Homeless Woman Returned Mafia Boss’s Kidnapped Daughter-He Opened HisWallet:Name Your Price—She Said

Chapter 1. The girl with blood on her hands, I found her in the rain. The little girl couldn’t have been more than 5 years old, huddled behind a dumpster in the alley where I’d been sleeping for the past three nights. Her designer dress, white silk, now gray with grime, clung to her small frame, and her dark curls were plastered to her tear streaked face.

 But it was her eyes that stopped me cold, wide, terrified, and so dark they looked black in the dim light filtering from the street. She was bleeding, not badly, just a scrape on her knee. But she was sobbing like the world had ended. And maybe for a 5-year-old lost in the bowels of Chicago’s industrial district at 11:00 at night, it had. I should have walked away. That’s what 6 months of living on the streets had taught me. Mind your business. Keep your head down. Survive.

But I’d been a nurse once in what felt like another lifetime. And some instincts die harder than others. Hey, I said softly, crouching down despite the protest of my empty stomach. Hey, sweetheart, are you hurt? She looked at me with those enormous eyes and something in my chest cracked. I knew that look.

 I’d worn at myself not so long ago the look of someone whose entire world had just shattered. “I want my papa,” she whispered in a voice so small it barely carried over the rain. I glanced around the alley, every survival instinct screaming at me to leave her and run. A kid this young, dressed like that, lost in this neighborhood.

 This wasn’t just trouble. This was the kind of trouble that got people killed. But she was looking at me like I was her last hope. Okay. I heard myself say, “Okay, let’s find your papa. What’s your name? Isabella.” Of course it was. Even her name sounded expensive. I used the sleeve of my secondhand jacket, the only thing standing between me and hypothermia, to wipe the blood from her knee. The cut was superficial.

 she’d survive it, which was more than I could say for whoever had lost track of her. Where did you last see your papa, Isabella? The bad men took me. Her lip trembled. They put me in a car, but I run away when they stopped for gas. Ice flooded my veins. Kidnapping. This was so far beyond anything I should be involved in that I couldn’t even see the line I’d crossed anymore.

 We need to call the police. No, she grabbed my arm with surprising strength. Papa says, “Never trust police, only trust family.” I stared at her, pieces clicking into place. I didn’t want to acknowledge the expensive clothes. The way she’d been trained not to trust authorities, the very fact that someone had dared to kidnap her in the first place. This wasn’t just any little girl.

 This was someone important, someone dangerous, and I just made myself part of whatever nightmare she’d stumbled into. The sound of car engines rumbled from the street and Isabella’s grip on my arm turned painful. “They’re coming back,” she whimpered. “They’re coming back for me.” I didn’t think.

 I just moved, scooping her into my arms, I ran deeper into the alley, my worn sneakers splashing through puddles, my lungs burning. Behind us, doors slammed, voices shouted, footsteps pounded. There, I saw something move. I dove behind a pile of wooden pallets, pressing Isabella against my chest and covering her mouth with my hand. My heart hammered so hard I was sure they’d hear it. She was shaking. Or maybe I was.

 I couldn’t tell anymore. Three men passed within feet of us. I caught glimpses through the gaps in the wood, dark suits, bulges under their jackets that I knew were weapons. One of them was speaking rapid Italian into a phone. Don’t know where she went. Vinenzo is going to kill us. The boss is already on his way.

 the boss, Isabella’s papa. They moved past, their footsteps receding, but I didn’t dare move. Not yet. Isabella was so still in my arms, her breathing shallow, like she’d done this before, like she knew the protocol for hiding from dangerous men. What kind of life had this child lived? When I finally risked shifting, my body screamed in protest.

 I hadn’t eaten in 2 days, and the adrenaline was fading fast, leaving me shaky and weak. Is there a number? I whispered to Isabella. A way to call your papa directly? She nodded against my chest and rattled off a phone number with perfect precision. Of course, she knew it by heart. She’d probably been drilled on it since she could talk.

 The problem was I didn’t have a phone. I’d sold mine months ago for food money, but I knew where I could find one. Street Catherine’s church was three blocks away. Father Miguel kept the doors unlocked and had a phone in the office. I’d been there twice for their soup kitchen, always slipping out before anyone could ask questions or try to help me.

 Help came with strings, and I couldn’t afford strings anymore. Hold on tight, I told Isabella. We’re going to find your papa. I should have been terrified. I should have left her at the church and disappeared into the night. I should have done a hundred things differently.

 But as I emerged from the alley and started down the rainsicked street with this little girl clinging to me like I was her salvation, I felt something I hadn’t felt in six months. I felt necessary. I didn’t know yet that this moment, this choice would be the beginning of my end. That the phone call I was about to make would bring down a storm of violence and desire I couldn’t begin to imagine. I didn’t know that Isabella’s papa wasn’t just dangerous.

He was the danger. And in less than an hour, Dante Salvatore would walk into Street Catherine’s church, looking for his daughter, and find me instead, the girl with blood on her hands and nothing left to lose. Chapter 2. The Devil Wears Armani. The phone rang three times before someone answered.

 Who is this? The voice was male, clipped, suspicious, and absolutely terrified. I was huddled in Father Miguel’s office. Isabella pressed against my side on the worn, a leather couch. The church was empty this late. Just shadows and flickering votive candles casting dancing light through the cracked door.

 “I have Isabella,” I said, keeping my voice low. “She’s safe.” She asked me to call this number. The silence that followed lasted an eternity. “Put her on.” The voice had changed still hard, but desperate now. “Ra,” I handed Isabella the phone and watched her small face transform.

 “Papa!” Whatever he said made her dissolve into tears again, clutching the phone with both hands. She spoke rapidly in Italian. Words tumbling over each other too fast for me to follow with my rudimentary knowledge of the language. But I caught enough. Scared. Bad men. Nice lady helped me. Nice lady. That’s what I’d been reduced to. She thrust the phone back at me suddenly, her eyes wide. Papa wants to talk to you.

 My hand trembled as I took it. Hello? Where are you? Not a question, a command. The voice was different now. Deeper, darker. The kind of voice that made you understand why people used words like authority and power interchangeably. Street Catherine’s church on Roosevelt. And I know where it is. Of course he did. Keep her inside. Lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in until I get there. 20 minutes.

 The man who took her won’t be a problem. Something in his tone made my blood run cold. Those three words carried the weight of a death sentence. What’s your name? I hesitated. Giving him my name felt like crossing a threshold I couldn’t uncross. Lily, I finally said. Lily Chen. Lily. He repeated it slowly like he was memorizing it, filing it away.

 20 minutes. Keep my daughter safe, and I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your trouble. The line went dead. Compensated. Like I’d returned a lost wallet. I looked down at Isabella, who had curled against my side, her thumb in her mouth. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

 Nothing like the daughter of whoever this man was. This man whose voice alone had made me want to run. “Your papa’s coming,” I told her softly. She nodded, her eyes already drooping. The adrenaline crash was hitting her, too. “Papa will make it all better. Papa fixes everything. I wondered what kind of things a 5-year-old needed her father to fix. The 20 minutes felt like 20 hours.

 I locked the church doors like he’d instructed. Checked them twice, then positioned myself where I could see both the main entrance and the side door. Old habits from nursing. Always know your exits. Always have an escape plan. Not that I could escape now. I was in this whatever this was. Isabella had fallen asleep with her head in my lap, one small hand fisted in my jacket.

 I smoothed her dark curls back from her face and tried not to think about what I’d gotten myself into. Tried not to think about the last time I’d held someone this small, this precious. Tried not to remember why I’d lost everything. The rumble of engines outside shattered the silence. Not one engine, multiple.

 I moved to the window, careful not to wake Isabella, and felt my stomach drop. Six black SUVs had pulled up outside the church, forming a perimeter that screamed organized crime. Men in dark suits emerged from the vehicles, moving with military precision. They weren’t just guards. They were soldiers.

 And then he stepped out of the center vehicle. Even from a distance, even through the rain streaked window, I could see he was different from the others. Taller, broader, moving with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were the most dangerous thing in any room you entered.

 He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than I’d made in 6 months as a nurse. And despite the rain, despite the late hour, despite the fact that his daughter had just been kidnapped, he looked immaculate, untouchable, terrifying. He stroed toward the church doors, and four men moved with him, two in front, two behind. Protection detail.

 I watched him gesture sharply, and the men stopped, fanning out to it secure the perimeter. He would enter alone. The knock, when it came, was controlled. Three sharp wraps that echoed through the empty church. My hands were shaking as I unlocked the door. And then Dante Salvatore was standing in front of me, and I forgot how to breathe.

 He was younger than I’d expected, mid-30s, maybe with the kind of face that belonged on Roman coins, sharp cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, and eyes so dark they looked black in the dim light. The same eyes as Isabella. But where hers were innocent, his were absolutely merciless.

 Those eyes swept over me in a single assessing glance taking in my secondhand clothes, my unwashed hair, the gauntness that 6 months of sporadic meals had carved into my frame. I watched his expression shift, pieces clicking into place. He knew what I was, what I’d become. Where is she? His voice was lower in person, rough-edged with barely controlled emotion. I stepped aside and his gaze locked onto Isabella sleeping on the couch.

 Something in his face cracked just for a moment. Just a flash of raw vulnerability that disappeared so quickly I almost thought I’d imagined it. He moved past me and I caught the scent of expensive cologne and something else. Gun oil maybe, or danger itself. He knelt beside the couch with surprising gentleness, his large hands cradling Isabella’s face.

 Mia, Principessa,” he murmured, and she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Papa,” she launched herself into his arms, and he caught her, holding her so tightly I thought he might break her. But Isabella just burrowed closer, sobbing into his shoulder, and he pressed his face into her hair. For a moment, he was just a father holding his daughter.

