Chapter 149 You're Alive

Chapter 149 You're Alive
Lorelei‘s POV

Then he moved. He stepped in front of me, using his body to block me from view, pressing me deeper into the shadows. His hand found my elbow—firm and grounding, keeping me upright when my knees threatened to give out.

"Breathe," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Lorelei, you need to breathe."

I tried. But my lungs wouldn't cooperate, my chest constricting tighter with each failed attempt. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, black spots dancing across my field of view.

No. Not here. Not now. You can't fall apart. Not where he might see you.

I pressed my palm flat against the wall beside me, using it to anchor myself. One breath. Then another. Slow. Controlled. Even though every instinct was screaming at me to run.

"After a year of dead ends, anyone rational would have moved on," Julian said, his eyes still fixed on that corner table. "But apparently he's not rational. Not when it comes to you."

The words made something cold settle in my stomach. I'd watched Dante operate for months, had seen the way he approached problems with surgical precision. But when it came to me, that logic had always fractured into something obsessive and consuming.

"How?" I managed, my voice hoarse and broken. "How could he have found me?"

"I don't know." Julian's grip tightened. "We need to leave. Now."

My body screamed yes. Every survival instinct was begging me to run, to disappear into the night before Dante could spot me.

But my mouth said: "No."

Julian's head snapped toward me. "Lorelei—"

"I'm not running again." The words came out shaking. My eyes darted past Julian toward the restaurant's main entrance—the only way out that didn't involve making a scene. And it was right there, past Dante's table, impossible to reach without walking directly into his line of sight. "I've built a life here. I have a company, employees."

The main exit is past his table. If I try to leave now, he'll see me for certain. And the kitchen exit—running through there like a criminal would only confirm his suspicions.

My mind raced through the options, each one worse than the last. Stay hidden and wait for him to leave? But what if he stayed for hours? I couldn't cower in this alcove all night.

"I know what he wants," I continued, forcing the words out even as my hands shook. "But I'm not the same person I was a year ago."

At least if I sit down, stay out of sight, I can wait for the right moment. Wait for him to leave first.

Julian studied my face, weighing options, calculating risks. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained grim. "Alright. But we're sitting where he can't see you. And if we need to leave—" He paused, his jaw tight. "The main exit is past his table. We'll have to use the kitchen exit if it comes to that."

The words sent a fresh wave of panic through me. Trapped. We were trapped unless we wanted to make a scene. But at least sitting down, staying hidden in the back corner—at least that bought us time. Time for him to finish his dinner and leave.

"Okay," I whispered.

The maître d' appeared immediately, leading us to a table near the back—thankfully on the opposite side from where Dante sat, tucked into a corner where the lighting was dimmer, where I could press my back against the wall and feel marginally less exposed.

I kept my back to him the entire walk, my shoulders tense, waiting for a hand to grab me. But nothing happened. I slid into the seat that faced away from his corner.

Julian sat across from me, tension visible in his shoulders. He was watching, staying alert, his eyes flicking periodically toward that corner table.

The waiter appeared with menus and water.

"Lorelei." Julian's voice pulled me back. "You need to breathe."

I'd been holding my breath, my hands clenched so tight around the menu that my knuckles had gone white. I forced myself to exhale slowly, to pretend I was a normal person having a normal dinner.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"We can still leave. Through the kitchen."

"Not yet." I opened the menu, staring at words that refused to form coherent meaning. "If we run now, it'll only confirm his suspicions. We wait. We act normal. And when he leaves first, then we go."

Julian's expression softened slightly. "Smart. Alright. But I'm here."

The first course arrived. I pushed it around my plate, taking small bites that tasted like ash. Julian kept up a steady stream of conversation—anything to keep my mind occupied.

But my entire awareness was focused on the table behind me, on the knowledge that Dante was sitting there, breathing the same air after a year of absence.

Why is he here? After all this time—what changed?

Halfway through the main course, I risked a glance over my shoulder—just a quick look, casual, like I was searching for our waiter.

The table was empty.

Two place settings, half-finished meals, wine glasses. But no Dante. Just the evidence of a dinner interrupted.

He left. He's gone.

Relief flooded through me so suddenly I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself. He'd left. He hadn't seen me. We were safe.

"I need to use the restroom," I said, my voice shaky but determined. "He's gone. I just—I need a minute to pull myself together."

Julian's eyes followed my gaze to the empty table, and I watched some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Alright. But be quick."

I stood on legs that felt steadier now. The walk to the restroom felt less like walking through a minefield and more like simple movement through space.

Inside, I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the ornate mirror. My face was pale, my eyes too wide, but I was still standing.

"You're okay," I whispered. "You're safe."

I dried my hands, smoothed my hair, forced my expression into something calm. Then I pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway.

The corridor was dimly lit, all warm sconces and dark wood paneling. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor.

That's when I heard them.

Footsteps behind me. Not casual. Something more purposeful. More familiar.

You're imagining things.

But my body knew better. My shoulders tensed. My pace quickened.

The footsteps matched my speed.

Just keep walking. Get back to Julian.

I was maybe ten feet from the dining room entrance when a hand closed around my wrist.

The grip was iron—hot and unbreakable, fingers pressing into the delicate bones with enough force to bruise. Before I could scream, I was being spun around and pushed backward.

My back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. The impact sent shock waves through my spine, and I gasped—

Then I looked up.

Dante.

His face was maybe six inches from mine, close enough that I could see every detail with brutal clarity. The dark circles under his eyes. The sharp cheekbones that seemed more pronounced, like he'd lost weight. The particular pallor that came from spending too much time indoors.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart.

Red. Bloodshot. The whites threaded with broken capillaries, the grey irises almost feverish with intensity. He was staring at me like I was a hallucination he was afraid would disappear if he blinked.

Oh god. He's here. He found me.

My mouth opened but no sound came out. My entire body had gone rigid with shock and fear.

His free hand came up to my face, fingers trembling slightly as they touched my cheek—so gentle compared to the brutal grip on my wrist. He traced the line of my jaw with something that looked like wonder, like he was confirming I was solid, real.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, wrecked, barely above a whisper:

"Lorelei."

Just my name. But the way he said it—like a prayer, like a curse, like the answer to a question he'd been asking for a year—made my blood run cold.

His grip on my wrist tightened painfully, and I watched his expression shift from wonder to something darker. His other hand moved from my face to the wall beside my head, caging me in, and when he spoke again his voice was rough with barely contained emotion, choking on the words:

"I knew I would find you."