I can’t stop shaking.
One minute I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, and the next, I’m choking on the aftermath—the lingering gunfire smoke curling through the air, glass crunching beneath boots, the smell of gunpowder and blood.
It’s been five minutes since the world exploded.
I know I’m safe now, but I’m still terrified. Terrified of what I just witnessed, of the look on Dante’s face when he fired his weapon.
Terrified of how badly I still want him, even now.
The air suddenly shifts, like a storm rolling in.
Boot heels click across the floor.
Isabella Bellacino walks in flanked by two of her personal guards, dressed in black. Her silver hair is twisted into a regal knot, her posture rigid and proud. She looks completely out of place as she steps into the aftermath of what just occurred. Her eyes—sharp and calculating—sweep the room once, landing on Linda.
“Oh,” Isabella says coolly. “Still alive, I see.”
Linda stiffens between the guards. Her voice cracks as she says, “Isabella.” There’s an actual desperate, spark of hope in her eye, that maybe the old matriarch is here to extend a hand.
“Please,” Linda says, her tone quickly flipping from venom to sugar. “You can’t let them do this. You and I… we were allies once. Friends. I did what I thought was right. You understand that, don’t you?”
Isabella stares at her for a beat, tilting her head slightly, like she’s analyzing what she just heard. “Friends,” she repeats, almost testing the word. “Linda, darling. You were never my friend. I tolerated you for the sake of my grandson. Barely.”
Linda’s lips begin to tremble. “I was trying to secure Luca’s future. I was protecting the family!”
Isabella’s smile widens in amusement. “Is that what you call it? Putting a gun to my grandchild’s mother is protecting the family?”
“Dante went rogue,” Linda yells, her voice desperate. “He was never loyal to the family. You know he destroyed everything we built!”
Isabella calmly steps forward, her guards staying perfectly still, though their eyes remain on Linda. She casually reaches up and smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from her coat. “Let me make something perfectly clear. You never built a damn thing. This is my family. You tried to murder my grandchild. You attempted to destroy the Bellacino name with your pathetic little schemes. And now you want mercy?”
Linda’s face crumples. “Please. Please, Isabella. I was misled. It was Luca, he convinced me—”
“Oh, I see,” Isabella cuts her off with a soft laugh. “Now you’re blaming your son? That’s rich.”
She lifts a hand. The guards tense, waiting for her signal.
“Wait,” Linda gasps. “Please. I’ll disappear. You won’t hear from me again. I’ll leave the country—”
Isabella looks thoughtful, almost entertained. “Oh, you most definitely will.”
Linda freezes, her voice dropping to a whisper. “No… no, please…”
Isabella turns to Abramovic. “The arrangements?”
He nods. “Cargo ship. One-way. No name, no ID. Destination is cold and far away.”
Linda’s scream cuts through the air. “No! You can’t do this! You sanctimonious witch! You think this makes you better than me?”
Isabella lifts a brow, but she doesn’t flinch. “No, Linda. I know I’m better than you.” She turns her back, signaling the guards. “Take her.”
Linda thrashes as Abramovic’s men drag her out, her screams reverberating throughout the ruined house like the final howls of a dying animal. “Dante! Eva! This isn’t over! You’ll regret this!”
No one answers.
Once she’s gone, the silence that remains feels like a beacon of peace. Finally.
Isabella turns to me, brushing dust from her cuff like she just finished lunch at a garden café. “Sorry for the dramatics, dear,” she says with a smirk. “But some people need to exit the stage properly.”
I stare at her, still catching my breath, still unsure whether or not I’m dreaming. “You had her shipped off?”
She shrugs. “She’s lucky I didn’t let Abramovic feed her to the Atlantic. Exile seemed more fitting. A slow death. Cold and forgotten. What she did to you, to this family…” Her expression softens slightly. “It’s unforgivable.”
Isabella steps closer, turning to Dante. “Linda never knew when to quit. It’s over for her.”
Dante allows himself a small smirk.
I turn my attention to Isabella. “Why are you here?”
“Because I knew you’d push Dante away after what you found out, after what you’ve been told. Because I couldn’t let you live in fear of the wrong man.” Her lips tighten. “I owe you the truth. All of it.”
I pull in a shaky breath. Every muscle in my body is sore, nerves still on high alert, adrenaline pumping as I prepare for what she’s about to tell me.
Dante keeps looking my way, as if he’s concerned I might bolt. I consider it for half a second, but I’m so tired, my body sore from trying to sleep on that awful cot and the scuffle with Gianni. I wouldn’t get far. Besides, something inside me admits that I don’t want to.
Isabella sighs before speaking. “Eva, dear,” she says quietly. “I know you’re frightened. You have every right to be.”
I swallow. My throat is dry, but I manage a whisper. “You don’t know anything about how I feel.”
She lifts a brow, unruffled. “Actually, I might.” Her gaze flicks to Dante, who’s hanging back a few yards, giving us space. “I’ve been watching this unfold. Dante told me to stay put, but I refused. These are wretched circumstances, but I wanted you to have some clarity before you made any final decisions.”
“Clarity on what?”
She hesitates and glances at Dante before continuing. “Eva, it’s time you heard the truth. Your father died on my orders, not Dante’s.”
The blunt statement sends a jolt through me. “You?”
