Chapter 19 Always had a plan
The shot cracked through the warehouse like thunder.
But it didn’t hit Dante.
The bullet punched into the concrete floor inches from his chair, kicking up dust and shards. Everyone froze for half a heartbeat.
Then the lights died—every floodlight, every bulb—plunging the room into sudden, choking black.
Chaos exploded.
Shouts. Boots pounding. Metal clanging. A body hit the ground hard. Someone cursed in Italian.
I strained against the ropes, heart slamming so hard it hurt. “Dante!”
A hand clamped over my mouth—rough, calloused. A voice I knew whispered hot against my ear.
“Quiet, Lil. It’s me.”
Dante.
He was already behind me, knife slicing through the ropes on my wrists in one quick motion. The blade was cold, efficient. He’d come prepared. Of course he had.
The ropes fell away. He cut my ankles next. Then he was hauling me up, arm locked around my waist, pulling me low behind the table as gunfire erupted—sharp, controlled bursts, not wild panic shots.
“Down!” he barked.
We dropped. Bullets whined overhead, splintering wood, punching into crates.
In the dark, I could just make out shapes: Giovanni’s men firing toward the far wall, where muzzle flashes answered from multiple angles. Not random. Coordinated.
Dante pressed me against his side, shielding me with his body. His breathing was steady—too steady. This wasn’t surprise. This was execution.
“You planned this,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. Just waited for a lull in the shooting, then moved—dragging me toward the side exit, the one half-hidden behind stacked pallets.
We crawled. Low. Fast.
Behind us, Giovanni’s voice cut through the noise—calm, furious. “Find them! Kill the girl if you have to, but Moretti walks out in pieces!”
More shots. A scream—someone hit. Then a deeper boom, like a shotgun. One of the floodlights exploded in sparks.
We reached the pallets. Dante shoved me behind them, then rose just enough to fire twice—precise, suppressed pistol he must have hidden somewhere on him. Two bodies dropped.
He dropped back down beside me. “Stay low. My guys are inside the perimeter. They hit the power, cut the lights. We’ve got maybe ninety seconds before Giovanni’s reinforcements lock this place down.”
“Your guys?” My voice shook. “You said you’d come alone.”
“I lied.” He met my eyes in the dim glow from the emergency strips. “You think I’d walk in here blind? Giovanni’s not the only one with eyes everywhere.”
He pulled me up again. We ran—low, zigzagging—toward the side door. Snow swirled in through the gap under it, cold air hitting my face like a slap.
Behind us, the firefight intensified. Giovanni shouting orders. His men returning fire. But Dante’s people were pressing—methodical, closing the net.
We hit the door. Dante kicked it open.
Outside: night. Snow falling thick. Two black SUVs idling, engines low, no lights. Doors already open.
One of Dante’s men—Marco, I recognized him—leaned out, rifle up, covering us.
“Boss! Move!”
We sprinted. Bullets chased us—ricocheting off metal, chewing concrete.
Dante shoved me into the back of the nearest SUV. Dove in after me. The door slammed.
Marco jumped in the passenger seat. The driver floored it before the door even closed.
Tires spun on snow. We fishtailed out of the lot, headlights finally snapping on as we hit the access road.
Dante turned in the seat, watching the warehouse shrink in the rearview. Gunfire still echoed, but fainter now.
He exhaled—long, controlled.
Then he looked at me.
Bruises. Blood. Black dress torn at the hem.
His face twisted—pain, rage, guilt all at once.
“Jesus, Lil.” Voice rough. “I’m sorry.”
I stared at him. Still shaking. Still not sure what was real.
“You had a plan,” I said. Not a question.
He nodded once. “Always had a plan. The second you disappeared, I knew it was Rossi. I didn’t know how deep the play was, but I knew he’d use you to draw me in. So I let him think he had me.”
“You let him think you were coming alone.”
“I let him hear what he wanted to hear.” Dante’s jaw tightened. “I fed his people bad intel through back channels. Made it look like I was desperate, reckless. That I’d trade myself without backup because I was in love and stupid.”
He reached out. Touched my swollen cheek—gentle, like I might break.
“I wasn’t stupid,” he said quietly. “I was buying time. Getting my guys in position. Cutting the power grid to the warehouse. Planting charges on the outer fence in case we needed a distraction. Marco and the others waited until I was inside, then moved.”
I swallowed. “And the phone call? When I told you not to come?”
His eyes darkened. “Nearly killed me. Hearing your voice like that—broken. But I knew you were trying to protect me. That’s why I had to make it convincing. Had to sound like a man who’d die for you.”
“You almost did.”
“Almost doesn’t count.” He gave a small, bitter smile. “Giovanni’s arrogant. He thought he had the upper hand. Thought I’d walk in unprepared against one of the biggest families in the city. Foolish.”
He leaned back against the seat, finally letting some of the tension bleed out.
“He underestimated how far I’d go for you,” Dante said. “Always has.”
The SUV sped through the snow, city lights blurring past.
I looked at him—really looked.
Blood on his lip from the fight. Shirt torn. Eyes still burning with that same fire I’d seen the night we finally gave in.
“You could’ve died,” I whispered.
“So could you.” His voice cracked on the last word. “When I saw you tied up like that… bruised… I almost lost it for real. Almost forgot the plan and just started shooting.”
He reached for my hand. Laced our fingers. Held tight.
“But I didn’t. Because I knew if I fucked up, you’d pay for it.”
I squeezed back. Tears came then—hot, silent.
“I said those things,” I choked out. “The words Giovanni made me say. I hate you. Never loved you. I—”
“I know.” He pulled me against his chest. “I know they weren’t real. I saw your eyes when you said them. You were saving me the only way you could.”
I buried my face in his coat. Smelled smoke, snow, him.
“I thought you were going to die,” I whispered. “I thought I’d have to watch.”
He held me tighter. “Not tonight.”
Behind us, the warehouse was a distant glow now—flames licking up from one corner. Someone had set something off. Probably one of Dante’s charges.
Marco turned in the front seat. “Giovanni slipped out the back with three of his guys. Black Escalade. We’ve got eyes on it, but he’s running.”
Dante’s expression hardened. “Let him run. For now.”
He looked down at me. “We’re not done with him. But tonight? Tonight we get you safe. Get you cleaned up. Get you home.”
Home.
The word hit like a punch.
I nodded against his chest.
The SUV kept moving—fast, steady—cutting through the snow toward the city.
Dante didn’t let go of my hand.
Not once.