Chapter 3 - The Enemy Behind the Gun
The warehouse operation lasted forty-three minutes.
For Emma, waiting inside Dante’s penthouse, it felt like forty-three years.
She sat near the windows with a blanket around her shoulders, though she was not cold. Dante’s doctor had forced him into bed, but he refused to sleep. His skin was pale, and pain shadowed his face whenever he moved.
Yet his attention remained fixed on the phone beside him.
Emma paced.
“You should lie down,” Dante said.
“You should stop giving medical advice.”
His mouth almost smiled.
“You are difficult.”
“I am worried about my brother.”
“I know.”
The gentleness in his voice made her stop.
Dante looked toward the dark lake outside.
“When I was sixteen, my younger sister was taken because someone wanted to punish my father.”
Emma’s anger softened slightly.
“What happened?”
Dante’s expression became unreadable.
“She survived.”
That answer told her enough.
“And your father?”
“Did not.”
Emma sat across from him.
For the first time, she saw something beyond the fearsome reputation, the wealth, the guards, and the weapons.
A man who had learned too early that love could be used against him.
“Is that why you wanted to find me?” she asked.
Dante turned his eyes toward hers.
“Yes.”
“Because you thought they would come after me.”
“Not thought. Knew.”
“Why?”
“Because the men who shot me work for Victor Salerno.”
Emma had heard that name once, in a news story about a federal investigation that had ended with no charges and two missing witnesses.
“Your rival?”
“My former friend.”
Dante’s voice went colder.
“Victor believes I took something that belongs to him.”
“And what is that?”
“Chicago.”
The phone rang.
Marco.
Dante answered immediately.
“Talk.”
Emma watched his face.
Then she heard a voice in the background.
Noah.
“Emma?” he shouted.
She rushed forward.
“Noah!”
“I’m okay,” he said, breathing hard. “They found me.”
Tears filled Emma’s eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
“Just bruised. I’m okay.”
Marco took the phone.
“We have him. Two suspects escaped.”
Dante’s expression darkened.
“Victor?”
“One of them confirmed it.”
“Bring Noah to the penthouse.”
Emma took the phone from Dante.
“Marco, please make sure he gets checked at a hospital.”
“He will.”
When the call ended, Emma covered her face.
The fear finally broke through.
Dante stood despite the pain and walked toward her. He stopped close but did not touch her.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
“My brother was taken because of you.”
“He was taken because of me,” Dante corrected.
“That is not better.”
“No.”
His voice was low.
“It is not.”
For a moment, Dante Moretti looked like a man carrying the weight of every terrible thing he had ever done.
“I cannot undo what brought this danger to your life,” he said. “But I can remove it.”
Emma laughed bitterly through tears.
“By sending more armed men after them?”
“If that is what it takes.”
“That is all you know, isn’t it? Violence. Control. Threats.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“You think I enjoy it?”
“I think you are good at it.”
He looked away.
“Being good at surviving is not the same as enjoying life.”
The words stayed with her.
Noah arrived an hour later.
He had a bruised cheek, a torn jacket, and enough anger to fill the room.
The moment he saw Emma, he pulled her into a hug.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Then Noah looked over her shoulder at Dante.
“You.”
Dante met his stare.
“Yes.”
“You got me kidnapped.”
“Yes.”
Noah took one step forward.
Marco moved instinctively, but Dante lifted a hand.
“Let him speak.”
Noah’s hands curled into fists.
“My sister saved your life. And now she has men following her and people coming after me.”
Dante nodded once.
“You are right.”
Noah seemed thrown off by the response.
“What?”
“You are right,” Dante repeated. “You should be angry.”
Emma watched Dante closely.
He could have threatened Noah. He could have ordered him out. Instead, he stood there and accepted the accusation.
Noah pointed toward Emma.
“She is not one of your people.”
“No,” Dante said. “She is not.”
“Then leave her alone.”
A long silence followed.
Dante looked at Emma.
“I cannot.”
Emma’s breath caught.
Not because he said it like a declaration of possession.
He said it like a confession.
Before anyone could respond, every light in the penthouse went out.
A sharp pop sounded against the windows.
Gunfire.
Marco shoved Emma and Noah behind the marble kitchen island.
“Sniper!” he shouted.
Dante reached for his weapon.
Emma grabbed his arm.
“You are injured!”
“And they are here for you.”
Another bullet struck the glass.
The penthouse security alarms screamed.
Marco spoke rapidly into his earpiece. “West roof. Two shooters. Lockdown now.”
Emma crouched beside Dante.
His bandage was turning red.
“You tore your stitches.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are bleeding.”
“Emma—”
“Do not move.”
She pressed both hands against his side.
Dante looked at her.
In the darkness and chaos, surrounded by gunfire, something shifted between them.
He covered her hand with his.
“You should be afraid of me,” he said.
Emma looked into his eyes.
“I am.”
The honesty struck him.
“But,” she continued, “I’m starting to think you are more afraid of losing people than you are of dying.”
The gunfire stopped.
Then Marco’s voice came through the earpiece.
“Roof secured. Two shooters down. One alive.”
Dante’s face became cold again.
“Bring him to me.”
Emma stood.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“He tried to kill you.”
“And you are in no condition to interrogate anyone.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Emma.”
“You promised no one would come near me again. You did not promise to become worse because of me.”
For a moment, the feared boss of Chicago looked almost stunned.
Then, slowly, he handed his gun to Marco.
“Question him,” Dante ordered. “No unnecessary blood.”
Marco glanced at Emma.
Then back at Dante.
“Yes, boss.”
Emma had saved Dante’s life once.
May you like
But she was beginning to understand that saving him again might require something much harder.
Teaching him that he did not have to become a monster to protect the people he loved.
