Chapter 2 The Stranger in the Shadows

The words echoed in Aria's ears like a gunshot:

"I'm Viper. I'm here to kill your father."

Her breath hitched, the rain soaking through her silk dress as Dante-no, Viper-tugged her toward a waiting motorcycle parked in a side alley.

Smoke curled from the remains of the van behind them, a corpse slumped inside, and she realized with a sickening twist that the assassin hadn't missed a single shot.

"You're insane," she hissed, yanking her arm free.

He turned, cool and unbothered, wiping blood from his cheek. "Not insane. Just honest. You want lies? Go back to your father."

"I can't trust you. You just told me you want him dead."

"And yet, I just saved your life," he said calmly, straddling the bike and tossing her a helmet. "Get on."

She stared at him, trembling with adrenaline. "Why should I?"

His gaze was unreadable. "Because I'm not your enemy, Aria. At least, not yet."

The storm whipped through the alley. Another minute and someone else would come looking for her-someone who wouldn't be as selective with their bullets.

Reluctantly, she climbed on behind him. Her hands wrapped around his waist, muscles like coiled steel under her fingers. The engine roared, and they disappeared into the dark.

The safehouse was a rundown villa on the edge of the city, masked by overgrowth and time. Inside, everything smelled like dust and gunpowder. Aria stepped in, dripping rain, heart still racing.

"You should sit," he said, locking the door and disabling a series of hidden triggers behind it. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're not," he countered, pulling off his coat. Beneath it, a holster sat snug across his chest. His black shirt clung to his skin. He moved like a shadow-silent, lethal, precise. She hated how her body reacted to him, how her eyes betrayed her every time he moved.

He poured a glass of something amber and handed it to her. She took it, mostly to distract her hands.

"Start talking," she demanded. "You said you were supposed to meet me tomorrow. You knew about the contract?"

Dante nodded. "I was hired three months ago to eliminate Don Moretti. Standard job. But halfway in, I was told to stand down."

"By who?"

He gave a humorless smile. "Your father. He offered a deal-marriage to his daughter. Me. You. A blood alliance."

Aria stiffened. "He wanted to trade me for his life?"

"No. He wanted to own me. Thought marrying me would put a leash on the monster."

She flinched. "And you agreed?"

"I don't wear leashes."

Their eyes locked. Something dark and electric hummed between them.

He looked away first.

"Problem is," he continued, "your father didn't hold up his end. Word on the street is, he's been working both sides-selling intel to rival syndicates while pretending to form a truce with mine. That kind of betrayal? It gets people killed."

"And me? Where do I fall in your plans now?"

"That depends." He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "What do you want, Aria? To go back? To warn him? Or to help me bring him down?"

Her fingers tightened around the glass. "You're asking me to betray my own blood."

"I'm asking you to choose who your real enemy is."

She swallowed hard.

For years, she had watched her father run the family with iron and fear. She had ignored the rumors-the missing men, the silenced voices. She had believed being his daughter shielded her from his darkness.

Now she saw the truth.

"I don't trust you," she said softly. "But I trust him even less."

His expression flickered. "That's a start."

She looked around the room. "So what now?"

"Now," Dante said, "we stay alive."

That night, sleep didn't come.

Aria paced the villa's small bedroom, her mind a storm. Every word Dante said replayed over and over. He was a killer. But he was also the only reason she wasn't in a body bag.

She opened the door and found him on the balcony, shirtless, smoking, the city lights casting shadows across the scars on his back. Bullet wounds. Blade marks. A map of the life he lived.

He turned, sensing her before she spoke.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"No."

"Nightmares?"

"Memories."

He nodded, as if he understood.

Aria stepped closer. "You don't look like a monster."

"I'm not. Just really good at killing them."

She stared at him. "What happens after this? If we survive?"

"I disappear. That was always the plan."

"And me?"

"You go back. Or you don't. Your choice."

She hesitated. "And if I choose you?"

Something shifted in his eyes. A pause. A warning.

"You don't know what that means."

"Try me."

He stepped forward. They were inches apart now, the rain still whispering against the stone outside. She looked up at him, pulse pounding.

"Don't," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Because if I kiss you, I won't stop."

And then-he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.

It was desperate. Demanding. A clash of danger and desire.

She responded like a match to gasoline, her hands threading through his hair, his body pressing hers back into the door. Every nerve in her body came alive. He tasted like smoke and fire and every dark thing she'd ever been warned about.

And just as quickly, he pulled away.

"Go inside," he said roughly, his voice ragged. "Before I ruin you."

She stood there, breathless. Shaken.

"Too late."

At dawn, Dante was gone.

Aria found a note on the kitchen counter in bold, sharp handwriting.

> Stay hidden. I'll be back before dark. Do not open the door for anyone except me. There's a second weapon under the sink. If I don't return by midnight-run.

She gripped the note, her stomach turning.

Where had he gone?

Why hadn't he taken her?

And worse-why did she care?

Hours passed. The villa felt like a cage. She checked the time obsessively. Dusk crept in. Still no Dante.

By nightfall, panic clawed at her throat.

Then-footsteps outside.

She froze. Reached under the sink. Found the pistol.

A knock.

Soft. Familiar.

"Dante?" she called.

No answer.

She approached the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Louder.

She gripped the gun, undid the lock slowly. The door creaked open-

It wasn't Dante.

It was a man in a military jacket, eyes sunken, holding a silver envelope.

He held it out. "He told me to bring this to you."

She took it. "Where is he?"

The man gave a sad smile. "He made a trade."

The envelope shook in her hands as she opened it. Inside was a photo-a surveillance still. Dante. Cuffed. Bleeding. Being led into a dark underground bunker.

On the back of the photo were four words written in blood-red ink:

You want him? Come. Alone.