 Then his eyes opened and found mine over Isabella’s head, and I saw the truth. Dante Salvatore wasn’t just dangerous. He was the devil himself. And I just saved what he loved most in the world. Chapter 3. The price of mercy. Dante held Isabella for what felt like an eternity. Murmuring to her in Italian. His hands moving over her carefully checking for injuries.

 I realized the clinical part of my brain that would always be a nurse cataloged his movements. Thorough, gentle, practiced. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to check his daughter for wounds. Finally, he pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. Did they hurt you, Principessa? No, Papa. I was brave, just like you taught me. She glanced at me. And Lily helped me.

 She cleaned my knee and hid me from the bad men. His eyes cut to me again, and I felt pinned in place. Examined. “Wade, go with Marco,” he told Isabella, nodding toward the door where one of his men had appeared younger than the others with kind eyes. He’ll take you to the car. I need to speak with Lily. But now, Isabella. The command in his voice was absolute.

 Isabella kissed his cheek and climbed down, casting one last look at me before taking Marco’s offered hand. The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded like a cell door locking. I was alone with Dante Salvatorei. He rose slowly, unfolding to his full height, easily six to three, maybe more. In the confined space of the church office, he seemed massive, overwhelming. He adjusted his cufflinks with deliberate precision, and I noticed his knuckles were scarred.

 “Old wounds, the kind you got from repeated violence.” “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch Isabella had vacated. “I’m fine standing,” his eyebrow lifted slightly. It wasn’t a request. Something about his tone made my spine stiffen. I’d spent 6 months taking orders from no one, bowing to nothing except survival.

 I wasn’t about to start now, not even for a man who looked like he could break me in half without breaking a sweat. And I wasn’t asking for permission, I said evenly. The silence that followed was deafening. His men probably didn’t speak to him like that. Nobody probably spoke to him like that. I watched something flicker in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance, possibly both.

 Then unexpectedly, his mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but close. You’re either very brave or very stupid, Lily Chin. I’m homeless and I just got involved in a kidnapping. Stupid seems more accurate. That almost smile deepened. He moved to Father Miguel’s desk, bracing his hands on it as he studied me.

 The position should have been casual, but on him it looked predatory, like he was deciding whether I was prey or something more interesting. Tell me what happened. Everything. So I did. I kept my voice steady as I described finding Isabella, the men searching for her, our escape to the church.

 He listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable, but I saw his jaw tighten when I mentioned how terrified she’d been. When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment. The men who took her, he said finally, his voice soft and deadly. Did you get a good look at them? Three of them, dark suits. One was speaking Italian on the phone. He mentioned someone named Vincenzo.

 Something dangerous flashed across his face. Vincenzo. The way he said the name made my skin crawl. It wasn’t anger exactly. It was colder than that, more final. You did well, he continued, straightening. Not many people would have helped her. Fewer still would have been smart enough to keep her safe. He reached inside his jacket and I tensed. But he only pulled out a wallet. Expensive leather, probably Italian. Everything about him screamed money and power.

 He extracted a stack of bills. Hundreds. I realized with a jolt and held them out to me. There had to be at least $5,000 there. For your trouble, he said. I stared at the money. $5,000 would change everything. Food, a room, new clothes, maybe even enough to start putting my life back together, piece by broken piece.

 But something about the transaction felt wrong, like I was being paid off. Dismissed. I don’t want your money, I heard myself say. His hand didn’t waver. Everyone wants money, especially people in your position. My position? Anger sparked in my chest, hot and sudden. You mean homeless? Poor? You think throwing cash at me will make this go away? I think, he said, his voice dropping lower.

 That you’re in no position to refuse. Take the money, Lily. Buy yourself a meal, a bed, whatever it is you need. What I need, I said, the words coming out harder than I’d intended is to not be bought like some some transaction. Your daughter was terrified. I helped her because she needed help, not because I expected payment.

 He studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching my face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then he put the money away and took a step closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne again, feel the heat radiating from him, could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the tiny scar that cut through his left eyebrow.

Up close, he was even more devastating and more dangerous. You’re right, he said softly. You can’t be bought. So, let me be clear about something else, Lily Chen. He leaned in, and I felt my back hit the wall. I hadn’t even realized I’d been retreating. You saved my daughter’s life tonight. That means something to me. That means you’re under my protection now, whether you want to be or not. I don’t need your protection.

You’re sleeping in alleys and look like you haven’t eaten in days. Yes, you do. His gaze traveled over me again. Clinical this time, assessing. What happened to you? Why is a woman who speaks like she’s educated, who moves like she’s had medical training, living on the streets? My throat tightened. That’s none of your business.

 You made it my business when you saved Isabella. I don’t want anything from you, I insisted, but my voice wavered. Because that wasn’t entirely true, was it? I wanted food, shelter, safety, all the things I’d been running from for 6 months. Because accepting help meant accepting questions, and questions led to truths I couldn’t face. Everyone wants something.

 He reached out slowly, giving me time to move away, and caught a strand of my hair between his fingers. The gesture was almost gentle, but the look in his eyes was anything but. The question is, what do you want? My heart was hammering against my ribs. This close, I could see the flexcks of gold in his dark eyes.

 The way his pulse beat steadily in his throat. He was a predator, I reminded myself. Dangerous. The kind of man who made people disappear for mentioning the wrong name. But God help me. I couldn’t look away. I want to leave. I whispered. liar. The word hung between us like a challenge, like a promise. Come work for me, he said suddenly. Isabella likes you.

 She needs someone she can trust. Someone who isn’t afraid of blood or danger. Someone who will protect her the way you did tonight. You want me to be her nanny? I almost laughed. I’m homeless. Not anymore. His thumb brushed my cheekbone and I shivered despite myself. Say yes, Lily. Let me give you back everything you’ve lost. I should have said no. Should have run.

 But I was so tired of running. One condition. I heard myself say, “You never ask me about my past.” His smile was sharp as a blade. Deal. And just like that, I sold my soul to the devil. Chapter 4. Into the lion’s den. The SUV smelled like leather and wealth. I sat in the back seat, acutely aware of how out of place I was. Isabella had fallen asleep against my side again, her small hand tucked into mine, while Dante sat across from us, his presence filling the entire vehicle despite the spacious interior. He’d been on his phone since we left the church,

speaking in rapid Italian, his voice cold and clipped. I didn’t need a translation to know he was arranging something permanent for the men who’ taken Isabella. Through the tinted windows, I watched Chicago’s streets blur past. We were heading north, away from the industrial district, toward the lakefront where the real money lived.

The kind of money that bought politicians and silence in equal measure. “She trusts you already,” Dante said suddenly, pocketing his phone. His eyes were on Isabella. Something soft entering his expression before it hardened again when he looked at me. “That’s rare. She’s usually wary of strangers. She was scared.

 Fear makes people reach for anything that feels safe.” And you felt safe to her? His tone suggested he found that ironic. A homeless woman in an alley. Sometimes the most dangerous looking places are the safest, I said quietly. And sometimes the most beautiful ones are full of monsters. His eyes narrowed slightly. Speaking from experience.

Speaking from experience. You said no questions about my past. I said I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t promise not to wonder. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and I fought the urge to press back against the seat. But you’re right, a deal is a deal. Your past is your own, Lily. As long as it doesn’t endanger my daughter, it won’t.

 Good, because if it does, he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The implication hung in the air between us, sharp as a knife. The SUV turned through massive iron gates that opened automatically, and I caught my breath. The estate beyond was something out of a movie.

 All stone and glass sprawling across manicured grounds that had to cover at least 5 acres. Security lights illuminated the perimeter, and I spotted armed guards stationed at regular intervals. This wasn’t just a home. It was a fortress. “Welcome to Salvatore House,” Dante said, watching my reaction. “It’s been in my family for three generations. Bulletproof windows, reinforced walls, 24-hour security.

 The safest place in Chicago. You mean the safest cage, I murmured. His smile was sharp. Same thing in my world. The car stopped in front of the main entrance where a woman in her 50s waited. She had steel gray hair pulled into a severe bun and the kind of face that suggested she’d seen everything and been impressed by none of it. “Mrs. Castellano,” Dante said as we exited. This is Lily Chen.

 She’ll be staying with us as Isabella’s companion. See that she’s given the room next to my daughters and has everything she needs. Mrs. Castellano’s sharp eyes swept over me. Taking in every detail of my appearance, the dirty clothes, the two thin frame, the desperation I couldn’t quite hide.

 Her expression didn’t change, but I saw the judgment in her gaze. Of course, Mr. Salvatore. Shall I prepare a bath and meal for the young lady? Yes. And burn those clothes. He glanced at me. No offense. None taken. The clothes were basically rags anyway. I’d stolen them from a donation bin 2 months ago. He scooped Isabella into his arms without waking her. Mrs.

 Castellano will show you to your room. Get cleaned up. Eat something. We’ll discuss the details of your employment in the morning. Employment? Like this was a normal job. Like I was going to be filing papers instead of living in a crime lord’s fortress. Mr. Salvatore. Dante, he corrected. If you’re going to live in my house, you’ll use my name. The casual intimacy of it made my stomach flip.

 Dante, I tried and watched something flicker in his eyes. What exactly will I be doing besides watching Isabella? Keeping her alive, he said simply. Keeping her happy, being the one person in this house she can trust completely. He shifted Isabella in his arms, and she murmured something in her sleep. She’s all I have, Lily.

 The only good thing in my world. I need someone who will protect her the way you did tonight. Someone who will put her first even when it costs them. The weight of what he was asking settled on my shoulders. And if I fail, you won’t. It wasn’t confidence in his voice. It was a command, an expectation that would be met because he’d w it so. Get some rest.

