The knock hit like a thunderclap, loud enough to make my bones jump. I'd just sunk into the couch, coffee mug warm in my hands, thinking maybe—just maybe—we'd caught a break. Mia sat cross-legged on the floor, scribbling purple loops across her coloring book, humming some tune she'd made up. Then—bam bam bam—the door rattled, and that flimsy peace I'd been clinging to shattered like cheap glass.
"Mommy?" Mia's voice wobbled, her crayon freezing mid-swirl.
"Shh, sweetie, it's okay." I set the mug down too fast, coffee slopping over the edge, burning my fingers. Didn't matter. My eyes darted to Dante, who was already up, moving like a cat toward the door. He flicked a glance my way—sharp, urgent. Hide. No words, just that look. My gut twisted, but I grabbed Mia's hand, yanking her toward the hall closet before my brain could catch up.
We squeezed in, the door clicking shut behind us. Old coats brushed my face, musty and rough, and the air smelled like mothballs and forgotten winters. Mia pressed against me, her little fingers digging into my arm, her stuffed bunny squished between us. "Stay quiet, baby," I whispered, barely hearing myself over the hammering in my chest. Through the thin gap under the door, I saw Dante's shadow shift. He leaned into the peephole, shoulders stiff.
"Who's there?" he called. His voice sounded calm, but I knew him well enough to catch the strain, like a wire pulled too tight.
"FBI. Open the door, Mr. Ricci." The reply came fast, clipped, all business. My breath hitched. FBI? Here? For me? No way this was real. Enzo's games didn't come with badges—did they?
Dante hesitated, just a heartbeat, then twisted the knob. The door swung wide, and heavy boots stormed in, stomping over the threshold like they owned the place. "Where's Valentina DeSantis?" one of them barked—a big guy, square jaw, suit too crisp to be legit. "We know she's here."
"I haven't seen her in years," Dante said, smooth as anything. "You got the wrong house, fellas."
A crash split the air—something heavy hitting the floor. The coffee table? Mia flinched, her nails biting into my skin, and I hugged her tighter, my lips brushing her hair. It's fine, it's fine, I chanted in my head, but it wasn't. Not even close.
"Don't play dumb," another voice snapped, lower, meaner. "Hand her over, or we'll tear this dump apart."
"Go right ahead," Dante shot back, cool as ice. "Knock yourselves out."
And they did. The room exploded into chaos—drawers slamming, chairs flipping, glass shattering somewhere in the kitchen. Each sound punched through me, sharp and jagged. I pressed my face against the closet door, peering through that tiny slit. Shadows moved fast, tearing through Dante's life like a pack of wolves. My lungs burned, every breath shallow, ragged. The coats felt like they were closing in, suffocating me, and Mia's trembling shook us both.
They were getting closer. Boots thudded down the hall, slow, deliberate. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it'd burst. They're gonna find us. The thought looped, wild and panicked. Enzo's face swam up—those cold eyes, that smirk—and I bit my tongue, tasting blood. No. I wouldn't let him win. Not again.
Then Dante's voice cut through, loud and pissed. "Hey, watch it, you prick! That's my grandmother's vase!"
A scuffle erupted—grunts, a thud, something scraping the wall. I risked a peek. Dante had the big guy by the shirt, slamming him into the drywall. The man's badge dangled from his pocket, glinting cheap and fake under the flickering light. Not FBI. Thugs in costumes. Enzo's dogs, come to drag me back.
"Hands off, Ricci!" the guy snarled, shoving Dante hard. Another man stepped in, fists clenched, and I saw it coming before Dante did. The punch landed square on his jaw, snapping his head back. Blood sprayed, a bright red arc, and my stomach lurched. He stumbled, but he didn't fall—not yet.
"Big mistake," Dante growled, wiping his mouth. He lunged, wild now, swinging at anything that moved. It was chaos—shouts, fists flying, the crack of bone on bone. He was outnumbered, outgunned, but he kept going, drawing them away from the hall, away from us. My throat burned with unshed tears. Dante, you idiot. Stop.
They swarmed him. A fist slammed into his ribs, another caught his cheek, and he went down hard, hitting the floor with a grunt. Mia whimpered, and I clapped a hand over her mouth, my own sob choking me. Through the crack, I saw them kick him—once, twice—his body curling in on itself. Blood smeared the hardwood, dark and wet.
Finally, one of them—a wiry bastard with a scar over his eye—knelt beside Dante, yanking his head up by the hair. "Tell your little whore she's out of time," he hissed. "And you? Stop protecting a cheat, or next time, we won't leave you breathing." He dropped Dante's head, letting it thud against the floor, and they stormed out, the door banging shut behind them.
Silence crashed in, thick and awful. I counted to twenty, my hands shaking, then pushed the closet door open. Mia clung to me as I crawled out, my knees wobbly. Dante lay sprawled against the wall, one eye puffed shut, blood trickling from his nose and staining his shirt. I stumbled to him, dropping beside him, my fingers hovering over his bruised face. "Dante—oh God, are you okay?"
He cracked a grin, lopsided and bloody. "Peachy. Just a few dents." He winced, touching his split lip. "You two good?"
"Yeah," I managed, my voice breaking. Tears spilled hot down my cheeks, and I swiped at them, angry at myself. "This is my fault. All of it."
"Bullshit," he said, sharp enough to make me blink. "This is Enzo's mess, not yours." He grabbed my hand, his grip steady despite the mess he was in. "Mia okay?"
I nodded, glancing at her. She stood a few feet away, hugging her bunny, eyes huge. "Mr. Dante?" she whispered. "You're hurt."
He chuckled, a rough, pained sound, and patted her head. "Just a scratch, kid. I'll live."
But we wouldn't—not here. The room was a war zone: broken chairs, papers strewn everywhere, a cracked picture frame dangling off the wall. Enzo's reach was a noose, tightening fast. I couldn't breathe right, couldn't think past the fear clawing up my spine. "Dante," I said, forcing the words out. "We can't stay. We need to go—somewhere safe. Maybe… out of the country."
He didn't hesitate. "Yeah. I've got a guy, owes me one. can hole up there 'til this blows over." He shifted, grimacing as he sat up straighter. "You in?"
"God, yes." Relief hit me like a wave, dizzying and sweet. "Thank you. I—I don't know how to—"
"No thanks needed" he interrupted.
"My chest tightened, something warm flickering under the panic. I nodded, swallowing hard, and stood, pulling Mia close. "Let's move."
I grabbed our bags, hands fumbling as I shoved in clothes, Mia's toys, anything I could grab. My mind raced—where were we going? How far would Enzo chase us? Dante limped off, coming back with a backpack slung over one shoulder, his face set despite the swelling.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low.
"Almost." I zipped the duffel, my fingers clumsy. "Dante, wait. I need to—"
"Hold up," he said, stepping close. His hand brushed my arm, warm and rough. "Listen. You're not doing this without me, got it? Grab another bag—I'm coming with you. Wherever this takes us, I'm in. For you. For her." He nodded at Mia, who peeked up at him, clutching her bunny tighter.
I froze, staring at him. His words hung there, heavy, real. Not just a promise—a lifeline. "You don't have to," I started, but my voice cracked.
"I want to," he said "Always have."