Chapter 33 Dante's POV
Dante broke every traffic law between his apartment and Sant'Angelo Hospital.
Red lights didn't exist. Speed limits were suggestions. The ten minutes he'd promised Aria stretched into seven of pure adrenaline and barely controlled panic.
Someone had shot at her. Three times. In a hospital parking garage where she should have been safe.
His phone was still connected, Aria's breathing audible through the speaker. Shaky but steady. Talking about inconsequential things her surgery that morning, the weather, anything to stay calm while he drove like hell was chasing him.
Maybe it was.
"I can see the hospital," he said, taking a corner hard enough that tires screamed. "Two minutes. Are you still alone?"
"Yes. My car's destroyed, Dante. The window, the door. If I'd been inside when—"
"Don't. Focus on my voice. I'm almost there."
He pulled into the garage entrance, killed the headlights, and let the car coast down the ramp on the near-silent electric motor. Years of surviving by being smarter and more vicious than everyone else kicked in. If the shooter was still here, waiting for a second chance, Dante wanted the element of surprise.
He spotted her car first. Driver's side window blown out, a bullet hole punched through the door at chest height.
His blood ran cold.
Then he saw her sitting against a concrete pillar twenty feet away, knees drawn up, phone pressed to her ear. Alive. Whole. Terrified but breathing.
Dante was out of the car before the engine fully died. "Aria."
She looked up, relief flooding her face. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward him. He caught her, pulling her against his chest.
"You're okay," he breathed into her hair.
"Someone shot at me." Her voice was muffled against his shirt. "Three times. I heard the bullets, Dante. One went through my car door right where I would've been sitting."
He forced himself to gentle his grip, checking her over hands, arms, face. Looking for blood, injuries, anything wrong. "You're not hurt?"
"Just scared." Her laugh was shaky. "Really, really scared."
"Fear keeps you alive." He guided her toward his car, away from the exposed position. "Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail."
She did. The celebration ending. Walking to her car. The first shot. Dropping and crawling between vehicles while bullets pinged off metal around her. The message sent while hiding.
Dante's rage built with each word cold, precise, the kind that made men disappear.
"Show me."
Aria pulled up her phone with trembling hands. Unknown number. Same tactic as the video delivery untraceable, anonymous, designed to terrify.
Next time it won't just a empty space it will be your head. Stop asking questions about your father. Stop seeing Dante Moretti. Or the next bullet finds you. This is your only warning.
"Your father," Dante said quietly. "What questions have you been asking?"
"None. Not really. Just..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "The video. The one showing a man near my mother's car before her accident. I showed it to Papa. He said it was fake, that business rivals were trying to manipulate me."
"And you believed him?"
"I wanted to." She met his eyes. "Because if I don't, that means my father might have killed my mother. And I can't I'm not ready to accept that."
Dante understood wanting to believe lies. He'd spent years believing his own.
"The message also mentioned me. Which means someone thinks our relationship threatens them."
"Everyone thinks our relationship is a problem," Aria said bitterly. "My mentor. My colleagues. Probably half the hospital staff. But I don't think any of them would shoot at me over it."
"No. This is something else." Dante pulled out his phone, texted Rocco with quick efficiency. Need security on Aria Salvini. Now. Round the clock. She's a target.
The response came within seconds. On it. What happened?
Later. Just handle it.
"I should call the cops," Aria said, looking at her destroyed car. "File a report. This is attempted murder."
"It's a warning. If they wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Dante hated how clinical he sounded. "Parking garages have cameras, security. Whoever did this knew the angles, the timing. This was professional."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. It's supposed to make you understand what you're dealing with." He cupped her face. "Someone with resources and training just sent you a message. You've become a problem for someone powerful."
"I'm a surgeon. I save lives. I don't create problems."
"You do when you're connected to me. And when you start I meant to ask about mr.salvini." His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "Both make you dangerous to certain people. People who eliminate dangers."
Her eyes widened. "You think my father did this?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." The promise was steel. "And in the meantime, you're not going anywhere alone. Not your apartment. Not the hospital. Nowhere."
"I can't live like that. I have patients. Surgeries. A job."
"Then you'll have a shadow watching your back every second." His reaction left no room for any argument. "Non-negotiable someone is planning to target you. I'm not giving them a second chance."
Silence stretched between them. Then: "The dinner tomorrow. Are we still—"
"No. Not until I know who's after you and why."
"So I just hide? Let whoever this is control my life?"
"You stay alive." He pulled back. "I know you're not used to being afraid. But right now, survival matters more than pride."
"Is this what your life is like?" Her voice was small. "Always looking over your shoulder? Always expecting bullets?"
"Yes."
"That's not living. That's just existing."
"It's staying alive. Which is the prerequisite for everything else." His phone buzzed. Rocco again. Team dispatched. ETA three minutes.
"I'm taking you somewhere safe," he said. "Not your apartment they know where you live. Somewhere I can protect you properly."
"No." Aria stepped back. "I'm not running. I have surgery scheduled tomorrow morning. A valve replacement on a sixty-year-old woman who's been waiting three months. I'm not canceling because some psycho wants to scare me."
Dante recognized that stubbornness—the same steel that had made her stand up to him when they first met. That had made her save his life when she could have walked away.
"Fine. You do the surgery with armed security outside the OR. But you're staying at my place tonight where I know it's secure." He softened slightly. "Please, Aria. Let me keep you safe. Just until we know what we're dealing with."
She studied his face. Then nodded. "One night. To figure this out. But tomorrow I'm going back to my normal life."
"We'll see."
"That's not negotiable, Dante."
"Neither is keeping you alive." He pulled her toward his car as headlights appeared Rocco's team, right on time. "Come on. We're leaving before hospital security shows up and starts asking questions you don't want to answer."
Aria grabbed her purse from near her ruined car, cast one last look at the shattered window.
"Someone really sharp to shot me ," she whispered.
"I know." Dante stopped himself from finishing the thought aloud. And I'm going to make them regret being born.
Some truths were better left unspoken.
Later – Dante's Apartment
Dante's penthouse occupied the top two floors of a building in Parioli, Rome's wealthiest neighborhood. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city lights. Modern furniture, expensive art the kind of place that screamed money and power.
Aria stood in the living room, arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth.
"Drink this." Dante passed her the whiskey glass into her hands. "It'll help."
She drank it without hesitation, the burn centering her slightly.
"Your apartment is..." She trailed off, looking around. "Not what I expected."
"What did you expect? A lair? Weapons on the walls?"
"Maybe." A ghost of a smile. "This is almost normal."
"Almost." His phone buzzed Marco with preliminary findings. The security footage from the garage had been wiped. Professional job.
Which narrowed it down to someone with serious resources. Bruno Salvini qualified. So did half a dozen others who might want leverage over Dante through Aria.
"The guest room is upstairs," he said. "Private bathroom. Anything you need."
"What I need is answers. Who would want me dead? And why?"
"I'll find out. I promise you that." He pocketed his phone. "Get some rest. We'll start hunting for answers in the morning."
"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I hear gunshots."
Dante understood. He'd spent years hearing gunshots that existed only in his head.
"Then stay down here. I'll make coffee. We'll talk until you're exhausted." He moved toward the kitchen. "Tomorrow, we start fighting back."
Behind him, Aria sank onto the couch small, scared, but alive.
And Dante made a silent promise to whoever had pulled that trigger tonight.
They'd made a fatal mistake.
They'd gone after what was his.
And people who made that particular mistake didn't live long enough to regret it.