Is this because of my father? Did someone come for revenge? Did Dante's enemies finally locate his weakness—his daughter, and by extension, me?
Time moves strangely in the panic room. Minutes feel like hours, each second stretching into eternity.
Mila eventually stops trembling. She finds a coloring book in the supplies and starts drawing.
"What are you drawing?" I ask, grateful for the distraction.
"You and Papa and me," she says matter-of-factly. "In the garden. With the butterfly."
I'm so focused on Mila's artwork that I almost miss the sound of the lock disengaging.
My head snaps up, my body tensing as the heavy door swings open. Every terrible scenario I've been imagining floods back—what if it's not Dante? What if someone breached the security, got the code, is coming for us now?
But it's him. Dante stands in the doorway. I've never been so relieved to see anyone in my life.
"Papa!" Mila launches herself at him, and he catches her easily, holding her close.
"I'm here,milaya. I'm here." He presses kisses to her hair, her forehead, checking her over with the kind of thorough attention only a worried parent can manage. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Hannah kept me safe."
His eyes meet mine over his daughter's head. There’s a hint of gratitude there, but maybe more. Maybe he’s telling me he trusts me. Yes, I’m his captive, but he trusts me to do right by his daughter.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice shakier than I'd like.
"False alarm," he says, his expression tight with residual tension. "A guard on perimeter patrol tripped a motion sensor. Protocol dictates we treat every alarm as real until confirmed otherwise."
The relief that floods through me is almost painful. "So we're not under attack?"
"No."
"No one's trying to kill us?"
"Not today."
The casual way he says it should terrify me. Instead, I find myself laughing—a slightly hysterical sound that makes Dante's expression soften.
"Come on," he says, extending his hand to me. "Let's get out of here."
I take his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet, and for a moment we're standing close enough that I can see the worry still lingering in his eyes.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For protecting her."
"I didn't do anything."
"You got her to safety. That's everything. I saw the footage. I saw you carry her and manage to outrun my guard. Something I will be remedying soon.”
“It’s not his fault,” I quickly say. The last thing I want is a man killed because I got hit by a dose of adrenaline that gave me wings.
Mila wiggles in his arms, demanding to be put down now that the crisis has passed. "Can we go back to the garden? I want to see if the butterfly is still there."
"Not today," Dante tells her gently. "Let's go have some lunch. Maybe watch that movie you've been asking about."
As we walk through the house, Dante keeps Mila's hand in his, but his other hand finds mine, fingers lacing together like it's the most natural thing in the world. I’m not sure what the situation is. Maybe he’s lying about the false alarm. Maybe it’s true.
I just can’t bring myself to care because I know he’s got us. He’s going to keep us safe.
That’s enough.
