Chapter 34 The Execution
He moved faster than a man that size should be able to move.
One second, he was by the fireplace, the next, he was at the foot of the bed. I didn't wait. I didn't hesitate. I threw myself forward, not away from him, but at him.
It was the only move he didn't expect.
I swung the serrated knife in a wild, vicious arc aimed at his neck.
He caught my wrist mid-air. His grip was like a hydraulic press. He didn't even flinch.
He just twisted my arm until the bones ground together and the knife slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the floor.
"Feisty," he grunted.
He yanked me off the bed. I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me.
Before I could scramble away, he was on top of me, his knee pressing into my spine, pinning me to the Persian rug.
"Don't fight it," he hissed in my ear. "If I have to knock you out, I will. He prefers you awake, but he’ll take you unconscious."
"Get off me!" I screamed, thrashing against his weight. I clawed at his leg, my fingernails digging into the fabric of his tactical pants.
He grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my face into the rug. The taste of dust and wool filled my mouth.
"Quiet," he ordered. He reached for a zip-tie on his belt.
I couldn't breathe. His weight was crushing me. The terror was a cold, sharp thing in my chest.
This was it. I was going to disappear. I was going to be dragged through the walls like a rat and delivered to a man who thought I was a key.
Then, the world exploded.
It wasn't the door. It wasn't the window. The wall behind the bed disintegrated.
There was a deafening boom, a sound so loud it wasn't noise, but pressure. Plaster and wood erupted into the room in a cloud of white dust.
The intruder flinched, his head snapping up.
Through the haze of dust, a figure emerged from the hole in the wall.
Dante.
He didn't look human. He was covered in white drywall dust, his black shirt torn, his face a mask of absolute, demonic fury.
He hadn't used the door. He hadn't picked the lock. He had blown a charge or used a sledgehammer to smash straight through the infrastructure to get to me.
He held a handgun in each hand.
He didn't speak. He didn't pause to assess. He saw the man on top of me, and he fired.
Bang.
The shot went wide, shattering a vase on the mantle, but it forced the intruder to roll off me.
"Move!" Dante roared.
I scrambled away, crawling on my hands and knees toward the bathroom, coughing in the dust-choked air.
The intruder was fast. He rolled behind the heavy armchair, using it for cover. He returned fire, two quick shots that dug into the wall near Dante’s head.
Dante didn't take cover. He advanced.
He walked into the room, firing methodically, suppressing the intruder, forcing him to keep his head down.
Dante’s face was terrifyingly calm. He wasn't fighting for survival; he was fighting for extermination.
The intruder popped up, aiming for Dante’s chest.
Dante was faster. He fired his right-hand weapon.
The bullet caught the intruder in the shoulder. He grunted, his aim spoiling, his shot going into the ceiling.
Dante fired again. The intruder’s gun hand exploded in a spray of red mist. He dropped his weapon, howling in pain.
Dante closed the distance. He kicked the armchair aside like it was made of cardboard.
The intruder lay on the floor, clutching his ruined hand, looking up at the barrel of Dante’s gun.
"Wait!" the man gasped, breathless, blood pooling around him. "Wait! I have intel!"
Dante didn't lower the gun. He stood over the man, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a cold, grey fire.
"You touched her," Dante said. It wasn't a question. It was a verdict.
"She’s the vault!" the man shouted, desperate, his eyes darting between Dante and Dante.
"He knows! Her father left it in her! You kill me, you lose the code!"
I froze near the bathroom door. The vault?
"Dante," I whispered. "He knows about my father."
Dante’s eyes flickered to me for a split second. He saw I was alive. He saw the bruise forming on my cheek where my face had hit the floor.
He looked back at the man.
"You think I care about money?" Dante asked softly.
"It’s not money! It’s everything! Codes! Territories! The Rosetti legacy! She’s the key!" The man was pleading now, bargaining with his life. "I can tell you—"
"You gassed my daughter," Dante said.
"It was a distraction!"
"You put your hands on my guest."
"I was doing a job! Caravelli, listen to me! Rinaldi is coming with an army! You need what I know!"
