Chapter 67 The Calm Before

Chapter 67 The Calm Before

The safe house was a studio apartment in Pilsen, above a bakery that closed at six and didn't open again until five. Bella had rented it months ago, a place to disappear when the weight of the crown became too heavy. Since their previous rendezvous point is compromised, she chose here. Tonight, it was a place to disappear with him.

Dante arrived at 7:32 p.m., his knuckles still raw from the warehouse battle, his mind still racing with the revelation that Derek Rogers was Benito Marini. He needed to tell her everything. Needed to share the weight of it. Needed to plan.

He opened the door and forgot how to breathe.

Bella stood by the window, backlit by the city lights, wearing nothing but his shirt, the one he'd left at their previous place, the one she'd kept. Her hair was down, her feet bare, her eyes dark with something that had nothing to do with politics or power.

"You're late," she said.

"I had to, there's something I need to tell you. It's important."

"Later." She crossed the room in three steps, her hands finding his chest, his shoulders, his face. "It can wait."

"Dante, seriously..."

She kissed him. Not gently. Not patiently. The kiss of a woman who had spent three weeks waiting, worrying, and seriously up to her neck with carnal desires.

When she finally pulled back, his hands were already on her, his resolve crumbling.

"It can wait," she repeated. "We have tonight. Tomorrow, we talk. Tonight..." She pulled at his belt. "Tonight, I need to loose myself completely. I need to remember why."

He stopped trying to remember what was so important.

The hours that followed existed outside of time.

They made love like people who had stared into the abyss and found each other looking back. Desperate. Tender. Fierce. Sometimes all three at once. The city hummed below them, indifferent to their passion, while two people who carried the weight of empires on their shoulders tried to forget, just for a few hours, what waited at dawn.

They talked, too, in fragments, in whispers, in the space between breaths. About nothing. About everything. About the way the light caught her hair. About the scar on his shoulder from a mission that didn't exist anywhere. About the future they might never have.

Dante wanted to tell her. Wanted to share the truth about Derek—about Benito, about the call that had changed everything. But every time he opened his mouth, she found a way to silence him. With a kiss. With a touch. With a look that said: Not now. Not yet. Just be here with me. Kiss me, love me.

So he was.

Dawn broke over Chicago like a wound, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Bella lay tangled in the sheets, her head on Dante's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

"That was..." She searched for the word.

"Necessary," Dante offered.

She laughed, a real laugh, surprised out of her. "Necessary. Yes. Very necessary."

They lay in silence for a moment, watching the light creep across the ceiling.

Then Dante spoke.

"I have to tell you something. And you're not going to like it."

Bella's hand stilled. "What?"

"Derek. Your head of security." He took a breath. "That's not his real name."

Bella sat up slowly, the sheet falling away, her eyes sharpening into the Iron Rose. "What are you talking about?"

"Derek is Benito Bella. Benito Marini." Dante met her gaze. "He's alive. He's been alive this whole time. Working for you. Watching you. Waiting."

For a long moment, Bella said nothing. Her face was unreadable, the mask she wore when the world demanded she feel nothing.

"That's not possible," she finally whispered. "I saw the reports. The bodies. The..."

"He faked his death. He faked his death while my father and your uncle kept his sister prisoner for twenty-three years." Dante reached for her hand. "He called me last night. He's putting together a crew to rescue her. He asked for my help."

Bella pulled away, standing, walking to the window. Her back was to him, her silhouette sharp against the growing light.

"He's been in my home. In my office. He's seen everything..."

"He's not working for them. In fact, from his tone, his revenge is incomplete." Dante rose, crossing to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "He's been playing a longer game than any of us knew."

Bella was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was steady, too steady.

"Where is she? His sister?"

"A facility. Coordinates. We're moving soon."

"We?"

Dante hesitated. "I told him I'd help."

She turned, and her eyes were something he'd never seen before, not anger, not betrayal, something fiercer. Something that looked almost like pride.

"Then we'd better get ready."

Dante blinked. "You're not... angry?"

"I'm furious." She kissed him, quick and hard. "But I'm also the head of the Moretti family. And if my uncle has been holding a woman prisoner for twenty-three years, if he's been lying to all of us, if he's been playing games with people's lives..." Her jaw tightened. "Then he needs to answer for it. And I want to be there when he does."

Dante pulled her close, holding her against his chest.

"Thank you my love," he murmured.

"Day four " She looked up at him. "Let's make it count."

Across the city, in a facility that didn't exist on any map, Lucia Marini woke to the sound of footsteps.

Different footsteps. Not the guards. Not the doctor who came once a week to check her vitals. Someone else.

She sat up on her cot, her heart pounding, her eyes fixed on the door.

After twenty-three years, she had learned to read the language of her prison. The rhythm of the halls. The shift changes. The way the lights dimmed at midnight and brightened at six.

These footsteps didn't match any of those patterns.

Something was coming.

She didn't know what. Didn't know if it was rescue or execution or something in between.

But after twenty-three years, Lucia Marini was ready for either.

She stood, straightened her thin nightgown, and faced the door.

The footsteps stopped.

The handle turned.

And the world changed.