He taps my back, trying to pull away, but I refuse. Overrun by everything I thought I’d lost, I cling to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“You know I’m not that easy to get rid of,” he says, voice soft as smoke, even as he tries to peel himself out of my arms again. “Sunshine, I love you too, but can we do this later? I’d really prefer a calm drive without anyone chewing at our tail.”
It takes effort to pry myself off him. I force myself to step back, swallowing down the urge to cling. My gaze snaps to the black Toyota idling behind him. He jerks his chin toward it, and I obey, crossing the slick pavement, opening the door, and dropping into the passenger seat. A second later, he slides in beside me, shutting the world out with a dull thud of the driver’s door.
“You owe me a fucking explanation,” I fire, the words sharp enough to cut. He hits the gas, steering us back onto the road with a casual flick of his wrist. “What the actual fuck is happening? Who were those people?”
“Their team,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm. “They found out about what happened between you and Dante, and they grabbed you for interrogation. And since both they and The Order wanted to get rid of me first, I was too busy staying alive to warn you.”
The ease in his voice grates against my nerves. He keeps his eyes on the road, shadows flashing across his face as we speed through the night, and it takes me a moment to realize something critical.
I have no idea where he’s taking me.
“Where are we going?” I ask, suspicion curling tight inside my chest.
“Somewhere safe,” he answers, giving me a brief nod like that alone should make me relax. “You look like shit. Before we touch the main job, you need to get back in one piece. Shower, food, clean clothes. Everything’s in the room. Including your favorites.” A faint smile touches his lips. “I made sure of it.”
Warmth unfurls low in my stomach at the reminder of how he always looks after me, in ways that make something in my chest soften despite myself.
But that warmth curdles fast. The longer I watch him, the more I see how absurdly calm he is—tense around the edges from expecting pursuit, sure, but otherwise collected, steady, infuriatingly composed.
“Dante,” I whisper.
His eyes flick to mine, lips tightening into a thin, unreadable line. His head tilts ever so slightly, a subtle shake, and for a heartbeat, I catch it—a shadow of guilt, or maybe a silent warning, dancing across his gaze.
My chest tightens again, and my heart lurches. “You knew,” I breathe. Disbelief floods me, and before I can stop myself, my hand cracks against his shoulder. “You fucking traitor!”
He flinches, batting my hand away with his free one, still trying to keep the car steady. “Easy!”
But his voice doesn’t reach me. Tears flood my vision, and something inside me fractures. My fists strike out uncontrollably, hammering his shoulder, arm, even his cheek—each hit fueled by the raw, jagged tremors of grief carving through me.
He mutters a curse under his breath, jerks the wheel sharply, and yanks the car to the side of the road. The vehicle shudders violently before grinding to a stop.
“I said fucking stop!” he roars, the sound rattling the cabin. I stare at him through tear-soaked lashes, shaking my head, unable to process the betrayal lodged in my bones. “Do you even care about an explanation? Or do you just want to tear something apart?”
My face twists into something feral. “Oh, please. Go on. Explain how you went behind my back like the absolute asshole you are. Explain how you betrayed me and want a gold star for it!”
Another wave of pain detonates inside my chest, so sharp it steals my breath completely. I fold in on myself, gripping my dress in my fist, nails digging into my skin as my heart hammers in a frantic, broken rhythm.
My world has been obliterated tonight. I used to live in a contained storm—my own chaos, one I could still map, still control. Then Dante appeared, slipping into my life like a steady pulse I didn’t know I needed. He made me believe that life could be more than sharp edges and blood-stitched purpose.
But all of it was a lie. He studied me like I was nothing but a specimen under a lab light. Collected information. Tracked my movements.
Then Cane rose from the dead and pulled me out, only for me to learn he’d betrayed me too.
Now everything is gone. My purpose hollowed, my time stolen. Whatever Dante did has turned every side against me—his people and The Order—and they won’t stop until I’m a corpse cooling on concrete.
Cane says he has a plan, but plans don’t matter when trust has been ground to dust. I will never go back to what I was. I’m not built for normalcy, not wired for quiet survival. I was born with blood in my teeth and chaos humming in my bones. That hunger won’t disappear; it will keep screaming inside me, demanding and devouring.
I’m broken, and the one person I thought mirrored my darkness turned out to be a ghost wearing a borrowed face. Now there’s nothing left. Just ash. Just the glittering splinters of broken glass.
“It started long before Dante ever stepped into the picture,” Cane says, softer now that he sees how tightly my hand claws at my chest. “At first, I didn’t know who he was. He hid his identity well. Too well. But then I started noticing the cracks. I watched you two work, watched the way his mask slipped. Eventually, I saw the whole picture.”
“Saw what?” I snap, my voice raw.
“His friend Jason came to me, threatening me. That got my attention, and I dug deeper. Jason wanted the spotlight and stepped into it without realizing how sloppy his own story was. From there, it wasn’t hard to unravel the truth about both of them—especially what happened to Dante’s parents.”
My eyes squeeze shut, and the tears burst free, cold streams cutting down my face. I lick my lips and taste salt, metallic and bitter.