Dante stared at him. For a second, I thought he would listen. I thought the strategic, calculating Don would take the asset, interrogate him, and extract the secrets about Rinaldi and my father.
But Dante wasn't calculating. Not tonight.
"Rinaldi can come," Dante said.
He aimed the gun at the man’s forehead.
"And he can die just like you."
"No—"
Bang.
The shot was final. The man’s head snapped back. He slumped against the ruined wall paneling, his blue eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.
The silence that followed was heavy and ringing.
I sat on the floor, staring at the body. The man who had terrorized me for weeks. The ghost in the walls. He was dead, just like that.
Dante lowered the gun. He didn't look at the body. He looked at me.
He walked over to me, holstering one weapon but keeping the other in his hand. He crouched down, his eyes scanning my face, checking for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" he asked. His voice was rough, tight with adrenaline.
"I... I'm okay," I stammered. "My wrist. He twisted it."
Dante reached out and gently took my hand. He inspected the wrist. It was red, but not broken. He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.
"You're safe," he said.
"He said…" I whispered, looking at the dead man. "He said I was the key."
"He was lying to save his skin," Dante said dismissively. "Rinaldi is a madman. He invents justifications for his greed."
Dante stood up and offered me his hand. "Come. We need to get you out of here. The room is a crime scene."
I took his hand. He pulled me up.
As I stood, something fell out of the pocket of my oversized shirt.
It hit the floor with a distinct, metallic clink.
We both looked down. Lying on the Persian rug, shining in the harsh light of the exposed room, was the silver key.
The key with the skull head. The key I had used to enter the tunnels. The key I had omitted from my story.
The air in the room changed instantly. The relief evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension.
Dante looked at the key. Then he looked at the hole in the wall paneling where the intruder had broken through a panel that was clearly a maintenance hatch, hidden behind the woodwork.
He looked back at the key on the floor.
Then he looked at me.
His expression hardened. The warmth that had been there moments ago, the protective concern, vanished behind a wall of ice.
He reached down and picked up the key. He turned it over in his fingers.
"You said you found a hatch near the pantry," he said quietly.
"I..." My throat went dry. "I did."
"This isn't a pantry key, Lilith. This is a master key for the internal grid. My father had three made. I have one. Giovanni has one."
He looked at the open panel in the closet, visible now that the room was torn apart.
"And you have one."
He stepped closer to me. The gun was still in his hand at his side.
"You didn't just find a hatch," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You've been in the walls. You've had access this whole time."
"I found it in the closet," I said quickly, stepping back. "I was going to tell you—"
"When?" he snapped. "After you let a killer into my bedroom?"
"I didn't let him in! I told you he was in the walls!"
"You told me half a story!" Dante roared. "You told me enough to clear your conscience but not enough to solve the problem. You held back the specific location. You held back the key."
He gestured to the hole in the wall where he had just broken through.
"I tore this house apart looking for him. I put my men at risk. I put Jasmine at risk. Because I was searching the West Wing while he was sitting right here, behind your wall, waiting for you."
He held up the silver key. "You used this to spy on me, didn't you?"
I couldn't lie. Not with the evidence in his hand.
"Yes."
"You watched me."
"Yes."
"And when I locked you in this room... when I chained you up... you could have left at any time."
"Yes."
He stared at me, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. It wasn't just anger. He had started to believe that we were on the same side.
And I had proven him wrong.
"I thought we were fighting a war together," Dante said, his voice cold and empty.
"We are," I pleaded. "I saved Jasmine."
"You saved Jasmine," he agreed. He pocketed the key. "That is the only reason you are not going into the cellar with that trash on the floor."
He turned away from me.
"Get your things," he ordered. "We are leaving."
"Leaving? Where?"
"The house is compromised. The security is a joke. And clearly," he looked back at me with eyes like winter, "I cannot trust the people inside it."
"We are going to Sicily."
"Now?"
"Now. Pack a bag, Lilith. And don't bother hiding any knives this time."
He walked to the door, stepping over the dead body without a second glance.
"Because where we are going," he said, "there are no walls to hide in."