Chapter 5 Betrayal From Shadow.

Elena's fingers clutched the sheets tighter, her heart still thundering in her chest. The air in the room felt charged like the storm had passed but left electricity buzzing in its wake.

She watched Dante pace once or twice his jaw locked, eyes distant.

Something had shifted.

"Who was that?" she asked quietly, though part of her wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

Dante didn't look at her. "A problem."

"Does this 'problem' have anything to do with why you broke into my apartment?"

He stopped pacing. Turned.

His eyes found hers again, and just like that, the tension snapped back into place. "Everything I do is to protect you, Elena."

"I didn't ask for your protection."

"No," he said, voice like cut glass. "But you need it."

She flinched at the steel in his tone, but she didn't back down. "You're not my savior, Dante. You're the reason I can't sleep at night."

He moved closer, slowly, like a predator deciding whether to pounce. "Then why didn't you stop me?" he murmured. "Back there on this bed, why didn't you scream, fight, run?"

Because she hadn't wanted to.

And they both knew it.

Elena looked away, anger warring with confusion in her chest. "You're dangerous."

"I never claimed otherwise."

He reached the edge of the bed, leaned down, and dragged a knuckle along her jaw. "But I'm the only one who can keep you alive."

Her breath caught.

There it was again, that terrifying truth beneath his obsession.

This wasn't just a game for him.

This was war.

"You should go," she whispered.

He stared at her for a beat. Then two. Something flickered in his eyes, hesitation? Regret? It vanished too quickly to name.

"You're not safe here anymore," he said. "Pack what you need. You're coming with me."

She stiffened. "The hell I am-"

"It's not up for debate." He stood to his full height. "Vitale knows where you live. He's already watching."

The name hit her like a punch.

"You're lying."

Dante's gaze didn't flinch. "Do I look like the type of man who lies, Elena?"

She wanted to scream. To throw something. To hate him.

But when she looked at him the coiled tension in his frame, the fury barely held in check she knew he wasn't bluffing.

Someone was watching her.

And Dante Moretti had just become her only shield.

He extended a hand, palm open.

Elena stared at it, her pulse wild.

Trusting him was dangerous.

But not trusting him might get her killed.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out hesitated then slid into his.

Dante's grip tightened.

Final.

Unbreakable.

"Good girl," he said softly, eyes gleaming. "Now hurry. We don't have much time.

Elena dressed in silence, every movement sharp and tense. Her mind spun with questions, none of which she dared ask not yet. Dante stood near the window, his back to her, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke in low, clipped Italian.

She caught fragments.

Names. Locations. Orders.

It didn't take a genius to know someone was about to die.

She zipped up her bag and straightened. "I'm ready."

He ended the call and turned to her. His eyes swept over her quickly, scanning for something injury, hesitation, she wasn't sure but whatever he found, it seemed to satisfy him.

"Stay close," he said. "Don't speak to anyone. Don't touch anything. And if I say run..." His voice dropped, lethal. "You run."

Elena swallowed hard. "Got it."

He nodded once and led her out.

The hallway was empty, but Elena could feel the shift in the air. As if the building itself knew something was wrong. They moved fast, Dante's hand on her lower back, guiding her with terrifying control.

Downstairs, a sleek black car idled at the curb.

Tinted windows. Bulletproof glass. The kind of car made for men who expected war.

The driver was a tall man with a scar bisecting his brow, opened the back door without a word. Elena hesitated only for a second before sliding in.

Dante followed, and the door slammed shut.

The silence inside the car was thick.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying to sound steady.

"To a safe house," he said, his voice clipped. "Out of the city."

Her stomach twisted. "How long?"

His jaw ticked. "Until it's over."

She looked at him, at the hard set of his mouth, the shadows under his eyes. "And what exactly is it?"

He turned toward her fully then, and for the first time, she saw something other than hunger or anger in his face.

She saw fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

"Vitale put a hit on you, Elena. He saw me watching you and figured you were leverage." His voice was tight. Controlled. "This isn't just about you anymore. It's about hurting me."

Her breath caught.

"But why? Why would he risk that just to get to you?"

Dante's expression darkened. "Because I killed his brother."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Elena stared at him, her throat dry. "And now he wants revenge."

Dante didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

She already knew.

This wasn't an obsession anymore.

It was war.

And she had just become the most dangerous piece on the board.

The car cut through the city like a shadow, headlights slicing through the night. Elena sat stiffly beside Dante, every muscle coiled tight, her eyes flicking to every car that passed, every flicker of movement outside the window.

Dante was too still. His hand rested on his thigh, close to the gun holstered beneath his jacket. The only sound was the hum of tires and the occasional click of the turn signal.

Then it happened.

A flash of light behind them.

Headlights too close.

Elena turned sharply. A dark SUV was tailing them, weaving through traffic with predatory precision.

Dante didn't look back. "Hold on."

