Chapter 48 Chapter 48
Chapter 48
Nina’s POV
The sirens wailed closer now, a distant howl cutting through the pandemonium like a promise that might never arrive. Red and blue lights pulsed through the high windows, casting erratic shadows across the marble floor, turning the chaos into a strobe-lit nightmare.
The countdowns ticked in unison—2:00, 1:59—each number glowing brighter on the pillar's display, wires humming with a faint, ominous vibration that I could feel in my bones. Isabella and Josh stood there, too calm, too still amid the stampede, their faces illuminated in the red glare like demons in hellfire.
“Are you so evil that you wouldn’t mind dying just for money, power, and politics?” I shouted, my voice raw and cracking over the screams. My heart pounded so hard it blurred my vision, but I could not look away from them.
Isabella’s eyes narrowed, her tears dried into streaks of black on her cheeks. Josh’s chuckle echoed again, low and unhinged, but before he could answer, a figure pushed through the thinning crowd at the base of the stage.
Dante.
He moved with that lethal grace, black tuxedo still impeccable despite the madness, no sign of fear on his sharp features.
He climbed the steps in two strides, eyes fixed on the bomb atop the pillar. In his hand, he held a small toolkit—sleek, black, like everything else about him.
He knelt beside the device, ignoring the guards who had frozen in confusion, rifles half-raised. The countdown hit 1:45. Dante’s fingers worked methodically, pulling out a thin wire cutter and a single silver pin from the kit.
He probed the casing, his face inches from the red numbers, sweat beading on his forehead but his expression locked in total focus.
Isabella spun toward him, her protective stance breaking. She kicked out hard, her heel connecting with his shoulder in a solid thud. Dante rocked slightly but did not stop, his hands steady as steel.
“You’ll be the first to die, you bastard!” she snarled, voice thick with rage and tears. “This isn’t your game!”
I lunged forward without thinking, my own heels slipping on the stage. “Please don’t do that! Dante, don’t!” My words tumbled out in a frantic plea, fear choking me. If he messed up, we all died. But he ignored me completely, his dark eyes never leaving the bomb.
The crowd below thinned further, people clawing over each other at the doors, a woman’s scream cutting off as she was trampled underfoot. The air vibrated with the countdown: 1:30. 1:29.
Dante inserted the pin into a tiny seam on the casing, twisting it with precise pressure. A soft click echoed—louder than it should have been in the frenzy.
The numbers froze at 1:25. The humming stopped. The wires went slack. He stood slowly, pocketing the pin, and turned to face the room.
The remaining guests—those who had not yet fled—erupted into applause. Claps echoed off the walls, sharp and relieved. Even the military men, their star-studded uniforms rumpled from the crush, nodded in impressed silence, one whispering into his radio with a look of awe.
Dante had disarmed it. With a single pin. Like it was nothing.
He turned to me then. His gaze locked on mine, dark and unreadable, staring straight into my soul. No words. No movement. Just that piercing intensity, as if he could see every fear, every secret I buried deep.
My breath caught, a mix of gratitude and terror twisting in my gut. Then he turned away, descending the steps without a backward glance, disappearing into the shadows near a side exit.
Josh laughed—loud, jagged, breaking the fragile relief. He clutched his side, still pale but his eyes gleaming with madness. “Good luck with the 500 other bombs.”
Isabella joined him, her laugh evil and echoing, a sound that chilled me to the core. It started low, building into something hysterical, her tears fresh again but mixed with triumph.
The crowd’s applause died instantly, replaced by fresh waves of panic. People who had paused now bolted again, shoving harder at the doors.
Dante paused at the exit, pulling out his phone. His fingers flew across the screen, expression still focused, then he vanished through the door.
Seconds later, a massive sound thundered from outside—a deep, rumbling boom that shook the entire building like an earthquake.
The floor buckled beneath us, marble cracking in spiderweb patterns. Chandeliers swayed violently, crystals tinkling like warning bells before one chain snapped, sending a massive fixture crashing to the floor in an explosion of glass and light. Sparks flew, igniting a nearby velvet curtain into flames.
Amanda and I screamed in unison, dropping to the ground. We hugged each other tight, bodies pressed close on the cold stage, covering our heads as debris rained down.
Dust filled the air, choking and thick, mixing with the acrid smoke from the burning curtain. My ears rang from the blast, the world tilting as aftershocks rippled through the structure. The pillar wobbled but stayed upright, its frozen numbers mocking us.
The hall was almost empty now. Bodies littered the floor—some still, some groaning and crawling toward the exits.
A child’s wail cut off abruptly as her mother scooped her up and ran. Flames licked higher, casting orange glows across the wreckage, turning the opulent room into a hellscape of shattered crystal and twisted metal.
People outside the doors pounded on glass, red and blue lights flashing brighter, closer, but the sirens still sounded muffled through the thick walls.
Amanda lifted her head first, coughing through the dust. “I think we can run now.”
We stood unsteadily, my legs shaking, crimson gown torn at the hem and smeared with grime. The air was hot, smoke stinging my eyes, tears blurring my vision. We stumbled toward the side steps, Amanda’s crystal heels cracking under the strain.
Josh’s voice stopped us cold. He had pushed himself up against the pillar, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, but his eyes were sharp.
“And what makes you think you get to live? You both.”
He reached into his jacket, pulling out a gun—small, black, gleaming under the flickering lights. The barrel swung toward us, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Before he could fire, a gunshot rang out—sharp, deafening. Josh crumpled, legs buckling as blood bloomed across his thighs, dark and spreading fast. He hit the floor with a thud, gun clattering beside him. He groaned, clutching his wounds, but his hands scrabbled for the weapon, fingers slick with blood.
Another shot cracked. Josh’s hand exploded in red, the gun skittering away. He howled, rolling in agony.
I lifted my eyes through the smoke. Enzo stood at the edge of the stage, gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.
He looked nothing like the playful man I knew—face taut, eyes cold and dangerous, body coiled like a predator ready to strike. No smirk. No tease. Just quiet lethality.
Isabella whirled, spotting the gun on the floor. She snatched it up, aiming straight at me, her hands steady despite the tears.
“You’ll pay for this!”
Enzo’s voice cut through, low and edged with steel. “Take care of your brother, Isabella. And watch out for the FBI. That’s the least I can do as your ex-lover.”
Her aim wavered, eyes widening in shock. Enzo turned to us then, gun lowering but not holstering. “Are you both stupid? Run for your lives!”
He disappeared into the smoke, vanishing toward the same exit Dante had taken.
Another explosion rocked the building—louder, closer, from somewhere deep in the structure. The floor heaved again, cracks widening, dust cascading from the ceiling. Flames roared higher, consuming velvet drapes and spreading to wooden panels.
Amanda and I clutched each other, stumbling down the steps. My heart raced, breaths coming in short gasps.
We pushed through the debris, feet slipping on glass shards and spilled liquid. The sirens were deafening now, right outside, but the doors were jammed with bodies and wreckage.
We frantically scanned for an exit—side doors, service halls, anything. Smoke thickened, burning my throat, tears streaming down my face.
Amanda coughed violently, her silver mask long gone, revealing wide, terrified eyes. Another boom shook the walls, lights flickering out one by one, plunging sections of the hall into darkness. Alarms blared, red emergency lights pulsing like blood.
We spotted a cracked door near the back—service access, maybe. We ran toward it, hands linked, hearts pounding. But as we reached it, a figure loomed in the shadows ahead, gun raised.