Tomorrow you start your new life. He turned and disappeared into the house with Isabella, leaving me alone with Mrs. Castellano. This way, miss, she said, her voice crisp but not unkind. I followed her through halls that belonged in a museum.

 Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, paintings that were probably worth more than most people made in a lifetime. Every surface gleamed. Every corner was perfectly appointed. It was beautiful and cold and absolutely suffocating. The room she led me to was bigger than the last apartment I’d lived in. A four-poster bed dominated the space, covered in silk sheets that probably cost more than my nursing school tuition. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the grounds.

 The attached bathroom was all marble and gold fixtures. I’ve drawn you a bath, Mrs. Castellano said, gesturing to the open bathroom door where I could see steam rising. There are toiletries in the cabinet, and I’ll have fresh clothes sent up. Your size, I presume, is a four. Six, I said. I used to be a six.

Her expression softened slightly. Well get some meat on your bones then. Mr. Salvatore doesn’t tolerate his people looking underfed. Dinner will be brought up in 30 minutes. She turned to leave, then paused. A word of advice, Miss Chin. Mr. Salvatore is a good man in his way.

 He’s fair to those who serve him loyally. But cross him, endanger what’s his, and you’ll discover why his enemies call him the devil of Chicago. Her eyes met mine. His daughter is everything to him. Don’t forget that. I won’t. I promised.

 When she left, I stood in the center of the room trying to process everything that had happened in the last 2 hours. This morning, I’d been sleeping in an alley, wondering if I’d find enough cans to recycle for dinner money. Now, I was standing in a mansion, employed by a mafia boss, trusted with his daughter’s life. I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror and barely recognized myself.

 hollow cheeks, dull hair, eyes that had seen too much. I looked like a ghost, like someone who’d already died and just forgot to lie down. Maybe that’s exactly what I was. The bath was scalding hot, and I sank into it with a groan that was half pain, half relief. The water turned gray almost immediately from 6 months of accumulated street grime.

 I scrubbed my skin until it was pink, washed my hair three times, and still didn’t feel clean. Some dirt went deeper than soap could reach. When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel that was softer than anything I’d ever owned. I found clothes laid out on the bed, simple but expensive jeans that actually fit, a soft cashmere sweater, undergarments still in their packaging, and on the nightstand, a tray with enough food to feed three people. I ate mechanically, barely tasting it, my mind racing.

 What had I done? What had I agreed to? I’d traded one kind of cage for another. But at least this cage had food, shelter, safety, and a devil who looked at me like he could see straight through to all my broken pieces.

 I was still sitting there, the empty plate beside me, when I heard it a soft cry from the room next door. Isabella, Chapter 5, Nightmares and Promises. I was through the connecting door before I’d consciously decided to move. Isabella’s room was a princess fantasy come to life. pale pink walls, a canopy bed with gauzy curtains, shelves full of dolls and books. But the little girl thrashing in the center of that perfect bed looked anything but peaceful.

 “No, no, please,” she whimpered, her small fists tangled in the sheets. “Papa, help me, Isabella, sweetheart.” I perched on the edge of her bed, touching her shoulder gently. “Wake up! You’re safe now!” Her eyes flew open, wild with terror. And for a moment, she didn’t recognize me.

 Then her face crumpled and she launched herself into my arms, sobbing against my chest. They were taking me again. She gasped between tears. The bad men they found me. Shuh. It was just a dream, just a nightmare. I rocked her slowly, my hand stroking her hair the way my mother used to do for me back when I was small and the world was simple. You’re home. Your papa’s here.

 Nobody can hurt you. Promise? Her voice was so small, so desperate. I thought about the armed guards outside, the bulletproof windows, the iron gates, the cold-eyed man who’d looked at me like he could orchestrate my death as easily as ordering coffee. I promise I lied. Because sometimes lies were kinder than truth. The door opened and Dante filled the doorway.

 He changed into black pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and traced with more scars. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered. He looked younger somehow, more human until you met his eyes. Papa? Isabella scrambled off my lap and ran to him.

 He caught her easily, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Another nightmare, Princea. She nodded against his shoulder, and I watched his jaw tighten. The raw pain in his expression was almost too intimate to witness, like I was seeing something I had no right to see.

 Lily made it better, Isabella said, pulling back to look at him. She promised nobody would hurt me. His eyes cut to me over her head. Did she? There was a question in that look. A challenge. Could I keep that promise? Did I understand what I just committed to? I’ll stay with her until she falls asleep, I offered, standing, if that’s okay. Something flickered across his face.

 Surprise, maybe. Or approval. That would be good. Thank you. He carried Isabella back to bed, tucking her in with a gentleness that seemed at odds with everything I knew about him. She clung to his hand, her eyes already drooping. Tell me a story, Papa. About Mama. His entire body went rigid. The temperature in the room seemed to drop 10°.

 Your mama loved you very much, he said, his voice carefully neutral. She used to sing to you every night. Do you remember? A little. Isabella’s thumb crept to her mouth. I wish she was here. So do I, Bambina. So do I. He stood abruptly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Lily will stay with you. I have work to do. But sleep, Isabella. That’s an order. He stroed from the room without looking back, and I heard his footsteps receding down the hall, quick and hard, running from something he couldn’t shoot or threaten into submission.

 Grief, loss, the ghosts we all carried. I settled into the chair beside Isabella’s bed, prepared to wait until she fell asleep, but she reached out, her small hand finding mine. “Papa gets sad when we talk about Mama,” she whispered. “She died when I was three. Bad men hurt her because of Papa.” Ice flooded my veins. Isabella, that’s why he’s so careful now. That’s why there are so many guards.

 Her eyes met mine, and they were far too knowing for a 5-year-old. That’s why he needs you to keep me safe like mama couldn’t. The weight of it pressed down on me the responsibility, the expectations, the danger I’d walked into so blindly. This wasn’t just about watching a child.

 It was about standing between her and the violence that had already stolen her mother. I’ll keep you safe. I heard myself promise. I swear it. She smiled, her eyes finally closing. I know you’re brave like Papa. I can tell. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into sleep. But I sat there long after, watching her small chest rise and fall, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. A sound from the hallway made me turn.

 Dante stood in the doorway, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Whiskey, probably. Something strong enough to drown whatever demons were chasing him. She’s asleep, I said quietly, extracting my hand from Isabella’s and standing. He nodded, his eyes on his daughter. She doesn’t usually settle that quickly. Not after nightmares. Kids need to feel safe to know someone’s there.

 I moved toward the door, suddenly aware of how close we’d be standing in the narrow doorway. She trusts you. That’s rare after trauma. You sound like you know. He didn’t move aside, forcing me to stop inches from him. personal experience, Lily. You said no questions about my past. And you said you’d keep my daughter safe. I think that earns me at least one answer.

 His free hand came up, not quite touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin. Were you a nurse before? My throat tightened. Yes. What happened? I lost someone. The words came out raw, scraped from somewhere deep inside. Someone I was supposed to save.

 And I couldn’t I couldn’t live with myself after. Understanding flickered in his eyes. He knew about guilt, about the weight of failure. So you ran, he said softly. So I survived. There’s a difference. Is there? He took a drink, his eyes never leaving mine. Or is running just another way of dying slowly? The question hit too close to home. I’d been dying for 6 months.

 One cold night. One missed meal. One moment of despair at a time. Living on the streets wasn’t survival. It was a drawn-out suicide. “Why do you care?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just an employee. Someone to watch your daughter.

 You’re someone who put herself between Isabella and danger without hesitation. Someone who refused my money because you didn’t want to be bought. Someone who looks at me without fear, even though you should be terrified.” He set his glass on the hallway table and stepped closer, backing me against the door frame. That makes you interesting, Lily Chen. And I don’t find many people interesting.

 His proximity was overwhelming. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the exhaustion in his eyes, feel the leashed violence in every line of his body. He was a predator, and I was prey except I wasn’t running. I should have been running. This is a bad idea, I managed. Probably.

 His thumb traced my jaw and I shivered. But bad ideas are my specialty. I work for you. This is it’s inappropriate. You work for me, he agreed, his voice dropping lower. Which means you’re under my protection. In my house, in my world, and in my world, Lily, I take what I want. My breath caught.

 And what do you want? His eyes dropped to my lips, and the heat in them could have melted steel. That’s a dangerous question. You’re a dangerous man. Yes. He smiled. And it was the most predatory thing I’d ever seen. But you already knew that when you agreed to stay, so either you’re brave or you’re broken. Maybe both.

 His hand slid to the back of my neck, his grip firm, but not painful. Which is it, Lily? What are you? I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel the heat of his body, the strength in his hands, the dark promise in his eyes. I’m someone who keeps her promises, I whispered. Good. He released me suddenly, stepping back like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just set my entire world on fire with a touch.

 Keep Isabella safe and you’ll have everything you need. Fail, I won’t. He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. Get some rest. Tomorrow you start learning how to survive in my world. He disappeared down the hall, leaving me trembling against the doorframe, my heart racing. I just made a deal with the devil.

 And God helped me. Part of me wanted to see how deep into hell he’d take me. Chapter 6. Lessons in Survival Morning came too quickly. I woke to sunlight streaming through the French doors and the disorienting realization that I was in a bed, a real bed with clean sheets and pillows that didn’t smell like mildew. For a moment, I thought I dreamed the entire night.

 the kidnapping, the church, Dante Salvatore with his dark eyes and darker promises. Then I saw the clothes folded on the chair, smelled the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, and knew it was all horrifyingly real. A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. “Mrs.” Castellano entered without waiting for permission, carrying a tray laden with breakfast.

