Chapter 25 Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty Five
Nina’s POV
His words hit harder than the slap.
This mansion witnessed no peace till you came in.
For a second I just stare at him, my ears ringing, my face burning, blood still running down my forehead. Then my chest tightens so fast I can’t breathe.
I let out a broken laugh that sounds like a sob.
“Well, it’s not like I want to be here!” I shout.
My voice echoes off the marble and steel. Everyone goes still. The guards. Nana. Even Isabela quiets down, her fake sobs cutting off.
I point at Dante with a bloody hand.
“I didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘Hey, I want to be kidnapped by three criminals and locked in a glass cage by the sea.’ You think this is my dream life?”
Tears spill over, hot and fast. They mix with the blood on my face and drip down my chin.
“I lost my mom,” I choke. “You hear me? I watched cancer eat her alive. Then I lost my boyfriend because he could not stand my grief. Then my father sold me like furniture. Now he’s dead too. And you—”
I jab my finger at Dante again.
“You three are here messing with my brain and my body and my heart like it’s a game. Like I’m some toy you picked up on a shelf. You take me away from the real world, from my life, from everything I was trying to build, and then you look at me like I’m the problem.”
My throat hurts. My head is pounding. My voice keeps rising anyway.
“I’m missing so much of my medical school!” I scream. “Do you even get that? I worked my ass off to get in. I studied every night while my mom was dying. I was supposed to be in class right now. In a white coat. Learning how to save lives. Not learning how to clean blood off dungeon floors and dodge bullets meant for you.”
My legs give out.
Nana catches me when I fall. I drop to my knees and bury my face against her chest, clinging to her like a child. She smells like onions and soap and home.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I sob into her shirt. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
Her hands stroke my hair, careful around the wound. “I know, mija. I know. Let it out.”
Enzo kneels on my other side and wraps his arms around both of us. His chest is warm against my shoulder. I feel something hard press into my stomach through his waistband.
His gun.
The cold shape digs into my skin.
The reality hits me again like a bucket of ice water.
This is not a dream. Not a movie. Not something I can switch off. There are guns on their bodies. Blood on my face. Enemies outside the gates that want me dead.
This is my life now.
The sob that rips out of me is ugly and loud. I clutch Nana’s shirt tighter, fingers shaking.
Enzo’s hand moves in slow circles on my back. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Breathe. In. Out. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
The gun digs into my stomach again when he shifts, and I cry harder, because “safe” looks like armed men and security cameras and bodies on floors.
From across the room, a calm, sweet voice cuts through the chaos.
“Well, so sorry about that, Isabella.”
For a second I think I misheard.
Isabela steps out from behind Dante’s arm, wiping fake tears from her cheeks. Her eyes are dry and bright. Her tone is soft, almost gentle, but the words are sharp.
“No one really cares about you,” she says, looking straight at me. “So be grateful that these men even house you, despite the insane amount your dad owed them.”
She smiles as she says it. Sweet. Polite. Almost kind.
But the smile is wrong. It’s curved like a knife.
Something in me snaps again.
I pull away from Nana and Enzo, still on my knees, still shaking, and stare at her.
“Fine,” I say, my voice rough. “Then tell me the amount and let me go. I’ll pay you back. All of it. Every last cent. Just give me the number.”
Dante makes a low sound. Enzo goes tense beside me.
Isabela lifts a brow, amused. “How, sweetheart?”
The word drips out of her mouth like poison.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “I can sell my mom’s gold jewelry. I can sell everything she left me. I can work. I can do anything other than enduring this hell.”
My fingers dig into the tile. My head is spinning. My chest hurts.
“I would rather sleep on the street than spend one more day in this house feeling like I’m losing my mind.”
Nana whispers my name, but I push on. The words are falling out too fast to stop.
“I’ll go back to my school. I’ll get a job. I’ll pay every dime. I’ll send you money till I drop dead. Just let me walk out of that gate without a gun pointed at my back.”
Enzo tightens his arms around me again, pulling me closer, like he wants to shield me from my own words.
“Calm down,” he says, voice low. “Princess, you’re hurt. You’re bleeding. You’re not thinking straight. Breathe first. We can talk about everything later.”
I twist in his hold, trying to look up at Dante.
He stands there, hands on his hips, blood on his shirt from both me and Isabela. His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark.
He doesn’t step closer.
He doesn’t say he’ll let me go.
He just lets out a sharp breath and rolls his eyes.
“Everyone here is in danger,” he says, voice flat. “You think you’re special? You think you’re the only one who’s scared? Quit being a pussy and man up.”
The kitchen goes dead quiet.
Even the guards shift, uncomfortable.
Nana pulls back from me, staring at him like she can’t believe what she heard. Enzo’s grip on me turns to stone. Nikolai, who has been silent at the door, goes stiff, his eyes locking on Dante.
My chest goes cold.
I laugh, but there is no humor in it. It comes out cracked and ugly.
“Man up?” I repeat. “You want me to man up?”
He looks at me, still cold. “Yes. You want to survive in this world? Grow a spine. Everyone in this house has blood on their hands. Everyone is a target. You’re not a little princess in a tower anymore. You’re in a war. Start acting like it.”
Something sharp and dark rises in me.
I push myself up from the floor. My legs shake, but I stand anyway. Blood runs down from my forehead, soaking the collar of my shirt. My cheek still burns from the slap.
I take a step toward him.
Enzo says my name, warning in his voice. Nana grabs my wrist, but I gently pull free.
I walk until I am standing right in front of Dante. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.
He looks down at me. His face is unreadable.
My heart is beating so hard it hurts. My hands are shaking. My head is splitting open.
I don’t care.
“Maybe,” I say slowly, “if you train me and give me a damn gun…”
His brows twitch, just a little.
“…then I will man up,” I finish, my voice rising, “while putting some bullets in your head.”
The words hang there between us, heavy and sharp.
The whole room freezes.
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Even the guards, men who have seen death a hundred times, look shocked.
Nana sucks in a breath and covers her mouth. Enzo’s eyes go wide. Nikolai’s gaze snaps to Dante’s face, waiting.
Behind him, Isabela gasps, her hand flying to her chest, her eyes bright with fake shock and real interest.
And I just stand there, staring straight into Dante’s dark eyes, daring him to say something.
Daring him to move.
Daring him to see that I am not his quiet little pet anymore.