CH-28

CH-28

Dante POV

Milan isn’t ours.
Not the way Palermo was. Not the way the De Luca bloodline ruled the south like kings and devils.

Here, the city breathes in hushed whispers and exhales danger.

The streets wear suits instead of scars, and the betrayals wear perfume. Neon reflects in puddles like broken promises.

Even the rain feels colder here—indifferent.

We don’t belong.

I feel it in my bones as we step out of the safehouse and into the rain-drenched midnight. Isabella walks beside me, chin tilted toward the black sky, face carved from something unbreakable. Her leather jacket clings to her body, soaked through.

The same one I once tore off her with shaking hands and too much need.

And still, I want her.
Still, I’d burn for her.

But now isn’t the time for hunger.
Now is the time for war.

Marco slides into the driver’s seat, cigarette clamped between his teeth. “What’s our play?”

I don’t answer right away. My gaze drops to the black envelope in my lap—Cassian’s newest poison pill.

Unopened. Unread. It feels heavier than paper has a right to. Like it’s soaked in blood already.

“We find out what the Syndicate wants,” I mutter, jaw clenched, “then decide if they’re worth bleeding for.”

“And Selene?” Isabella asks, voice flat, sharp.

My neck stiffens. “She’s already here. That bullet she left in the wall two nights ago was her calling card.”

I scan the rooftops, heart thudding. “We’re being watched.”

\==================

The meeting point reeks of rot and history. An abandoned textile warehouse along the old industrial belt—iron beams rusted to hell, broken windows whispering with the wind.

Cassian’s men are already inside. Four of them, silent, polished like marble statues in tailored coats.

I don’t recognize their faces. That means they’re either new blood or old ghosts. Either way, dangerous.

One steps forward, holding a second black envelope. His expression is all patience and power.

His eyes skip over Isabella like she’s invisible.

Smart man.
Men who stare at her too long tend to lose teeth.

“What’s the job?” I ask.

“Retrieve a package,” he says. “Someone’s been meddling in our shipments down by the Darsena canals.

Eliminate the interference. Bring the package back.”

“Elaborate.”

He gives a faint smirk. “Selene’s dogs. You’ll know them by the serpent tattoos.”

Of course.

The Darsena canals are beautiful in postcards. But tonight? They're death in disguise.

The old stone bridges above us drip with rain. The alleys are too narrow, too dark.

The air is thick with mildew and the kind of silence that only comes before blood spills.

“Stay close,” I tell Isabella, my voice low.

She gives me a look. “You stay close.”
I almost smile. Almost.

Marco takes the rear, his rifle wrapped in canvas like a corpse in mourning.

I spot them first—two of Selene’s soldiers crouched near a warehouse loading dock.

A crate sits between them. Their jackets are half-open, flashing the black serpent on their throats.

“That’s the package,” I whisper.

“Not for long,” Isabella breathes, already drawing her pistol.

I catch her wrist. “No shots. Not yet.”

She glares, eyes gleaming with heat, but says nothing.

We move in silence, water sloshing under our feet. I count steps between puddles.

Then—
Steel flashes. I drive my blade under the first guard’s ribs before he even turns.

His grunt is wet and final. The second man spins, hand reaching—
But Isabella’s silencer coughs once. His body drops like a rag doll.

I kneel by the crate, pry it open.
Weapons. High-grade. American military issue.

Selene isn’t just gathering soldiers.
She’s preparing for a fucking war.

We’re halfway back to the car when the world explodes.

A shot cracks the air, ricocheting off the brick near my head.

“DOWN!” I roar, pushing Isabella behind a steel pillar.

Marco returns fire, teeth bared, the alley a chaos of muzzle flashes and falling rain.

Figures appear in the smoke—four, six, more. Selene’s crest painted across their sleeves like a flag of death.

“She knew,” Marco spits. “She knew we’d come.”

“Fucking trap,” I growl, dragging Isabella toward cover.

She leans out, fires two precise shots, and drops two of them clean. Her face is smeared with rain and powder, her lips parted. Even now—
Even now she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Dante!” she snaps, fury and fire in her voice.

I drag her under the arch of an old church door, heart pounding. “We cut through the canal steps. Marco—cover our retreat!”

The stone steps down to the water are slick, narrow, and ancient. Marco follows, crate slung over one shoulder, swearing with every step.

We slip into the shadows beneath the bridge. The water smells like rotting iron and something worse. But it’s quiet—briefly.

Until I see him.

A shadow on the rooftop.
Sniper stance. Focused. Familiar.

Veritas.

My pulse stutters.
For a split second, I don’t move.

Just long enough for the bullet to find me.

Pain rips through my shoulder, hot and tearing. I hit the wall, teeth grinding.

“DANTE!”

Isabella’s beside me before I can blink, firing upward.

Blood pours from my arm. Her hands press down, fast and rough.

“Go,” I rasp. “Finish the job.”

“Not without you.” Her voice is shaking, but her eyes are steady. “I’m not leaving you again.”

I’ve never hated being human more than in that moment.
Weak. Bleeding. Slowing her down.

But god help me—I’ve never loved her more either.

\===============
By the time Marco skids the car around the corner, my blood has soaked half the seat.

Isabella’s hands are covered in it, but her grip doesn’t tremble.

She presses a rag to my wound like she’s stitching me together with her will alone.

“You saw him,” she says. “It was Veritas.”

I nod once.

“You hesitated.”

Her voice slices deeper than any bullet.

“I didn’t shoot him because we still might need him alive.”

“No,” she says bitterly. “You didn’t shoot him because you can’t. Just like you can’t let me go.”

I catch her wrist, smear her skin with my blood. “You think I’m weak for you?” I growl. “You think you’re my distraction?”

She glares at me, unblinking.

“You’re my reason. My goddamn anchor. And I’d burn this entire city down before I let anything happen to you.”

She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t look away, either.
And that silence? It says everything.

The car skids to a halt in front of the safehouse.

Waiting on the steps is a man in a black coat, tall and motionless. A stranger.
He holds a folded piece of paper.

“Who the hell is that?” Marco mutters, gun halfway drawn.

The man steps forward, voice cold and calm.
“Cassian sends his regards. And his next command.”

He hands me the paper.

I unfold it.

One name.
One target.

And when I see it—
My breath stops.

Isabella.