 “Good morning, Miss Chen. Mr. Salvatore requests your presence in his study at 9:00. That gives you 45 minutes.” She set the tray on the small table by the window. Fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice that looked freshly squeezed. “Enough food for three people.” “Again?” “Does he always summon people like this?” I asked, sitting up. “Mr.

Salvatore doesn’t summon, he requests. There’s a difference.” Her expression was carefully neutral. “I suggest you eat quickly and dress. He doesn’t appreciate tardiness.” She left before I could respond, and I found myself wolfing down the food despite my nerves.

 6 months of hunger had taught me never to waste a meal. I could be terrified on a full stomach. The clothes in the closet somehow filled overnight were simple but expensive. I chose black pants and a cream sweater, trying to look professional, competent, like someone who belonged in a mansion instead of an alley. The mirror told a different story.

 My hair was clean, but I was still too thin. My eyes still haunted. You couldn’t wash away six months of hell in one night. At exactly 9:00, I knocked on the heavy oak door. Mrs. Castellano had directed me to enter. Dante’s study was all dark wood and leather lined with books that looked actually red.

 He sat behind a massive desk, his attention on a laptop, looking every inch the powerful businessman. The morning light caught the sharp plains of his face, and I had to remind myself to breathe. “Sit,” he said without looking up. I bristled at the command but lowered myself into the chair across from him.

 He typed for another minute, deliberately making me wait. I realized before closing the laptop and giving me his full attention. First rule of working for me, he said without preamble. Punctuality. You are on time. Good. I’m not late to anything. Another habit from nursing. Second rule. You don’t leave this property without my permission or an armed escort. Ever.

My spine stiffened. That sounds like imprisonment. That sounds like staying alive. He leaned back, studying me. The men who took Isabella, they worked for the Vitali family. My oldest enemies. They know she trusts you now, which makes you a target. Understand? Ice flooded my veins.

 You’re saying they’ll come after me? I’m saying they’ll use you to get to her if they can. So, until I’ve dealt with them permanently, you stay here protected. his expression hardened. This isn’t negotiable, Lily. And if I refuse, then I’ll have you escorted to the property line, and you can take your chances on the streets.

But you won’t take Isabella’s safety with you. He stood, moving around the desk with predatory grace. Make your choice, security or freedom. You can’t have both in my world. I wanted to rage at him, to throw his offer back in his face. But the memory of Isabella’s nightmare, her small hand in mine, stopped me.

 I’d promised to keep her safe. Fine, I bit out. I’ll stay. Smart girl. He perched on the edge of the desk. Too close again. Third rule. Isabella’s routine is sacred. Breakfast at 8. Lessons from 9 to noon. Lunch then free time. Dinner at 6:00 with me. Unless I’m working, bed by 8:30. Lessons, she’s 5. She’s a Salvatore.

 She needs to be educated, protected, prepared. Something dark crossed his face. The world we live in doesn’t allow for childhood innocence. Not completely. That’s heartbreaking, I said before I could stop myself. That’s reality. He studied me with those unreadable eyes. You’ll supervise her lessons. Her tutor arrives at 9:00.

 You’ll accompany her everywhere on the property. If she asks for you, you come. If she’s scared, you comfort her. if anyone threatens her. He pulled a small handgun from his desk drawer and held it out to me. You use this. I stared at the weapon like it was a snake. I don’t know how to shoot. You’ll learn.

 Training starts tomorrow at dawn. He set the gun on the desk. Between us in my world, everyone who protects what’s mine knows how to kill. Consider it job training. My hands were shaking. This is insane. I’m a nurse, not a you’re whatever I need you to be, he interrupted. his voice dropping to that dangerous softness.

 That’s what working for me means. Adaptation, survival, loyalty. I didn’t sign up to become a killer. No, you signed up to protect a 5-year-old girl from men who murdered her mother. He leaned closer and I could see the barely controlled violence in his eyes. Do you think they’ll hesitate to hurt you, to use you? The moment they realize you matter to Isabella, you become a weapon they can use against her, against me.

 The truth of it settled in my chest like a stone. This wasn’t just about being a nanny. It was about becoming part of his world. The violence, the paranoia, the constant threat of death. I need to know you can do this. Dante continued, his hand coming up to cut my chin.

 The gesture was almost gentle, but his grip was unyielding. I need to know that if it comes down to Isabella’s life or your conscience, you’ll choose her every time. His touch burned. I should have pulled away. should have maintained some professional distance, but I couldn’t move. I’ll choose her, I whispered. I promise. Good.

 His thumb brushed my lower lip, and heat flared between us. Sudden, intense, completely inappropriate. Because if you fail her, Lily, there’s nowhere you could run that I wouldn’t find. You understand? It should have sounded like a threat. It did sound like a threat, but underneath it, I heard something else. Desperation. Fear.

 the terror of a man who’d already lost too much and couldn’t survive losing more. I understand. I managed. He released me abruptly and straightened. The moment of vulnerability, if it had even existed, disappearing behind his armor of control. Isabella will be at breakfast in 20 minutes. Mrs. Castellano will show you the dining room. Don’t be late.

 And you? Will you be there? I have business to attend to, people to see. His smile was cold. Bodies to bury. The casual way he said it made my blood run cold. He wasn’t being metaphorical. The men who took Isabella won’t be a problem anymore. By tonight, the Vitali family will understand the cost of touching what’s mine.

 He moved toward the door, then paused. One more thing, Lily. Last night when I came to Isabella’s room, what you saw? What I said? I saw a father who loves his daughter. I said quietly. Nothing else. He studied me for a long moment. something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

 Then he nodded once and left, leaving me alone in his study with a gun on the desk and the weight of impossible choices pressing down on my shoulders. I picked up the weapon carefully, feeling its weight in my palm. Cold metal, death made simple. 6 months ago, I’d taken an oath to do no harm. Now I was holding a gun, preparing to learn how to kill.

 All to protect a little girl who’d already lost so much. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d run from one kind of death only to embrace another. But as I heard Isabella’s laughter echoing from somewhere in the house, bright and innocent and alive, I knew I’d made the right choice, even if it damned me in the process. I set the gun back on the desk and went to meet my new charge.

 Trying to ignore how easily I was sliding into Dante Salvatore’s dark world. Trying to ignore how much a part of me didn’t want to escape it anymore. Chapter 7. Cracks in the armor. Isabella was already seated at the dining table when I arrived, her legs swinging beneath her chair.

 She’d been dressed in a yellow sundress, her dark curls pulled into pigtails, and she looked so normal, so innocent that it was easy to forget the nightmare she’d lived through. Lily, her face lit up when she saw me. “You’re having breakfast with me?” Papa said you would, but I wasn’t sure. I slid into the seat beside her, hyper aware of the two armed guards stationed at the doors. Of course, we’re going to spend a lot of time together. Good.

 She reached for my hand, her grip surprisingly tight. I don’t like being alone. My heart twisted. You’re not alone anymore, sweetheart. Mrs. Castellano appeared with plates of pancakes shaped like hearts for Isabella, I noticed, and fresh fruit. The older woman’s expression softened slightly when she looked at the little girl, and I realized she wasn’t just staff.

 She cared about Isabella. How many people in this house were held captive by love for this child? Your tutor will arrive in 30 minutes, Mrs. Castellano informed us. Mr. Laurent is quite punctual. He’ll expect Isabella to be ready. What does she study? I asked. Italian, French, mathematics, literature, and piano. At my startled look, she added, Mr.

 Salvator believes in thorough education. Isabella must be prepared for any situation. any situation, including inheriting a criminal empire, probably. Isabella ate her pancakes with methodical precision, cutting each piece into the same size before eating it. Another sign of trauma, the need for control in small things, when everything else felt chaotic. Do you like your lessons? I asked her. She shrugged. Mr.

 Lauren is nice, but sometimes I just want to play. What do you like to play? Her eyes lit up. Hideand seek. But papa doesn’t like when I hide. He says it makes the guards nervous. Of course he did. Every game probably felt like a security risk. Maybe we can play something else. I suggested.

 What about drawing or reading stories? Will you read to me? Papa reads to me at bedtime, but sometimes he’s too busy. The sadness in her voice was crushing. He’s always busy now. Since mama died. I squeezed her hand gently. I’ll read to you whenever you want. That’s a promise. she beamed, and for a moment I saw the carefree child she should have been, before violence and loss had stolen her innocence. Mr.

Laurent arrived precisely on time, a thin, scholarly man in his 60s, with kind eyes and infinite patience. He set up in what Isabella called the lesson room, a converted library filled with books and educational materials that probably cost more than most people’s cars. I sat in the corner, observing, trying to understand this strange new world. Isabella was clearly bright.

 She switched between English, Italian, and French with ease. Solved math problems that seemed advanced for her age, and played piano with surprising skill for someone so young, but every loud noise made her flinch. Every time someone entered the room, she looked up with barely concealed fear.

 And twice, I caught her eyes drifting to the window like she was expecting the bad men to return. She was a prisoner of her own fear. We both were. After lessons, Isabella and I had lunch in the garden, a sprawling space with manicured hedges and a fountain that probably belonged in a palace. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their presence a constant reminder that this beauty was just another kind of cage. Can I tell you a secret? Isabella asked suddenly, her voice dropping to a whisper.

 Of course, sometimes I’m scared of Papa. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Not because he hurts me. He never hurts me, but because because of what he does to other people. I hear the guards talking. I know he’s dangerous. My throat tightened. What did you say to a child who feared her own father? Your papa loves you, I said carefully.

