When the night breaks open

When the night breaks open
Dante’s POV

The night stopped making sense somewhere between my second glass of whisky and the moment the music began to feel like noise. The woman on my lap kept shifting, trying to draw my attention back to her, but my mind had already drifted too far away from this room.

I checked my wristwatch.

Three in the morning.

I blinked. How had time slipped that fast. The Vintage never slept, but I suddenly felt too awake. Too restless. Too tired of every sound around me.

I gently lifted the woman off my lap and stood. Ethan looked up from his cigarette, eyes hooded but aware.

“Leaving already,” he asked.

“Yes.”

He shrugged as if he expected that. As if he understood that whatever I came here to drown refused to sink.

“Try not to disappear again,” he said.

I gave him a small nod. That was the closest thing to a farewell between us.

I walked out of the VIP section, out of the main hall, out of the building. The cold greeted me again, sharper than before. I breathed it in, hoping it would clear something in me.

I climbed into my car, closed the door, and exhaled. Silence settled over me like a blanket. I started the engine and played something soft. A slow jazz track. The kind that melted into the background and let you think. Or overthink.

The streets were empty. Streetlights flickered at every turn. The world felt suspended between night and morning.

Then something caught my eye.

A car sped past me. Too fast. Too familiar.

My brows tightened. The headlights blurred as it cut across the road ahead, the tail lights glowing a color I recognized. No. It could not be. But the shape of it. The model. The slight scratch on the left rear side.

I knew that car.

I knew it too well.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I wanted to ignore it. I told myself it could be anyone. My chest disagreed.

I turned the wheel sharply and drove after it. The jazz music hummed softly, completely out of place with the sudden tension tightening my ribs.

I narrowed my eyes at the plate number as the car came into view. My pulse tripped.

I memorized that number the day I tossed the keys to Leonardo. Catherina’s car. The same one she used every day.

What was it doing here.
On these dark streets.
At three in the morning.

Was she out drinking. Wandering. Putting herself in danger without knowing it. Something hot and angry twisted inside me. The thought alone irritated me. Scared me.

I slowed, keeping distance, watching.

But when I turned into the next road, the car vanished. As if it had been swallowed by the night.

I halted my car in the middle of the empty street. My eyes darted from left to right. The road stretched quiet and hollow with no sign of movement. My heart hammered against my ribs.

Where did it go.

I leaned forward a little, scanning every corner.

Then a light exploded beside me.

Too bright. Too sudden.
I flinched.

Before I could react, the second car rammed into mine with a violent force. Metal screamed. My body jerked forward as the world tilted sideways. My car broke through the weak barrier of the bridge and dropped hard. The air bag exploded against my face, knocking the breath out of me.

Silence.
Then the groan of bent metal.

Pain shot through my abdomen. I tasted blood.

I forced myself to move. My hand pushed against the broken door until it gave way. I crawled out and dragged myself into the shrubs beside the bridge, hiding in the thick shadow of the leaves.

The car that hit me paused.

Its engine hummed.
Waiting.
Searching.

I held my breath, curled behind the shrubs, my vision wavering. Pain thickened in my stomach. Something sharp was embedded there. Glass. I could feel it every time I breathed.

Minutes passed before the car sped off into the night, its taillights vanishing into darkness.

Only then did I push myself upright.

I gritted my teeth as I stood. My legs shook. I pressed my hand to my wound, feeling the warm sticky blood soaking through my clothes.

One step.
Another.
And another.

I walked. Dragged. Limped.

The road felt endless. My breath came in uneven bursts. The world around me blurred. Streetlights stretched into long, distorted shapes. I kept going. I did not know how long. I only knew that stopping meant collapsing where no one would find me.

By the time the mansion came into view, the sky had begun to pale at the edges. I stumbled through the gate, leaving a trail of blood behind me. My knees hit the floor just inside the hallway. My hand gripped the edge of the wall as I forced myself upright again.

One last walk.

I reached my room and pushed the door open. My body swayed. The bed blurred in front of me. The moment I fell onto it, the pain finally caught up with me. A deep coldness settled in my limbs. My vision darkened.

The last thing I remembered was the faint smell of iron on my hands.
And the thought that maybe I would not wake up.

Then everything went black.

Everything felt Quiet in a way that felt almost peaceful. My body drifted through it as if I were floating somewhere between sleep and something deeper than sleep. Something close to nothingness.

Then a cool sensation touched my skin.

Cold. Soft. Pressed gently against my chin.

A faint voice reached me from far away, muffled like it came from underwater.

“Please. Wake up. Please.”

My brows tightened. My breath shuddered. My eyes fluttered open slowly, fighting the weight pulling them down. Light rushed in. It stung. Shapes blurred. The ceiling came into focus first.

Then a face leaned over me.

Catherina.

Her hair was messy, strands falling out of whatever held it together. Her eyes were wide and glassy, as if she had been crying or fighting tears for too long. Her hands trembled slightly as she held the cold compress to my jaw.

“Dante.” Her voice cracked on the second syllable. “Can you hear me. Are you okay.”

I stared at her, disoriented.

Her face was too close. Too soft. Too panicked.
My chest tightened.

I parted my lips to speak, but my throat burned. “Catherina.”

Her breath hitched, relief flooding her features so visibly it made something painful twist in me.

“Oh thank God. You scared me. You really scared me.” She whispered the words as if they were fragile. She pressed the compress back to my chin with trembling care.

I shifted slightly, a bolt of pain ripping through my abdomen. It forced a hiss out of me. Her hand immediately shot to my shoulder, steadying me.

“Do not move,” she said, her voice still shaking. “You are bleeding. You lost a lot of blood. I have been trying to stop it. I thought you were not breathing at first. You were so cold. You did not respond when I called you.”

Her words blurred together at the edges, frantic and desperate. I could hear the fear beneath every syllable.

I blinked slowly, trying to piece together how I got here. The bridge. The crash. The walk home. Her voice now.

“How long have I been out,” I asked. My voice sounded weak. Detached.

Her eyes darted to my abdomen, then back to my face. “Long enough to terrify me. I found you collapsed on your bed. Your shirt was soaked. I thought…” She cut herself off and looked away, swallowing hard.

I watched her quietly. She looked small. Frightened. Angry with herself. Angry with me. I was not sure.

“What are you doing here,” I asked softly.

She looked back at me, hurt flickering in her expression. “I live here.”

I almost laughed, but the pain stopped me.

“That is not what I meant.”

Her lips pressed together. She looked away again, her voice lower. “I heard something. I heard you fall. Then I found blood on the floor. I followed the trail and…” She shook her head, unable to finish.

Silence followed.

Her fingers lifted again, brushing the compress gently along my jaw. She avoided my eyes as if looking at me hurt her.

“You could have died,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes briefly, letting the truth settle. She said it like an accusation. Like a fear she did not want to name.

When I looked at her again, she was still staring at me with that fragile panic, that desperate concern she tried so hard to hide.

“Catherina,” I said qu
ietly. “I am fine.”

“No you are not.” Her voice trembled. “You are bleeding. You were unconscious. You look like someone tried to kill you.”

I held her gaze.

She was right.