known existed.
"You're thinking too loudly," Dante said calmly.
She turned toward him. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
"No." His gray eyes studied her face. "It's supposed to help you breathe."
"I am breathing."
"Barely."
She looked away again.
"You brought me into a war," she murmured.
"You stepped into it."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he agreed quietly. "It's worse."
The car stopped in front of a different building this time.
It wasn't the safehouse apartment.
This one was a tall glass tower downtown, guarded by men in black suits who nodded respectfully as Dante stepped out of the car.
Elena followed slowly.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"My main residence."
Her eyes widened.
"You're taking me to your actual home?"
"Yes."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
Dante looked down at her, something unreadable in his expression.
"It's the safest place for you."
Inside, the elevator opened into a penthouse that looked like something out of a billionaire magazine.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Dark marble floors.
Soft lighting.
Modern furniture that looked expensive enough to buy a small house.
Elena walked slowly through the living room.
"You live here alone?"
"No."
Her heart jumped.
"Who else—"
"My security team," he finished. "Relax."
She rolled her eyes slightly.
"You enjoy watching me panic."
"No," he said. "I enjoy watching you adapt."
Dante loosened his cufflinks and walked toward the bar.
"You want a drink?"
"I want my normal life back."
"That's not on the menu."
She sighed.
"Then water."
He handed her a glass.
Their fingers brushed for a second.
The contact was brief, but something electric passed between them.
Elena quickly pulled her hand away.
Dante noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"You're afraid of me," he said.
"Yes."
"Good."
She frowned.
"That's not comforting."
"It's honest."
Suddenly, his phone vibrated.
Dante glanced at the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.
"What is it?" Elena asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Then he spoke quietly.
"They found the warehouse security footage."
Her stomach dropped.
"And?"
"They know you were there."
A chill ran through her body.
"How?"
"One of Silvio's men survived."
Her grip tightened around the glass.
"You said they were handled."
"They were."
"Then how—"
"He wasn't supposed to survive."
Silence filled the room.
Elena's pulse started racing again.
"So what happens now?"
Dante walked toward her slowly.
Very slowly.
The closer he came, the harder her heart pounded.
"Now," he said softly,
"they start hunting you."
Her breath caught.
"And what do we do?"
He stopped just inches away from her.
Close enough that she could feel his warmth.
Close enough that she could smell his cologne—dark and expensive.
"We make sure they regret it."
A sudden loud bang echoed from downstairs.
Elena jumped.
Gunshots.
Several of them.
Dante didn't even flinch.
But his eyes turned deadly.
"They're early," he muttered.
Her heart nearly stopped.
"They're here?"
"Yes."
He grabbed her wrist gently but firmly.
"Stay behind me."
More gunshots echoed through the building.
Security alarms began screaming.
Elena's pulse pounded in her ears.
"This wasn't supposed to happen tonight," Dante said under his breath.
Then he looked at her.
For the first time since she met him…
He looked angry.
Not at her.
At the world.
"If they think they can touch you," he said quietly,
"they've just declared war."
And somewhere deep inside her chest…
Elena realized something terrifying.
She believed him.