“Good,” she whispers.
And before I can make sense of anything—She rises onto her toes and presses her lips to mine. It’s soft for half a second. Gentle. Unsure. And then the meaning hits me. She’s not scared of me. She came for me. For me. Something animal and urgent surges in my chest. I bury my hand in her hair, tilt her headback, and take the kiss over completely. Her fingers clutch my shirt. Her body melts against mine. Her breath mixes with mine, warm and desperate. She kissed me first. My dove kissed me first.
And I swear—I will burn this entire fucking world down before I ever let something happen to her.
Chapter 17
The ride over had been silent.
Dante hadn’t said much—just sat beside me like a storm trapped behind iron bars.
At one point, he glanced over and said quietly, “Prepare yourself for what you’re going to see.”
That was it. No comfort. No warning. Just the truth. The Don’s truth.
I’d nodded, even though my throat was tight. I couldn’t make small talk. Couldn’t ask questions. Couldn’t breathe properly.
My husband was out there chasing men with guns. And I was sitting beside the most powerful man in the city, trying not to tremble.
Dante scares me. Not because he’s cruel—I don’t think he is—but because he carries power the way other men carry breath.Effortlessly. Dangerously. Unapologetically. I don’t know how to be myself around a man like that. Not yet.
When the car stopped, Dante had rested a hand lightly on my shoulder and said,
“Alessandro will want to bring you to meet Sofia and Isabella soon.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t understand.
How could I think about meeting anyone when the only thing in my head was… Is he alive? Is he hurt? Is he coming back to me?
And then I walked into that warehouse. And saw the blood. All over him.
My breath had caught like I’d been punched in the chest. My hands had gone numb. I couldn’t look at him. Not because I feared him—but because if I looked at him too long, if I met his eyes, if I let the relief collapse inside me—
I would have sunk to the floor sobbing.
And Alessandro doesn’t need a wife who cries in front of his men. He needs strength. He keeps telling me I can be strong. I want to believe that. I want to be that.
So when he walked toward me with all that blood on him, I lowered my gaze, forced the tears back, and put on the mask that has protected me my entire life. Obedient. Quiet. Emotionless. He hated it. I could feel it. But I didn’t know what else to do. Until he pulled me into that side room and apologized, looking at me like the world might end if I didn’t answer him. And then I saw it—fear in his eyes. Fear that I was scared of him. Fear that I would pull away. Fear that he’d lose me. That’s what broke me. That’s what pushed me forward. That’s what made me touch his face. And that’s what made me kiss him.
Because blood on his clothes doesn’t scare me. Losing him does.
Alessandro’s lips are still warm against mine when he pulls back, breathing hard. His eyes search mine—heat, fear, relief, all tangled together.
But then his expression shifts. Serious. Protective. Troubled.
“You should have gone home,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe.”
I shake my head immediately. “No.”
“Elena—”
“Where you go,” I whisper, tightening my hand in his shirt, “I go.”
His breath leaves him in a rough rush, like I punched the air from his lungs. He rests his forehead against mine, closing his eyes.
“Dove…” His voice breaks on the word. “I need to go question the guy we caught.”
I slide my fingers down his arm until I find his hand. “Then come on,” I say.