 Everything he does, he does to keep you safe. But what if I don’t want people to get hurt because of me? Her eyes filled with tears. What if I’m the reason mama died? What if papa gets hurt, too? I pulled her into my arms, feeling her small body shake with sobs she’d probably been holding in for years. Listen to me, Isabella. None of this is your fault.

 Not your mama, not the bad men. None of it. You’re just a little girl. You’re supposed to be loved and protected. That’s all. But Papa says, “I have to be strong like him. You can be strong and still be scared. That’s what bravery is, being scared and doing it anyway.” I pulled back to look at her.

 and you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Really? Really? You escaped from kidnappers, found help, and survived.” “That’s incredible. You helped me,” she said softly. “You saved me. We saved each other,” I corrected. “Because it was true. She’d given me purpose again. A reason to wake up, something to fight for besides my own broken survival.

” A shadow fell across us and I looked up to find Dante standing there. I had no idea how long he’d been watching. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes looked raw, exposed. Papa Isabella ran to him and he caught her, lifting her high. Having fun, Principa? Lily says, “I’m brave and we’re going to read stories later.

 Is that so?” His eyes met mine over her head, and the intensity in them made my breath catch. Thank her for that, for making you smile. Thank you, Lily. Isabella kissed my cheek before squirming down. Can I go practice piano? Mr. Lawrence said I should work on the new song. Stay where the guards can see you, Dante instructed, and she ran off, her earlier tears forgotten, leaving me alone with him.

 He moved closer and I stood, suddenly nervous. In the daylight, he looked different, more human, less monster. The sun caught the gold flexcks in his dark eyes, softened the hard lines of his face. “You’re good with her,” he said quietly. “Better than I expected. She’s easy to care about. She doesn’t usually open up like that.

 Not even to Mrs. Castellano.” He studied me with that unnerving intensity. “What did you say to her when she was crying? That none of this is her fault. That she’s allowed to be scared.” His jaw tightened. She needs to be strong. Weakness gets people killed in my world. She’s 5 years old, Dante. She needs to be a child, not a soldier.

 Children don’t survive in my world. He shot back, his voice hardening. She needs to be prepared for what? A life of fear, of violence. I stepped closer, anger overriding my self-preservation. You can’t protect her from everything. and trying to turn her into some some weapon will only break her. Better broken than dead. The words hung between us, brutal and honest.

 This was his reality survival at any cost, even innocence. Is that what happened to you? I asked softly. “Did someone break you to keep you alive?” His hand shot out, gripping my arm, not painfully, but firmly. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Lily. You don’t know anything about what I’ve survived. Then tell me.” I met his gaze, refusing to back down.

 If I’m going to live in your world, protect your daughter, I need to understand. Who broke you? For a moment, I thought he’d shut down completely. Then something shifted in his expression, a crack in the armor he wore so carefully. My father, he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He taught me that sentiment was weakness, that love made you vulnerable, that the only way to survive was to be harder, colder, more ruthless than everyone else. His grip on my arm loosened, his thumb brushing my pulse point. He was right. I’m alive because I

learned those lessons. And your mother dead. Killed by my father’s enemies when I was eight. He remarried within 6 months. A business arrangement. No love, no weakness. His smile was bitter. That’s the world Isabella was born into. A world where affection is ammunition and trust gets you killed.

 But you love her. I said you love Isabella more than anything. That’s not weakness, Dante. That’s strength. He stared at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. Love got her mother killed. Love makes me vulnerable. It’s my greatest weakness or your greatest reason to fight. I covered his hand with mine, feeling the rough scars on his knuckles.

 She needs you to love, said her, to show her that this world, as dark as it is, has light in it, too. And where do I find that light? His voice was rough, almost desperate. I’ve been living in darkness so long, I don’t remember what light looks like. Maybe that’s what I’m here for, I whispered. Not just to protect Isabella, but to remind you both that there’s more to life than survival.

 His free hand came up to cut my face, and the gentleness of the gesture nearly undid me. You’re dangerous, Lily Chen. More dangerous than any enemy I’ve ever faced. Why? Because you make me want things I can’t have. Hope. Peace. A future that isn’t soaked in blood. His thumb traced my cheekbone, his eyes searching mine.

 You make me want to be someone I’m not. My heart was racing. And who’s that? Someone worthy of the way you look at me. Like I’m a man instead of a monster. Before I could respond, his phone rang. He released me instantly, the moment shattering as he answered with a sharp, “What?” His expression went cold. “When? Where?” A pause. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Have the room prepared.” He ended the call and looked at me.

 All trace of vulnerability gone. Stay with Isabella. Don’t let her out of your sight. I have business to handle. Dante, this is what I am, Lily. What I’ll always be. He turned to leave, then stopped. “Lock your door tonight.” the screaming from the basement carries.

 And then he was gone, leaving me standing in the garden with the echo of his words and the ghost of his touch on my skin. I just glimpsed the man beneath the monster. And God help me. I wanted to see more. Chapter 8. The sound of vengeance. I didn’t sleep that night. Isabella had gone to bed easily enough after dinner, which Dante hadn’t attended, and I’d read her three stories until her eyes drooped closed.

 But as I lay in my own bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop thinking about his final words. Lock your door tonight. The screaming from the basement carries. I’d locked it. But sound traveled in old houses. And around midnight, I heard it. A scream, muffled, distant, but unmistakably human. A man’s voice begging in Italian. Then silence. Then another scream cut short.

 I pressed my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t unhar it. Couldn’t stop imagining what was happening in the basement. Dante had said he’d handle the men who took Isabella. This was him handling it. This was justice in his world. Blood for blood, pain for pain. I thought I might be sick.

 Around 2:00 in the morning, footsteps passed my door, heavy, purposeful. Then the sound of a shower running from somewhere down the hall, washing away evidence, washing away guilt. I wondered if Dante felt guilt anymore, or if he’d killed that part of himself along with everyone else. When morning finally came, I was exhausted, but wired.

 Isabella bounced into my room at 7:30, already dressed, chattering about the new book Mr. Lauron had promised to bring. She didn’t hear the screams, didn’t know her father had spent the night extracting vengeance. Maybe that was mercy. Breakfast was subdued. Dante sat at the head of the table in a fresh suit, looking immaculate and completely unaffected.

But I saw the shadows under his eyes, the slight stiffness in his movements. His knuckles were freshly wrapped. “Good morning, Prince,” he said to Isabella, his voice warm. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes, and Lily read me the story about the princess and the dragon.” “Can we get a dog, Papa, please? Well see.

” His eyes flicked to me. Lily, you look tired. Trouble sleeping. The bastard knew exactly why I hadn’t slept. I’m fine, I said evenly. Good, because today you start training. 6:00 in the gym. Don’t be late. Training for what? His smile was cold. Survival.

 After breakfast, I tried to focus on Isabella’s routine, but my mind kept drifting to the basement, to the screams, to the casual way Dante had sat there eating eggs and toast like he hadn’t spent the night torturing people. During Isabella’s piano lesson, Mrs. Castellano found me in the hallway. A word, Miss Chen? I followed her to an empty sitting room, my stomach tight with dread. I know you heard last night, she said without preamble.

 The walls aren’t as thick as mister. Salvatore would like. I Let me give you some advice, girl. What happens in the basement stays in the basement. You don’t ask questions. You don’t look at him differently. You certainly don’t judge him for it. Her expression softened slightly. Mr. Salvatore does what he must to protect what’s his. Those men took Isabella. They traumatized her.

 What happened to them was mercy compared to what they’d planned for her. My hands were shaking. How do you live with it knowing what happens here? Because I remember what happened to Isabella’s mother. Her voice dropped. She was gentle, kind like you. She tried to make Mr. Salvatore softer, more human. And the Vitali family used that against him.

 They knew where to find her because someone inside betrayed them. Someone who thought Mr. Salvatore had gone soft. She met my eyes. They tortured her for 3 days before he found her. She died in his arms. He was 28 years old. holding his dying wife while his three-year-old daughter screamed in the next room. I felt the blood drain from my face.

 So before you judge him for what he does in that basement, remember what those animals did to the woman he loved. Remember that he’s standing between Isabella and that same fate and ask yourself what wouldn’t you do to protect someone you love. She left me standing there, her words echoing in my head.

 What wouldn’t I do? I’d already promised to learn to shoot, to kill if necessary. Where was the line between protection and becoming the monster? At 6:00, I made my way to the basement, a different entrance than the one Dante had used last night. Thank God the gym was state-of-the-art, all gleaming equipment and mirrored walls. Dante was already there, dressed in black athletic wear, wrapping his hands.

 The bruises on his knuckles were vivid purple. “You came,” he said, not looking up. “I wasn’t sure you would. I keep my promises. even when they terrify you. Now, he did look at me and I saw the challenge in his eyes. You heard last night. It wasn’t a question. Yes. And and I’m still here. I lifted my chin. Mrs.

 Castellano told me about Isabella’s mother, about what they did to her. Something dangerous flashed across his face. Did she? I’m not judging you, Dante. I’m trying to understand. There’s nothing to understand. He moved toward me and I forced myself not to retreat. I’m a monster. I do monstrous things. Last night I made three men beg for death. I took my time. I enjoyed it. He stopped inches from me.

Does that frighten you? Yes. Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Keeps you alive. Is that what you want? I asked. For everyone to fear you? I want Isabella safe. Everything else is irrelevant. even your own humanity. His hand shot out, gripping my throat. Not choking, just holding. His thumb resting against my racing pulse.

 I lost my humanity the day I held my wife’s broken body. Don’t try to resurrect what’s already dead, Lily. I should have been terrified. His hand was around my throat. His eyes were cold, and I knew with absolute certainty that he could kill me without hesitation. But beneath the monster, I saw the man.

 the grieving husband, the desperate father, the boy who’d been broken by his own father’s cruelty. I don’t believe that, I whispered. I see you with Isabella. The way you look at her, the way you’d burn the world down to keep her safe. That’s not a monster. That’s a man who loves so deeply it scares him. His grip tightened fractionally. Stop. Make me.

