The night was unnervingly still.

Elena stood at the balcony of her suite, staring out at the sprawling gardens below. The lamps cast long pools of gold across the pathways, their glow softened by the leaves of cypress trees. From here, Dante’s mansion looked like a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the crawling feeling at the back of her neck, the whisper that even fortresses fell.

Her fingers clenched around the wrought iron railing. She had replayed their dinner over and over in her mind. His words—breaking you will satisfy me more than killing ten men—still cut deep. But worse than his cruelty had been his calm certainty.

He believed he owned her already.

She hated him for it.

She hated herself for the part of her that trembled when she remembered the heat in his eyes.

Elena tore herself from the balcony and shut the doors with a snap. She didn’t want to breathe his air, see his gardens, or feel his presence even in the silence of his house.

She turned toward the bed—

And froze.

A shadow moved against the wall.

Her breath caught. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then came the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Somewhere downstairs.

Her pulse spiked.

The door burst open.

It wasn’t Dante. It was one of his guards, face pale and gun drawn. “Stay here. Don’t move!”

Before she could answer, the crack of gunfire split the night. Short, brutal bursts that made her flinch. Shouts followed, curses in Italian. More gunfire.

Elena’s chest seized. This wasn’t training. This wasn’t a drill. Someone was attacking.

Her instinct screamed—run.

She darted toward the hallway, but the guard shoved her back inside. “No! Stay in the room!”

“I won’t hide in here like—”

The guard never heard her finish. A bullet tore through the doorway, slamming him backward. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood spilling across the marble.

Elena froze, horror locking her in place.

Then a masked man appeared in the doorway. Black clothes, rifle raised. His eyes locked on her.

Her scream stuck in her throat.

The shot never came.

Because Dante arrived first.

He moved like shadow and fire, his own gun already raised. Two sharp cracks—clean, merciless. The intruder crumpled at the threshold, his weapon clattering uselessly to the floor.

Elena stumbled back against the bed, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Dante stepped into the room, eyes scanning, body coiled like a predator mid-hunt. He didn’t even look at her first—he looked at the windows, the balcony, the hall. Only when he was satisfied did his gaze pin her.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her throat too tight for words.

“Stay behind me.”

The command brooked no argument. He was already moving, pulling her with him, his grip on her wrist like iron.

The mansion had erupted into chaos. Gunfire echoed from every direction, the sharp scent of smoke and gunpowder filling the air. Guards shouted orders, boots pounded across marble floors, and through it all Dante was calm, precise, deadly.

He fired without hesitation at the masked men who breached the hall. His bullets struck true, each shot dropping another intruder. Elena flinched with every body that fell, but Dante never faltered. His movements were terrifyingly controlled, as though violence was as natural to him as breathing.

They descended the staircase, Dante pulling her behind his broad frame.

“Who are they?” Elena gasped, stumbling to keep up.

“Rossi’s men,” Dante said flatly. “Cowards, thinking to strike at night.”

The name was unfamiliar, but the venom in his tone told her everything she needed. Rival. Enemy. Someone willing to burn through his fortress to see him bleed.

Another explosion rattled the chandeliers overhead, showering sparks. Elena ducked instinctively, but Dante pushed her forward, shielding her with his body.

They burst into the grand hall—and straight into a firefight.

Dante shoved her behind a marble pillar. “Stay down!”

She crouched, trembling, her hands pressed to her ears as gunshots roared. Dante stepped out into the open, his gun a natural extension of his arm. Two, three, four shots—each one finding its mark.

Elena peeked from behind the pillar. He was merciless, his expression cold as stone, his movements precise. This wasn’t the calm man sipping wine across a dining table. This was the Don—the ruthless king she had only glimpsed before.

And she realized in that moment why men feared him.

The last attacker in the hall tried to flee. Dante’s bullet caught him in the back before he made it to the door.

The silence afterward was deafening, broken only by the ragged sound of Elena’s breathing.

Dante lowered his gun slowly, his eyes scanning until he found her. “Come.”

She hesitated. Her knees felt like water. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Every part of her wanted to scream, to collapse, to hide.

But his hand reached for her, steady, unyielding. Against her will, she took it.

He pulled her to her feet, guiding her across the blood-stained marble. His men were already dragging bodies away, securing the halls. The mansion was a war zone, but Dante walked as if it was nothing more than an inconvenience.

When they finally reached his private office, he shut the door behind them, locking it.

Elena leaned against the wall, her body trembling uncontrollably. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the blood smeared across his shirt, his forearms, his hands.

“You—” Her voice cracked. “You killed them like it was nothing.”

Dante met her gaze, unflinching. “It was nothing. They came into my house. They threatened what’s mine.”

Her stomach twisted. “What’s yours? You mean me?”

His silence was answer enough.

Elena’s breath hitched, fury colliding with fear. “I’m not—”

Dante closed the distance in two strides, his hand slamming against the wall beside her head. She gasped, trapped by his presence, his eyes burning into hers.

“You think you understand what just happened?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You think Rossi sent those men for fun? No. He sent them to kill me. And you would have been collateral. Do you understand what that means?”

Her lips trembled. She wanted to spit defiance, to claw at him, to deny his claim. But the memory of the intruder’s gun aimed at her chest silenced her.

Dante leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “The moment you became mine, Elena, you inherited my enemies. The only thing keeping you alive… is me.”

Her pulse hammered so violently she thought she might faint.

His words were iron shackles, binding her tighter than any locked door.

And the terrifying truth was—he was right.