Isabella’s POV

I couldn’t sleep, not after what had almost happened. Dante’s face had been too close, his voice too low, and my body had betrayed me in ways I hated myself for. The air between us had felt alive, crackling, charged with something dangerous. I lay there in the dim room, curled on the thin mattress, hugging my knees as if I could smother the memory.

But his eyes lingered in my mind. Steel and storm, but there had been something else too—something I wasn’t supposed to see. A flicker of want, restrained but burning.

I buried my face in my arms. I hated him. I should hate him. Yet my heart still beat too fast.

Then the world exploded.

The first blast shook the walls, knocking dust from the ceiling. I screamed and clapped my hands over my ears as a second explosion followed, closer, deafening. The floor vibrated beneath me. Somewhere, alarms shrieked to life.

Gunfire crackled outside the compound, a staccato rhythm of death. Men shouted in Italian, orders barked in sharp tones.

My door slammed open, and Dante filled the frame, a dark silhouette against flickering emergency lights. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, chest gleaming with sweat, pistol in hand. His eyes locked on mine instantly.

“They’re here.” His voice was ice and steel. “Move.”

Before I could think, he was at my side, yanking me to my feet. His grip was bruising on my wrist, but in that moment it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“What—who—” My voice broke with panic.

“Russians,” he snapped. “They’ve come for blood.”

Gunfire roared louder, closer. I flinched as glass shattered somewhere in the hall. Dante shoved me against his chest and fired two shots over my shoulder. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. A man fell at the doorway, blood spreading across the tiles.

I gasped, trembling against him. His arm locked around my waist, hauling me close as he pulled me into the corridor.

The compound was chaos. Men in black stormed the halls, faces hidden by masks, guns blazing. Dante’s soldiers answered with brutal precision, bullets and screams echoing in the narrow space. My bare feet slipped on spilled blood as Dante dragged me down the corridor, his body pressed against mine, shielding me with his frame.

Every nerve in me screamed with terror. But beneath it, maddeningly, was something else. His heat. His scent of smoke and leather. The iron grip of his arm around me. It was insane, but the adrenaline made me hyper-aware of everything.

“Stay low,” he growled in my ear. His breath was hot against my skin.

I ducked instinctively, heart hammering, as bullets ripped into the walls above us. Dante cursed in Italian and fired back, never once letting go of me.

We turned a corner, stumbled down stairs slick with dust and plaster. Men lay dead on the landing, their bodies twisted grotesquely. I gagged, covering my mouth, but Dante shoved me forward.

“No weakness,” he hissed. “Not now.”

We burst into the garage, lit red by emergency lights. Black SUVs were already riddled with bullets. A fire raged near the gate, smoke choking the air.

“Boss!” a soldier shouted, limping toward us. His arm was bleeding heavily. “They breached the south wall—”

A shot rang out. The man crumpled before finishing his sentence, blood spraying across the floor.

I screamed. Dante pulled me down, pinning me beneath him as more shots tore through the garage. His weight crushed me against the cold concrete, his chest heaving against my back. For one insane heartbeat, I was more aware of his body than the bullets.

His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Do you trust me?”

I blinked at him, stunned. My lips trembled. “No.”

His jaw clenched. “Good. That will keep you alive. Now move.”

He hauled me upright again, practically dragging me toward a side door. Every step felt like a nightmare—shadows darting, gunfire endless, the acrid taste of smoke burning my throat. I stumbled, nearly fell, but Dante caught me, his arm like iron around my waist.

We burst into a narrow passage that smelled of oil and earth. A service tunnel.

“Where are we going?” I gasped, trying to keep up.

“Out,” he said curtly.

Something in his tone made me glance up. His face was hard, jaw tight, but his eyes—those eyes burned not just with fury, but with something else. Something darker.

The tunnel shook as another explosion hit above us. Dust rained down. I stumbled into him, my hands pressed against his chest. He didn’t push me away.

Instead, his hand cupped the back of my head, steadying me, holding me there against him for one searing second.

And then—“Down!”

He shoved me to the floor as bullets tore through the passage. Russian voices shouted in the darkness. Dante fired back, each shot deafening, his body covering mine completely. I was trapped beneath him, his weight, his heat, the brutal rhythm of his breath. My heart hammered against his chest, our bodies pressed too close, too alive, too wrong.

I hated myself for noticing. For feeling it.

The shooting paused. Dante seized the moment, dragging me deeper into the tunnel. His soldiers covered us, falling back with grim determination.

But the Russians were relentless. Their voices echoed behind us, closer, shouting in their guttural tongue. Then—

“Isabella!”

I froze. My blood ran cold. They had said my name. My name.

I stumbled, staring at Dante. “They—how do they—”

His face turned to stone. His hand tightened on me like a shackle. “Keep moving.”

“They know me,” I whispered, horror flooding me. “They’re not just after you. They’re after me.”

Dante’s eyes locked on mine, furious and dark. For a second, I saw something raw flicker there—fear. Not for himself. For me.

“Run,” he ordered. His voice was low, lethal. “Run, Isabella, before I kill every last one of them.”

And then he turned, gun raised, to meet the Russians head-on