The car jerked forward, the engine roaring as the driver slammed the accelerator. Elena's heart leaped into her throat as the city blurred past them, skyscrapers and streetlights melting into a smear of gold and black.

"They're following us," she said, gripping the seat.

"I know," Dante said calmly, but his hand moved to his gun. "Get down."

She ducked just as a spray of bullets shattered the back window.

The glass exploded around them. Elena screamed, hands flying over her head as the driver swerved hard, barely avoiding a parked van. More gunfire erupted behind them, the SUV still gaining.

"Keep your head down!" Dante barked, his voice hard and commanding.

The driver took a sharp turn down a narrow alley. The tires screeched against wet pavement, but the SUV followed relentlessly.

Dante rolled the window down, aimed, and fired.

The sound was deafening.

One. Two. Three shots.

The SUV swerved but didn't stop.

"They're not giving up," Elena said, breathless, heart pounding in her ears.

"They don't need to," Dante said grimly. "They just need to slow us down long enough for Vitale's men to close in."

Elena's blood ran cold. "Then what do we do?"

Dante's eyes locked onto hers, burning with cold fury.

"We end it before they get the chance."

Absolutely here's a twist that intensifies the danger and shakes Dante's control:

The alley twisted into a dead end.

"Shit," the driver muttered, slamming the brakes.

Dante didn't hesitate. "Out. Now."

He threw his door open, gun raised, eyes scanning the shadows. Elena followed, barefoot, the cold pavement biting into her skin as she stumbled after him. The SUV screeched to a halt behind them, doors flinging open.

Dante raised his weapon but paused.

Something was wrong.

The men spilling out of the SUV weren't Vitale's soldiers. They weren't even Italian. They wore masks. Black tactical gear. Silent. Coordinated.

Not amateurs.

Not mafia.

"Who the hell are they?" Elena whispered, backing up until she hit the brick wall behind her.

Dante's jaw clenched. "Not mine. And not Vitale's."

The masked men fanned out, weapons drawn. But they didn't fire.

They were... waiting.

Dante lifted his gun, but a sharp whistle cut through the air.

One of the masked figures stepped forward and removed their hood.

A woman.

Tall. Pale. Blonde hair braided tight against her skull. A scar down the left side of her face.

Elena didn't recognize her.

Dante did.

His entire body went rigid.

"Valeria," he said, voice like ice.

Elena blinked. "Who is she?"

But Dante didn't answer.

Valeria smiled, cold and cruel. "It's been a long time, Dante. I was starting to think you'd forgotten me."

"I should have killed you in Prague."

"Probably," she said, her eyes flicking to Elena. "But now you've made it personal."

She raised her hand, and her men lifted their guns.

Elena felt the cold barrel of a weapon press against her temple.

"No!" Dante stepped forward, fury crackling off him. "She's not part of this."

"Oh, but she is now." Valeria's smile widened. "You made sure of that the moment you let her live."

Elena's pulse thundered. "What does she want?"

Dante didn't blink. "Me."

"And to make you bleed," Valeria added. "Slowly."

The night shattered with movement when Dante lunged, gun raised, a shot rang out and then everything turned to chaos.

The gunshot tore through the night.

Dante's bullet missed by inches as one of Valeria's men tackled him, sending his weapon skidding across the pavement.

"Elena!" he roared, but she was already being dragged backward, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, her scream muffled as she kicked and fought.

"Let her go!" Dante bellowed, slamming his elbow into his attacker and lunging forward but two more masked men intercepted him, pinning him to the alley wall.

Valeria moved slowly, deliberately, toward Elena.

Up close, her beauty was almost eerie and deadly. The kind of woman who didn't need to raise her voice to destroy you.

"I see what the fuss is about," she said, tilting Elena's chin up with one gloved finger. "She's lovely."

Elena glared at her, breath ragged. "Go to hell."

Valeria chuckled. "Feisty. I like her."

Dante snarled, straining against the arms that held him. "Touch her again and I'll kill you."

Valeria didn't even flinch. "You'll try."

Then she nodded.

Before Dante could react, a needle slid into Elena's neck.

Her body jerked, her eyes wide with panic as the sedative hit.

"No!" Dante shouted, his voice cracking as Elena's legs gave out. Her captor caught her, lifting her into his arms like she weighed nothing.

"Elena!" he roared again, but it was useless. Her head lolled, her limbs limp.

Valeria stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

"You took something from me in Prague, Dante. A brother. A blood oath." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Now I'll take something from you."

He seethed. "I'll find her."

"I'm counting on it." She smirked, stepping back into the shadows. "But you won't like what's left when you do."

With that, her team vanished into the night, Elena's unconscious body swallowed by the darkness.

Dante was left in the alley, breath heaving, fists clenched.

And for the first time in years, Dante Moretti felt fear.

Real fear.

Because this wasn't about power anymore.

This was personal.

And he had just lost the only thing he didn't know he couldn't live without.