 The air between us crackled with tension. Violence and desire twisted together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His eyes dropped to my lips and I saw the war raging in him. The urge to hurt versus the need to. He released me abruptly and stepped back. We’re here to train, not to psychoanalyze my damage.

 Dante, pick up the gun. He gestured to the table where a handgun waited. Time to learn how to kill. My hands shook as I lifted the weapon. It was heavier than I remembered, cold and deadly in my palm. First rule, Dante said, moving behind me. Respect the weapon. It’s not a toy. It’s a tool designed for one purpose, taking life. His hands covered mine, adjusting my grip.

 Second rule, never pointed at anything you’re not willing to destroy. His body was pressed against my back, his breath warm against my ear. I couldn’t focus on the gun, couldn’t think about anything except his proximity, his heat, the way his hands felt covering mine. “Concentrate,” he murmured. “Because someday someone’s going to threaten Isabella.

 And when that happens, you’ll have a split second to decide their life or hers. I’ll choose her. Will you? He turned me suddenly. And the gun was between us, pointed at his chest. Could you pull the trigger, Lily, if I was the threat? If I was the monster coming for her? My finger trembled on the trigger guard.

 Are you? I’m the monster keeping other monsters away. But make no mistake, I’m still a monster. His hand covered mine on the gun. So answer the question. Could you kill me if you had to? I looked into his dark eyes and saw the truth he was asking for. Not just about the gun, about everything.

 Could I stay in his world? Could I love Isabella without loving or at least accepting him? Could I cross the lines I’d sworn never to cross? I don’t know, I admitted, but I’d try. For her, something shifted in his expression. Approval maybe, or respect. That’s the right answer. Hesitation means uncertainty. Uncertainty means death. He took the gun from my hands and set it aside. We’ll start with defense.

 If you can’t pull the trigger, you need to survive long enough for help to arrive. For the next hour, he taught me to fight, where to strike to disable an attacker, how to break a hold, how to use someone’s weight against them. His hands were impersonal but firm, positioning me, showing me weaknesses, demonstrating with controlled violence how quickly someone could kill.

 By the end, I was bruised, exhausted, and exhilarated. “Better,” he said, barely winded. “You’re a fast learner. I’m motivated.” “Yes, you are.” He tossed me a towel. “Same time tomorrow. And every day after until you can defend yourself and Isabella without me, and if I never get that good.” His smile was grim. Then you die together. “But I don’t think you’ll let that happen.” As I headed for the door, his voice stopped me. Lily.

 I turned back. What happened in the basement? I’m not sorry for it. I’d do it again. I know, but you’re still here. I’m still here. He studied me for a long moment. I You’re either very brave or very broken. You said that before. I’m still trying to figure out which. Maybe I’m both, I said quietly. Just like you.

 I left before he could respond, but I felt his eyes on me all the way out. Chapter nine. Dangerous proximity. Three weeks passed in a strange rhythm of routine and tension. Mornings with Isabella lessons. Laughter slowly coaxing the carefree child out from behind her walls of fear.

 Afternoons in the garden or the library, reading stories while guards patrolled the perimeter. evenings with Dante when his work allowed, watching him transform from the cold-eyed boss to the gentle father who cut his daughter’s food and listened to her rambling stories with infinite patience. And every dawn training sessions that left me bruised and breathless and increasingly aware of how dangerous Dante Salvatore truly was.

Not just because of what he did in the basement, though the screams still came occasionally. Reminders of the violence that funded our safety, but because of the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, a weakness he couldn’t afford, like I was something he wanted but couldn’t let himself have.

The feeling was mutual. I’d stopped pretending I didn’t feel the pull between us. The way my pulse jumped when he entered a room. The heat that flared when his hand brushed mine during training. The dreams that left me gasping awake in the dark. It was wrong. Dangerous. Absolutely inevitable. Again, Dante commanded, circling me in the gym.

 I was tired, my muscles screaming, sweat plastering my hair to my neck. We’d been at this for 2 hours, and he’d shown no mercy. He never did. I can’t. Can’t isn’t in your vocabulary anymore. Again, I lunged trying the disarming technique he taught me yesterday. But I was sloppy, exhausted, and he countered effortlessly.

 Within seconds, I was on my back on the mat, his body pinning mine, one hand controlling both my wrists above my head. Dead, he said flatly. Third time this morning. What’s wrong with you today? Everything. I was distracted by his weight pressing me into the mat. By the way, his chest rose and fell against mine. by the dark intensity in his eyes as he stared down at me. I’m tired. I managed.

 Tired gets you killed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t release me. His free hand came up to push a strand of hair from my face. And the gesture was so unexpectedly gentle that my breath caught. You’re not focused. Why? Because you’re touching me. Because I can feel your heartbeat. Because I’m falling for a man who tortures people in his basement. And I don’t know what that makes me.

 Isabella had nightmares again last night, I said instead, which was also true. I was up with her until 3:00. His expression softened marginally. “She’s getting better, thanks to you.” She still flinches at loud noises. Still checks every room for exits. She’s learning to survive. That’s good. She’s five, Dante.

She should be learning to play, not to survive. His jaw tightened. We’ve had this argument and we’ll keep having it until you understand that she needs childhood, not combat training. What she needs is to stay alive long enough to have a childhood. His grip on my wrists tightened.

 Don’t forget what world we live in, Lily. Last week, the Vitali family sent a message Isabella’s name carved into a dead rat left at our gates. They’re not done. They’ll never be done. Ice flooded my veins. You didn’t tell me. I handled it by doing what? His smile was cold. Do you really want to know? No. Yes. I didn’t know anymore.

 The lines I’d sworn never to cross were so far behind me, I couldn’t see them anymore. I want to understand you, I said quietly. How you can be so gentle with her and so brutal with everyone else. Because she’s the only good thing in my life. Everyone else is a potential threat. His thumb traced the pulse in my wrist. Including you.

 Me? I’m not. You’re the biggest threat of all, Lily Chen. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that made my spine tingle. You make me forget. When I’m with you, I start thinking about things that’ll get us both killed. Peace. Trust. A future that isn’t soaked in blood.

 Would that be so terrible? Yes, because hope is a luxury I can’t afford. The moment I let my guard down, someone dies. That’s the rule of my world. Then change the rules. I challenged. You’re powerful enough, rich enough. Why not walk away? Take Isabella somewhere safe and just live. His laugh was bitter. There is no away.

No safe. I was born into this life and I’ll die in it. The only question is how many people I take with me. He released my wrist suddenly and rolled off me, sitting with his back against the mirrored wall. My father used to say the Salvatore name was a crown and a curse. You wear it until it kills you.

 I sat up slowly, my heart aching at the resignation in his voice. Isabella doesn’t have to inherit that curse. She already has the moment she was born. He looked at me and the exhaustion in his eyes was devastating. I tried to give her a different life. Sent her mother away with her when she was a baby.

 Thought if they stayed hidden, stayed safe, they could escape this world. What happened? My wife got homesick. Came back for my birthday. His voice went flat, emotionless. The Vatal family had been watching, waiting. They took their chance. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. 3 days. They had her for 3 days while I tore the city apart looking. When I finally found her, “He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

” “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t be sorry. Be smart. Understand that this is my reality. Love makes you vulnerable. Attachment makes you weak. The moment you care about something, you’ve given your enemies a weapon to use against you. Then why keep me here? If I’m such a threat, he looked at me, and the raw need in his eyes stole my breath. Because Isabella needs you.

 Because you make her smile in a way she hasn’t since her mother died. Because you’re good and pure and everything this world tries to destroy. And maybe, maybe having that in my house reminds me I’m still human. The confession hung between us, vulnerable and terrifying. Dante, don’t. He stood abruptly. Don’t say whatever you’re about to say. Don’t look at me like I’m something worth saving. I’m not.

 I’m exactly what I seem, a monster who occasionally pretends to be a man. I don’t believe that. Then you’re a fool. He pulled me to my feet, his hands rough on my arms. I’ve killed dozens of people, Lily. Maybe hundreds. I’ve tortured, blackmailed, destroyed lives without hesitation. I’m going to hell. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change that. Maybe.

 I agreed, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at me to run. But Isabella needs you. I need I stopped, horrified by what I’d almost said. His eyes darkened. What do you need? My heart was racing. This was a precipice, and once I stepped off, there was no going back. I need to understand why I’m not running, why I stay here in your world knowing what you are, what you do, and have you figured it out? I looked into his scarred, beautiful, terrible face and told him the truth. Because when you look at Isabella, I see who you really are. And when you look at me, my voice

broke. When you look at me, I feel alive again. For the first time in 6 months, I have a reason to wake up that isn’t just survival. That’s not a reason. That’s a death wish. His hand slid into my hair, tilting my face up. I’m poisoned, Lily. Everyone who gets close to me dies or wishes they had. Then I guess I’m already poisoned.

 Lily, kiss me or let me go, Dante. But stop pretending you don’t feel this, too. For a moment, I thought he’d push me away. Thought he’d retreat behind his walls and leave me standing there, rejected and humiliated. Then his mouth crashed into mine and the world ignited. The kiss was nothing like I’d imagined. No gentleness, no exploration.

 It was desperate and demanding, tasting of violence and need. His hands tightened in my hair, angling my head, and I grabbed his shirt to keep from collapsing. This was madness, danger, everything I should be running from. I’d never felt more alive. He backed me against the mirrored wall, his body pressing into mine, and I gasped against his mouth.

