Chapter 43 The Waiting Game
The silence after the bridge exploded was worse than the noise of the battle.
For two days, the fortress felt less like a home and more like a waiting room.
The Russos had run away the moment they realized they couldn't get inside. They had blown up the stone bridge to trap us, thinking it would scare Dante.
They were wrong. It didn't scare him. It just made him work harder.
Dante treated the broken bridge like a math problem. He wasn't panicked. He was completely in control.
He spent his time in the command center, talking to his crews in the nearby towns. He ordered a barge with a crane to come around the coast.
He arranged for supplies. He slept in short shifts and ate while looking at maps.
He was the Lion in Winter, cold, smart, and ready for anything outside the walls.
He was so busy watching the road that he didn't notice the danger right inside his house.
I sat in the nursery window, watching the grey ocean crash against the cliffs below. Jasmine was on the floor, happily drawing pictures, oblivious to the fact that we were under siege.
In my mind, I kept repeating the numbers I had found in the archives.
04-21-88-12.
It was the code. It was the secret key to everything Dante owned, the leverage that could destroy his family or save it.
I had hidden the book behind a row of boring tax ledgers, but the numbers were burned into my memory.
I watched Dante from the balcony as he directed his men in the courtyard. He looked tired, but strong.
He pointed to the gate, giving clear orders. He was a natural leader, a king defending his castle.
I should have felt happy that I had a secret weapon against him. I should have been planning how to use it.
But every time I looked at his injured shoulder, a strange guilt tightened in my chest.
"Lilith?"
I jumped and turned around. Dante was standing in the doorway.
He looked rough. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, just a black t-shirt covered in dust from the repair work.
His arm was still in a sling, but he held himself straight. He hadn't shaved in two days, and the dark stubble made him look dangerous.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. His voice was scratchy from shouting orders over the wind.
"You didn't," I lied. "I was just watching the waves."
"The barge arrives tomorrow morning," he said, walking into the room. He checked the window lock, a habit he had developed since the attack.
"The crane will clear the rocks in three days. Maybe four."
"And then?" I asked, standing up. I crossed my arms. I needed to keep a distance between us.
"And then the road is open," he said. "We secure the perimeter. We go back to normal."
"Normal," I repeated. "You mean back to the hunt for the Key?"
Dante looked at me. His grey eyes were sharp. "The hunt never stopped, Lilith. It just paused."
He took a step closer to me. The room felt suddenly small.
"You have been quiet," he said. "Since we were in the archives. You seem... far away."
My heart beat faster. He was too observant.
"I'm just tired, Dante. Being trapped on a rock is exhausting."
"It is not just tired," he said softly. "You are looking at me differently."
I held my breath. Did he know? Could he see the numbers in my eyes?
"How am I looking at you?" I asked.
He stepped into my personal space. I could smell the salt air and the hard work on him. It was a strong, grounding scent.
"Like you are waiting for me to break," he said.
I swallowed hard. "Are you going to break?"
"No," he said simply. "I cannot afford to break. Not while you and Jasmine are here."
He reached out, his hand hovering near my face. He brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. His knuckles were rough, his skin warm.
"I promised to keep you safe," he whispered. "The road will be fixed. No one is getting in."
The sincerity in his voice made my stomach twist. He was trying so hard to protect me. He didn't know I was the one holding the knife behind my back.
"Meet me on the roof in twenty minutes," he said abruptly, dropping his hand.
"Why?"
"Because if we are stuck here for another few days, I need to know you can defend yourself."
He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the stone floor.
I watched him go. I touched my cheek where his hand had been. I almost laughed.
He wanted to teach me how to fight?
I thought about the cold weight of the revolver I had pressed against my father's temple months ago.
I thought about the days spent at the range with my father's enforcers when I was a teenager, learning to hit a moving target at fifty yards.
Dante thought I was a helpless girl.
I decided right then that I would let him keep thinking that.