Chapter 86

Chapter 86
L A N A

“Why am I not surprised that I find you here?” Dante says, his voice walking across the street as he steps forward from the front of the Maserati, his eyes never leaving Ezio, not even to properly look at me, which unsettles me more than if he had stared.

He does not shout; he does not need to because the anger in him is obvious in the way his jaw tightens and in the way his shoulders square as if he is already bracing for impact. I watch him, and I barely recognise the man who offered me a room in his home, who spoke to me with patience and gave me space to breathe when everything in my life collapsed. The man standing in front of us now looks harder, colder, like someone who has been waiting for this confrontation and is almost relieved that it is finally here.

“I could say the same thing,” Ezio replies, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he finds this entire situation mildly entertaining rather than dangerous.

His hand remains at my waist, not squeezing but not releasing either, and I feel it as a statement more than a gesture of comfort. He shifts slightly so that I am just behind his shoulder, not fully hidden but clearly positioned as someone under his protection, and the possessiveness in that movement makes my pulse race because part of me hates being placed like that and another part of me feels safer because of it.

“I just came to make sure my woman was safe after you kidnapped her,” Ezio continues, his gaze finally dropping to me for a brief second before returning to Dante.

My woman. The words hang in the air, and I feel Ezio’s fingers press more firmly into my side at the claim.

“You are hardly in a position to accuse anyone of kidnapping,” Dante answers smoothly, lifting a brow as if he is amused by Ezio’s choice of words.

The tension between themis contained and dangerous, like two men who know exactly what the other is capable of and are waiting for the slightest excuse to act.

“So, you want to do this here?” Ezio asks, glancing briefly down the street where curtains are beginning to twitch in windows, and a few neighbours hover behind half-opened doors, pretending not to stare. “You want to bring attention to the entire neighbourhood?”

“That depends entirely on you, Benedetti,” Dante says, his voice tightening slightly as he steps closer, closing the distance by a fraction that feels significant.

I stand there between them, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might give me away, and I realise that I am not just afraid of what they might do to each other, I am afraid of what they might do because of me.

“You might not be entirely sane,” Dante continues, his mouth curving into something that is not quite a smile, “but I know you prefer operating without an audience. Are you certain you want one today?”

Ezio’s expression shifts, not to anger but to something more focused, and I feel his body tense slightly beside me as if Dante has struck a nerve.

“You caused enough of a scene yesterday,” Ezio counters, his eyes narrowing as he looks Dante over. “You had no business entering my home and assaulting my guests.”

“You and I both know you have given me more than enough reason to show up at your door,” Dante replies, his tone even colder than before, and the implication behind his words makes my stomach twist because this argument clearly runs deeper than me.

As they speak to each other, I feel like I am watching two versions of men I thought I understood reveal sides of themselves that were always there but carefully hidden from me. Dante, who had spoken to me gently, who had given me space and reassured me that I was safe, now stands with his hands curled into fists, his eyes burning with a hatred that feels personal. Ezio, who has always been intense and unapologetic about who he is, looks almost relaxed in comparison, as if confrontation is where he feels most comfortable.

“You want me dead,” Ezio says after a moment, tilting his head slightly as he studies Dante. “So the question is, why haven’t you done it already? I have never known you to hesitate.”

A murmur runs through the men behind Dante, but Dante himself does not react outwardly beyond a tightening of his jaw.

“Because you know exactly what I need from you before I finally put a bullet in you,” Dante replies, his eyes locking with Ezio’s. “You will confess.”

Ezio lets out a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh.

“How can I confess to something I never did?” he asks, spreading one hand slightly as if inviting logic into the conversation.

“Liar,” Dante snaps, and this time the word carries emotion that feels personal, not just professional rivalry.

“Believe whatever suits you, Accardi,” Ezio says, his voice cooling. “I have told you countless times that my family is innocent.”

The word innocent feels strange in this context, and I realise I have no idea what they are truly arguing about, no idea what history stands between them, and yet I am standing at the centre of it.

Dante’s gaze shifts to me again, and this time he really looks at me, his expression softening for just a second.

“Lana,” he says, and there is something almost comforting in his voice now. “Come here.”

Ezio’s hand tightens at my waist in response, and I feel the possessiveness surge again.

“She is not going anywhere with you,” Ezio says calmly, though the calm feels thinner now.

“I am not asking your permission,” Dante shoots back, taking another step forward.

I swallow, my mind racing, my body caught between two forces pulling in opposite directions. With Dante, I remember our conversations, the way he looked at me like I was fragile but capable, the way he never touched me without asking. With Ezio, I feel heat and intensity that borders on obsession...

“Lana,” Dante says again, more urgently this time. “It's alright, you'll be safe...” He continues, but instead I begin to panic, my heart now thundering in my chest.

“And you think she belongs with you?” Ezio counters, his lips curving slightly as if he finds the idea laughable. “You could not even keep her safe from your own enemies.” He says, and Dante's eyes narrow backa t Ezio.

“I kept her safer than you ever could,” Dante replies, and now there is no hiding the anger in him.

I realise with a sick twist in my stomach that I am no longer just a person in this argument, I am a symbol, a point of pride, something to be claimed.

And that realisation is what finally pushes me to move.

While they are locked in their stare down, while their men watch each other with hands hovering near weapons, I take a sharp step back, forcing myself out from under Ezio’s grip. My heart slams against my ribs as I turn and run, darting past one of Ezio’s guards who looks startled but does not grab me, likely under strict orders not to harm me. I hear someone shout my name behind me, I cannot even tell which one, and my lungs burn as I sprint down the sidewalk without a plan, in between two buildings.

Where the hell am I going?

The question hits me almost immediately, but I do not slow down because I know that standing between them feels worse than running into the unknown. I do not want to be claimed, I do not want to be the reason blood spills onto this street, I do not want to belong to either of them in a way that turns me into leverage...

I glance back once and see both men moving, their focus snapping to me at the same time, their argument forgotten in an instant as I become the priority again.

And that is when I understand something terrifying.

It does not matter where I run.

They will both follow...