 He took advantage, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel. “This is a mistake,” he muttered against my lips. “I know this will destroy you. I know I can’t stop. I don’t want you to.” He kissed me again harder this time, like he was trying to consume me. His hand slid down my side, over my hip, and I arched into him, chasing the heat, the connection, the beautiful, dangerous insanity of wanting something I absolutely couldn’t have. A phone buzzed, his phone.

 He ignored it, his mouth moving to my neck, and I heard myself make a sound I didn’t recognize need wrapped in surrender. The phone buzzed again and again. He breathed against my throat. He pulled back, his eyes wild, his breathing ragged. I have to. I know. I was shaking. Go. He looked at me like he was memorizing my face.

 Then he grabbed his phone and stopped toward the door. He stopped in the doorway, his back to me. This can’t happen again. I know. I mean it, Lily. This is It’s too dangerous. I know that, too. He finally turned, and the naked want in his eyes nearly brought me to my knees.

 You should leave while you still can before I destroy you like I destroy everything else I touch. I’m not leaving, Isabella. Then God help us both. He left and I slid down the wall, my fingers pressed to my still tingling lips. I’d just kissed a monster and I couldn’t wait to do it again. Chapter 10. Breaking Point. I avoided Dante for two days. It wasn’t hard.

 He disappeared into his office after that kiss, emerging only for brief dinners with Isabella, where he barely looked at me. When our eyes did meet across the table, the heat was so intense I had to look away before Isabella noticed. She noticed anyway. Kids always did. Are you mad at Papa? She asked on the third morning while we were having breakfast in the garden. What? No, sweetheart.

 Why would you think that? Because you don’t look at him anymore and he’s been sad. She pushed her eggs around her plate. He gets sad sometimes since mama died. I thought maybe you made him happy, but now you’re both sad again. Guilt twisted in my chest. Your papa and I are fine. Isabella, we’re just we’re both busy.

Busy is what grown-ups say when they don’t want to talk about feelings. She looked up at me with those two knowing eyes. Mrs. Castellano says feelings are messy. Is that why you’re avoiding each other? out of the mouths of babes. Sometimes grown-up feelings are complicated, I admitted. But that doesn’t change how much we both care about you. That’s the most important thing.

 She seemed to accept this, but I saw her glance toward the house where Dante’s office windows overlooked the garden. I wondered if he was watching us, if he was remembering the kiss the way I couldn’t stop remembering it, the way his hands had felt in my hair, the desperation in his touch, the taste of danger and desire.

 I forced myself to focus on Isabella, pushing thoughts of her father away. But they crept back in during her lessons, during lunch, during every quiet moment when my mind had space to wander. This was exactly what he’d warned me about. Distraction, weakness, the kind of vulnerability that got people killed in his world. That evening, Mrs.

 Castellano found me in the library where I’d been reading to Isabella. Mr. Salvatore requests your presence in his study. now. My heart jumped. Is everything okay? He didn’t say, but you shouldn’t keep him waiting. Isabella looked up from her book. Can I come? Not this time, Bambina. Mrs. Castellano said gently. Let’s get you ready for your bath. You can finish your story later.

 As Isabella was led away, I stood on shaking legs and made my way to Dante’s study. Each step felt like walking toward a firing squad. I knocked once. Enter. He stood at the window, his back to me, silhouetted against the dying light, still in his suit, but with his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, looking like every dangerous fantasy I’d ever had.

 “Close the door,” he said without turning. “I did, my pulse thundering. Lock it.” My hand trembled as I turned the lock. The click echoed in the silent room like a gunshot. “We need to talk about what happened,” he said, finally facing me.

 His expression was carefully controlled, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. That kiss was a mistake. You said so yourself. It was. He moved toward me slowly. Predatory, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop imagining doing it again and again. He stopped just out of reach. That’s a problem, Lily. Why? Because I don’t lose control ever. Control is what keeps me alive, keeps Isabella safe.

 And you, his jaw clenched. You make me want to lose it. Want to forget every rule I’ve lived by? That’s dangerous. So, what do you want me to do? Leave? Yes. The word was immediate, certain. I want you to take the money I offered you, get on a plane, and disappear. Go somewhere safe. Start over. Forget you ever met us. Pain lanced through my chest.

 And Isabella, I’ll find someone else. Someone who doesn’t make me feel. He stopped, his hands curling into fists. Someone safer. Safer for who? Her or you? His eyes flashed. Both. I’m not leaving her, Dante. I promised. Then I’ll make you. He closed the distance between us in two strides, backing me against the locked door.

 I’ll pay you so much money you can’t refuse. I’ll have you escorted out. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of this house before. Before what? I challenged, my anger rising to match his. Before you feel something, before you let yourself be human instead of the monster you pretend to be. I’m not pretending. His hands slammed against the door on either side of my head, caging me in. I am a monster, Lily.

 I’ve done things that would make you sick. I’m doing them still. Right now, in my basement, there’s a man who tried to get information about Isabella’s schedule. Do you want to know what I’m going to do to him when we’re done here? No. Liar. You want to understand? Want to know how deep the darkness goes? He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

 I’m going to break every finger one by one slowly. Then I’m going to ask him questions. When he doesn’t answer fast enough, I’ll move to his toes. Then his ribs. I’ll keep him alive and conscious and suffering for hours, maybe days. And when I’m done, when I’ve extracted every piece of information he has, I’ll put a bullet in his brain without hesitation or remorse.

I should have been horrified, disgusted, should have shoved him away and run. Instead, I met his eyes and said, “Will it keep Isabella safe?” He blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Will torturing him protect her?” I pressed. “Will it stop whoever sent him?” “Yes.” “Then do what you have to do.” My voice was steady despite my racing heart. I’m not naive, Dante.

 I know what you are, what you do. And I’m not asking you to change. I’m just asking you to stop pushing me away because you’re scared. I’m not scared. You’re terrified, I interrupted. Terrified that if you let yourself care about me, you’ll lose me like you lost your wife. Terrified that love makes you vulnerable. Terrified that maybe, just maybe, you deserve something good in your life besides Isabella.

 His breathing had gone ragged. You don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t I? I reached up, touching his face despite the danger, despite everything. You said I make you feel human. That I remind you there’s more to life than blood and violence. But the moment you feel it, you run.

 You hide behind threats and cruelty because it’s safer than admitting you want something you think you can’t have. And what do I want? His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and desperate. The same thing I want. I pulled his face down to mine. My lips a breath away from his. This us something real in a world full of lies. There is no us. Can’t be.

 Then why are you still here? Why haven’t you walked away? He made a sound that was half growl, half grown. Because I’m weak. Because when I’m with you, I forget all the reasons this is impossible. Then forget them now, just for tonight. Lily, I know the risks. I know what I’m asking. But I’m so tired of being afraid, Dante. Tired of surviving instead of living.

 For 6 months, I was a ghost. And then I found Isabella. Found you. And for the first time since, everything fell apart. I feel like I’m alive again. My voice broke. Don’t take that away from me. Please. His resistance shattered. He kissed me like a man drowning. Like I was air and he’d been suffocating. His hands were everywhere.

 my hair, my face, my waist pulling me closer like he could consume me through touch alone. I kissed him back with equal desperation, tasting the darkness and danger and the tiny spark of light that still lived in him, the part he kept buried because it was too painful to acknowledge, he lifted me without breaking the kiss, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to his desk.

 Papers scattered as he set me down, his hands sliding under my shirt, mapping skin with calloused fingers. This is insane,” he muttered against my mouth. “I know this will end badly. I know that too. I can’t promise you anything. Can’t give you normal or safe or I don’t want normal.” I pulled back to look at him. This beautiful, broken, dangerous man. I want you, all of you. The monster and the man. Something in his expression cracked. You’re going to destroy me, Lily Chen.

Good. Then we’ll be even. He kissed me again, slower this time, but no less intense. His hands were gentle now, reverent, like I was something precious instead of a complication he needed to eliminate. I haven’t done this since. He stopped, pain flashing across his face. We don’t have to.

 I want to, God, I want to. He pressed his forehead against mine. But not here. Not like this. You deserve better than a desperate on my desk. Despite everything, I laughed. Such a gentleman. Hardly. His smile was crooked, almost boyish. But for you, I can try. A sharp knock shattered the moment. Mister Salvatoreé, it was Marco.

His voice urgent through the door. We have a situation. The perimeter alarms were triggered. Southgate. Dante’s entire demeanor changed instantly from vulnerable man to lethal predator. He stepped back, adjusting his clothes, his expression going cold. I’ll be right there. He looked at me, something like regret in his eyes. Stay here.

 Lock the door after I leave. Don’t open it for anyone but me or Mrs. Castellano. Fear iced my veins. What’s happening? Probably nothing. A deer or a false alarm? But his hand went to the gun at his back. But if it’s not, Isabella is in her room with two guards. She’s safe. He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. I need you to trust me.

 Can you do that? I nodded, not trusting my voice. He kissed me once more, hard and fast. Don’t leave this room. Then he was gone, and I heard the lock click from outside. I was alone in Dante’s study, my lips still tingling, my heart still racing, while somewhere in the house, danger was closing in. And all I could think was, “Please, God, keep them safe.

Keep him safe.” Because somewhere between finding Isabella in that alley and this moment, I’d stopped just caring about survival. I’d started caring about him. Chapter 11. What we become. The minute stretched into an eternity. I paced Dante’s study. Every nerve screaming at me to run to Isabella to make sure she was safe. But I’d promised to stay. And breaking that promise could put everyone in danger.

 The house had gone silent. The terrible kind of silence that preceded violence. Then I heard it. Gunshots. Distant but unmistakable. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a scream. More shots closer now, shouting in Italian. The sound of breaking glass. They were inside. The door handle rattled. Lily, open the door. Mrs.

