I look down at our joined hands and I realize something terrifying.
I'm in love with him.
Not despite his darkness, but somehow because of it. Because he's both the monster who kills people in his basement and the father who drops everything to comfort his frightened daughter. Because he can be brutal and tender, controlled and passionate, dangerous and safe all at the same time.
That realization truly terrifies me.
Because loving Dante Sokolov means accepting a life I never wanted, in a world I don't understand, with dangers I can't predict.
I can't deny the truth anymore.
I'm already in too deep to find my way back out.
18
HANNAH
The water runs lukewarm before I realize I've been standing in the shower for twenty minutes.
My body is still humming with adrenaline from the false alarm. Every nerve ending is on high alert like I'm waiting for another crisis to explode around me. I scrub at my skin mechanically, watching the water swirl down the drain, trying to wash away the fear that's lodged itself somewhere deep in my chest. When I picked up Mila and run, I wasn’t just protecting her. I was protecting my baby. That surge of adrenaline was all mother instinct.
I could have lost it today. If the alarm had been real, if bullets had started flying, if something had gone wrong in those frantic minutes running to the panic room?—
The thought makes me physically ill.
When I finally step out, the mirror is fogged over—a blessing, because I'm not sure I want to see my reflection right now. I wipe a circle clear anyway, forcing myself to look.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger.
She has my red hair, my green eyes, my freckles. But there's something different. Something harder, more weathered. Like she's aged years in the span of weeks. Her face is too pale, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
I barely recognize her.
I leave the bathroom and pull out more of the new clothes that just keep showing up in my room. I don’t even question them anymore.
This is my life now.
I dress in silence, pulling on my leggings and big, fluffy hoodie I can snuggle in. The clothing is armor. I can hide behind the soft layers.
A knock at the door interrupts my spiral into what-ifs. Before I can respond, it opens, and Dante steps inside like he has every right to be here. He silently closes the door behind him and traps me inside with him.
In my room.
Maybe he does. This is his house, after all. His kingdom. His rules.
"You didn't wait for permission," I say, my voice flat.
"I don't need permission." He looks at me with those blue eyes that see too much. "How are you?"
"Fine."
"Liar."
The single word hangs between us, a challenge and an accusation rolled into one. I want to argue and pretend I'm handling all of this with grace and composure. But I'm too tired for lies right now.
"What do you want, Dante?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Just moves further into the room, his presence filling the space in that way he has—like he's too big for ordinary rooms, too intense for casual conversation.
