Morning sunlight poured through the massive penthouse windows, painting the marble floor in soft gold.
For the first time since Elena's life had been thrown into chaos, the world looked… peaceful.
But she knew better.
Peace in Dante Moretti's world never lasted long.
Elena stood barefoot near the window, staring down at the city far below. Chicago moved like it always did—cars rushing, people walking, life continuing as if nothing had changed.
As if a war wasn't quietly unfolding in the shadows.
Behind her, she heard Dante's footsteps.
Slow.
Controlled.
She didn't turn around, but she felt him stop just behind her.
"You didn't sleep much," he said.
"I tried."
His reflection appeared beside hers in the glass.
"You're thinking again."
"I can't stop," she admitted.
Silence lingered between them.
Then she turned to face him.
"How bad is it?" she asked quietly.
Dante didn't pretend not to understand.
"The syndicate?" he asked.
She nodded.
His jaw tightened.
"They lost Viktor last night."
"And that makes things worse?"
"Yes."
Her stomach twisted.
"Because now they'll want revenge."
Dante's voice lowered.
"No. Because now they'll want war."
Elena wrapped her arms around herself.
"How many people are we talking about?"
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
She frowned.
"You're hiding things from me again."
Dante stepped closer.
"I'm protecting you."
"By lying?"
"I never lied."
"By not telling me the truth then."
His gray eyes darkened.
"Elena… if I tell you everything, you won't be able to sleep again."
"I already can't."
That stopped him.
For a moment, the room felt heavier.
Then Dante sighed.
"There are five families involved in the syndicate," he said finally. "Russian, Italian, Serbian, Turkish, and Colombian."
Her eyes widened.
"That's… huge."
"Yes."
"And they're all coming after you?"
"They're coming after what I control."
"And that includes me."
He didn't deny it.
Elena walked past him and collapsed onto the couch.
"This is insane."
"Yes."
"I'm an art teacher."
"I know."
"I used to worry about students forgetting their paintbrushes."
Dante's mouth twitched faintly.
"And now?"
"Now people are starting wars over me."
His expression softened slightly.
"It's not over you."
"Then what?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then said quietly,
"It's over me caring about you."
Her heart skipped.
"That's ridiculous."
"It's true."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
She shook her head.
"You don't even like people."
"I don't."
"Then why me?"
For the first time, Dante didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink.
Whiskey.
Straight.
He took a sip before finally speaking.
"Because you look at me like I'm still human."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Unexpected.
Elena didn't know what to say.
Suddenly Dante's phone buzzed.
His eyes dropped to the screen.
The softness disappeared instantly.
His entire body went rigid.
"Elena," he said quietly.
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
"We have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
He looked up slowly.
"The kind that means we can't stay here anymore."
Her pulse quickened.
"Why?"
He turned the phone so she could see.
On the screen was a message.
Just three words.
WE FOUND HER.
Underneath it was a photo.
A photo of Elena standing outside the penthouse earlier that morning.
Taken from across the street.
Someone had been watching.
Elena's blood ran cold.
"They know where I am," she whispered.
Dante's eyes turned darker than night.
"Yes."
He grabbed his jacket.
"Pack what you need."
Her heart started racing again.
"Where are we going?"
Dante loaded his gun calmly.
"Somewhere even they won't look."
"And where is that?"
He looked at her.
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"My world."