The silence after chaos was its own kind of torment. Smoke lingered in the air, thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder, burning into my lungs with every shallow breath. The Russians had scattered for now, but Dante’s body remained tense, rigid, every movement precise like a predator refusing to lower its guard.

I wanted to believe it was over. That the kiss we had stolen in the middle of madness hadn’t been reckless, hadn’t been insanity. But every part of me burned with the memory of his mouth on mine, the heat of his claim. Even now, when he turned sharply, gun still raised, his presence wrapped around me...