She nods, expression grim. “Dante called off the hit, but I went behind his back. I was so blinded by grief—I’d just lost my husband and my other two sons, and I wanted blood.” She exhales a shaky breath. “Dante never wanted Yuri dead. It was me. I let the rumor stand that Dante did it to keep our rivals from sensing weakness. That doesn’t excuse it, but it’s what happened.”
My heart aches with the revelation. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I risk a look at Dante, who meets my gaze with quiet resignation.
Isabella takes my hands in hers, an unexpected and warm gesture. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m telling you, Dante tried to stop it. I overruled him, letting him shoulder the blame.”
I can’t breathe. My father’s murderer is standing in front of me, holding my hands, confessing. Not Linda, not Dante—Isabella.
“I regret it every day. If I could go back and undo it, I would. I know that doesn’t bring Yuri back, but I swear, I will spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness, if you’ll let me.”
Tears burn my eyes. I yank my hands free, not out of malice but because it’s too much to process. The raw agony of losing my dad, the illusions I clung to about Dante’s guilt, the reality that Isabella orchestrated it all… it’s dizzying.
“Eva,” she says quietly, “Dante was never responsible for your father’s death.”
I press my lips together and nod, tears blurring my vision. Dante’s innocence doesn’t erase the pain. My father is still gone, and the Bellacinos are still behind it.
I try to steady my breathing, forcing words past the lump in my throat. “I need time,” I manage, my voice shaky. “I can’t… I can’t deal with all this right now.”
Isabella nods in understanding, sorrow shading her eyes. “Of course.”
Dante steps closer, quietly dismissing the remaining guards with a glance. They move out, giving us space. Footsteps echo across the hard floor, leaving a strange emptiness in their absence.
Linda’s gone. Gianni’s dead.
Dante’s eyes search my face. “Eva…” He lifts a hand near my cheek but doesn’t make contact.
I look away. “I need to get out of here. I need space.”
“I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Isabella speaks up, soft but insistent. “That would be best. The city isn’t secure right now, and some of Linda’s men could still be lurking. The Lombardis also have an interest in finishing what Linda started.”
My heartbeat kicks up. I remember Linda’s hateful sneer, the way she wanted me dead so badly. My breath hitches at the memory, and I realize I’m ready to collapse from sheer emotional overload. “Fine,” I say, forcing the word out. “Let’s go.”
I don’t spare Isabella another glance. I wait as Dante nods to his men. Within a few minutes, we’re out of the building and slipping into one of Dante’s SUVs. As we drive away, I rest my head on the seat, eyes closed, ignoring the man beside me.
I’m not sure when I drifted off in the SUV, but I wake to the sound of tires driving over gravel, the SUV jerking over the uneven ground. Trees line the road, tall and shadowed, and I see a sign for Chappaqua. Not exactly a mob hideout, but I guess that’s the point. It’s peaceful, picturesque, and calm.
Dante sits beside me, silent and stoic, hands folded tightly in his lap. He hasn’t said a word since we left the house, and I’m too exhausted to get into it.
The SUV rolls to a stop at a private gate. One of Dante’s men punches in a code, and we ease down a long driveway lined with low lights and expensive landscaping. When we finally pull up to a secluded, upscale, log cabin estate, I exhale for what feels like the first time in days.
Dante helps me out, his hand warm and careful. The gesture just about wrecks me.
Inside, the air smells like lavender and wood polish. The place is large yet cozy—dim lighting, plush rugs and furniture, a huge fireplace with flames crackling like it’s been waiting for me. It’s quiet and peaceful. After all the screaming, the shooting, and the chaos, this feels like another planet.
It’s also exactly what I need.
He leads me to a bedroom overlooking a beautifully tranquil garden that looks like it belongs in a luxury magazine. I step inside, the ambiance instantly soothing.
I wrap my arms around myself. “This is mine?”
Dante nods. “As long as you need. No one gets in without me knowing. If you want to see a nurse or anything, I’ll make it happen. If you want space, I’ll make that happen, too.”
My throat tightens with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“I know you have questions. About my mother. About everything.”
I do. But right now they’re tangled up with fear and exhaustion.
“Not tonight,” I whisper.
“Of course.” He gestures to the bed. “You should rest. There’s an ensuite bathroom there to the left.”
I nod, but when I move to sit down, my whole body protests—the bruises, the adrenaline withdrawal, the emotional equivalent of being hit by a truck. I lower myself onto the mattress like I’m eighty years old, curling into the pillows like they’re a lifeline.
Dante hesitates in the doorway. “Do you need anything?”
I almost laugh, but I don’t have the energy. What I need is a total reboot and probably some therapy.
And a long, hot shower.
I settle for, “I just need to breathe.”
He nods gently. “I’ll be in the next room if you change your mind. Kitchen’s stocked and so is the bathroom, whatever you need.” He turns to go, then pauses. “Eva,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”
I meet his eyes and damn it, I know he means it. I see it all—guilt, grief, affection. It hurts.
“I know,” I whisper.
He slips out, the door clicking softly behind him.
I sink back into the pillows, the silence wrapping around me like a blanket and a chokehold all at once. I curl into a fetal position, my hands gently tucked against my belly.
It’s really over. Linda’s gone. Gianni’s gone. My father is still dead, but maybe I don’t have to hate Dante anymore.
And that’s enough for tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the rest.
Tonight, I sleep.