 Castellano’s voice high with panic. I rushed to unlock it and she burst in, her face pale. We need to move now. They’ve breached the east wing. Isabella is with Mr. Salvator. He sent me to get you. She grabbed my arm, pulling me into the hallway. There’s a safe room if we can get there. A man rounded the corner ahead of us. Not one of Dante’s guards. His gun was already rising.

 Training took over before conscious thought. I shoved Mrs. Castellano aside and dove for the antique table in the hall. My fingers closed around the decorative letter opener, heavy, sharp, more weapon than decoration. The gun fired. The bullet splintered wood inches from my head. I threw the letter opener with everything I had.

 It wasn’t a kill shot I’d never practiced throwing, but it embedded in his shoulder. He screamed, his gunarm dropping, and I was on him before he could recover. Using the moves Dante had drilled into me, I struck his throat, his knee, anything vulnerable, he went down hard, gasping for air. “Miss!” Castellano stared at me in shock.

 “My God, run!” I gasped, grabbing the man’s fallen gun with shaking hands. Where’s the safe room? She led me through a maze of hallways I’d never seen. Behind a bookcase that swung open to reveal a reinforced steel door. Inside was a small room surveillance monitors showing every angle of the property.

 Weapons on the walls and a radio. On one of the screens, I saw Dante. He moved through the garden like death incarnate, firing with clinical precision. Bodies dropped around him. Three, four, five men falling to his bullets. His face was emotionless. every movement economical and brutal.

 This was who he really was, not the gentle father or the man who’d kissed me like I was oxygen. This was the devil of Chicago, and he was magnificent and terrifying in equal measure. There, Mrs. Castellano pointed to another screen. Isabella’s room. Two guards stood outside her door, weapons drawn. As we watched, three men approached from the opposite hallway.

 The guards opened fire, dropping two immediately. The third got close enough to engage and the fight became hand-to- hand, vicious and quick. One guard went down, then the other. The intruder kicked open Isabella’s door. “No,” I breathed. I was moving before Mrs. Castellano could stop me, the stolen gun heavy in my hand.

 My body operated on pure instinct, muscle memory from the weeks of training overriding my screaming conscience. The hallways were chaos, gunfire, shouting, the acrid smell of cordite. I pressed against walls, moving the way Dante had taught me. Stay low. Check corners. Keep moving. Isabella’s hallway was ahead. The fallen guards weren’t moving. I stepped over them.

 My heart in my throat and pushed through the door. The intruder had Isabella backed into a corner. She was screaming, tears streaming down her face, and the man was reaching for her with bloodstained hands. Get away from her. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was cold, flat, the voice of someone who’d already decided to kill. He turned, his gun swinging toward me. I fired first.

 The recoil nearly knocked me back, but the bullet found its target, center mass, just like Dante had taught me. The man staggered, his eyes wide with surprise, and fell. I just killed someone. The gun slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. I should have felt horror, guilt. Should have broken down.

 Instead, I felt nothing but cold certainty. Lily. Isabella launched herself at me and I caught her, holding her tight. It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. I’ve got you. That bad man. He said he was going to take me to my papa, but not my real papa. Shh. He can’t hurt you now. I carried her toward the door, my body shielding hers. We need to find your father.

 Dante appeared in the doorway like a avenging angel, his suit spattered with blood, his gun still raised. His eyes swept the room, the dead man, the fallen guards, me holding Isabella, and something like relief crossed his face before it hardened again. Lily, you were supposed to stay. His eyes dropped to the gun on the floor, then to the body. Did you? Yes.

 He crossed the room in two strides, pulling us both against him. His heart was racing beneath my ear, his breathing ragged. Christ, Lily, is it over? Yes. Eight men, all dead. He pulled back, his hands framing my face, checking me for injuries. You’re not hurt. I’m fine. Isabella is fine. I looked into his eyes, those dark, dangerous eyes, and said, “I kept my promise.

” Something broke in his expression. He kissed me then, hard and desperate, seemingly forgetting Isabella was between us. “Papa!” Isabella squeaked. “Can’t breathe.” He released us both, but his hand found mine squeezing tight. I need to secure the property. Mrs. Castellano will take you both to the safe room until No. My voice was steady.

 We’re staying with you, all of us. He looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression stopped him. Then stay behind me, both of you. The next hour was a blur of activity. Police came the kind of police who took one look at Dante and asked no questions. The bodies were removed, the damage assessed, and through it all, Isabella clung to my hand, and Dante’s eyes kept finding mine across rooms, checking, reassuring.

 When the house was finally cleared, when Isabella had been checked by a doctor and was sleeping fitfully in her bed with a guard stationed inside her room, Dante found me on the balcony outside my room. I was staring at my hands. They’d washed clean, but I could still feel the weight of the gun. Could still see the man falling.

 “Your first kill,” Dante said quietly, coming to stand beside me. “How are you handling it?” “I don’t know.” My voice was hollow. I thought I’d fall apart, but I just feel empty. That comes later. The guilt, the nightmares, the moment you replay in your head over and over, wondering if there was another way. His hand covered mine on the railing.

 But for what it’s worth, you saved Isabella’s life tonight. That matters more than the cost. Does it get easier? The killing? No, it gets more necessary. There’s a difference. He turned me to face him, his expression raw. I’m sorry, Lily. Sorry I brought you into this world. Sorry I made you into something you never wanted to be. You didn’t make me into anything. I looked up at him.

 This complicated, dangerous, impossible man. I chose this. Chose to stay. Chose to fight. And I’d choose it again for her. For I stopped. The word too dangerous to say. For what? His hand slid into my hair, tilting my face up. Say it, Lily. For you. The confession escaped like a prisoner breaking free. God help me. I’d choose it for you. His kiss was different this time.

 Not desperate or hungry, but tender, reverent, like I was something precious he was afraid of breaking. I love you, he breathed against my lips. I didn’t want to tried not to. But watching you tonight, seeing you protect her without hesitation, I can’t deny it anymore. Tears spilled down my cheeks. This is insane. We’re insane probably. His smile was crooked, almost boyish.

 But I spent 3 years alone. 3 years living in darkness, keeping everyone at arms length because I couldn’t survive losing someone again. And then you stumbled into my life with your broken pieces and your fierce heart. And you made me remember what it felt like to be alive. I’m so broken, Dante. I couldn’t save. My voice cracked. The patient I lost, she was 16. A car accident. I froze.

 One second of hesitation and she died. I destroyed my entire life because I couldn’t live with that failure. You didn’t freeze tonight. You didn’t hesitate. His thumbs wiped away my tears. I Maybe that girl’s death wasn’t your fault. Maybe you were always meant to be here in this moment. Saving my daughter, saving me.

 I don’t believe in fate. Neither did I. until you.” He kissed me again, and this time I let myself fall into it, into him, into this impossible, dangerous, beautiful thing growing between us. When we finally pulled apart, I asked the question that had been haunting me.

 What happens now? Now, he pulled me close, his arms around me like a fortress. Now we figure out how to live, how to give Isabella the life she deserves while surviving in the world we’re trapped in. How to love each other without getting destroyed by it. His hand tilted my chin up. Think you can handle that? I thought about the gun in my hand.

 The man I’d killed, the line I’d crossed that could never be uncrossed. I thought about Isabella’s smile. The way she trusted me, the life I could give her even in this dark world. I thought about Dante, the monster and the man, the violence and the vulnerability, the danger and the devotion. Yes, I whispered. I can handle it. Even knowing what it costs, what you’ll have to become.

 I press my hand over his heart, feeling it beat strong and steady. I’m already becoming it. The question is, can you handle loving someone who sees all of you and stays anyway? His smile was the most genuine I’d ever seen. I guess we’ll find out together. He carried me inside then to his room this time and loved me the way I’d been craving since that first kiss, slowly, thoroughly, with the kind of intensity that came from almost losing everything.

 Later, wrapped in his arms with the dawn light creeping through the windows, I whispered, “I never told you my price.” “What?” “That first night, you asked me to name my price for saving Isabella. I never answered.” His arms tightened around me. “What was it? What did you want?” I looked up at him. This beautiful, broken, dangerous man who’d given me back my life.

 This a reason to wake up. A family to fight for. someone who looks at me and sees strength instead of failure. You have it, all of it. He kissed my forehead. But I’m still paying you a salary and buying you better clothes and probably a car because Mrs. Castellano says you keep asking to walk to the market and it gives my guards heart attacks.

 I laughed. The sound surprising us both. Such a romantic. I’m a work in progress. His smile turned wicked. But I have an excellent teacher. From down the hall, we heard the patter of small feet. The door burst open and Isabella launched herself onto the bed between us. Papa Lily, I had the good dream. The one where we’re all together and happy and nobody’s trying to take me.

 Dante’s eyes met mine over her head. Something like wonder in them. Yeah, Principa. That’s a good dream. Can we have pancakes? The heart-shaped ones? Anything you want, baby. Anything at all. As Isabella chattered about breakfast, nestled between us like she belonged there, I felt something shift in my chest, not healing, the scars were too deep for that. But maybe the beginning of acceptance, of peace.

 I’d found a homeless girl in an alley and changed everything. I’d saved a little girl and found my purpose. I’d fallen in love with a monster and discovered he was human after all. And somehow, impossibly, I’d found my way home. Not to a place, but to the people who needed me as much as I needed them. This was my new life now.

 Beautiful and brutal, dangerous and devoted, soaked in blood, but anchored in love. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even redemption. Because sometimes salvation doesn’t look like escape. Sometimes it looks like walking straight into the fire and finding someone brave enough to burn with