The Don's Daughter & Her Guardian

THE DEVIL'S TERMS

Bella's POV

Those gray eyes held mine for three more heartbeats. Then Dante turned away like I was nothing. Like that moment of connection had been my imagination.

"Your perimeter is worthless." His voice filled the hall without him raising it. Soft. Certain. Terrible. "East wall can be scaled in four places. Motion sensors have a twelve second blind spot during shift changes. Your men cluster at choke points instead of maintaining sight lines."

A soldier near me shifted his weight. Dante's eyes found him instantly.

"You. Third position, northwest tower. You leave your post every hour to smoke. Seven minutes average." The soldier's face went white. "The Volkovs knew. They waited."

"How could you possibly..." someone started.

"South entrance." Dante continued like no one had spoken. "The keypad sticks on the number six. Guards compensate by pressing harder. Anyone watching for two days would know the code from hand movements alone."

My father descended the stairs slowly. Each step echoed. "Continue your assessment."

"The family quarters." Dante's gaze swept the room but somehow landed on me. "Inadequate. The princess maintains predictable patterns. Seventeen daily vulnerabilities. Thirty two exploitable routines."

Princess. The word in his mouth sounded like an insult.

"Excuse me?" My voice came out sharper than intended. "Did you just reduce my life to a spreadsheet?"

He finally looked at me. Really looked. Like I was a problem to solve. "Tuesday mornings. Coffee at Bernaldi's. Table by the window. Wednesday evenings. Jog through Riverside Park. Same route. Same time. Friday nights..." He paused. Something flickered across his face. "Your clinic. Three exits. Two compromised. One you think is secret."

The blood in my veins turned to ice water. How did he...

"Enough." My father's hand cut through the air. "Clear the hall. Dante, Isabella, my office. Now."

The crowd melted away like snow in rain. Soldiers who had fought all night suddenly found somewhere else to be. In seconds, we were alone. Me, my father, and the man who apparently knew every breath I took.

"I don't need a bodyguard," I said before my father could speak.

"You need several." Dante moved past me toward the stairs. He smelled like gunpowder and winter. "But you'll get me."

"I didn't agree to this!"

"Your agreement is not required." He didn't even turn around.

I looked at my father. Waited for him to say something. To remember I was twenty five, not five. That I had a medical degree. That I had saved lives tonight.

"Follow him," was all he said.

The walk to my quarters felt like a funeral march. Mine. Dante didn't speak. Didn't look back to see if I followed. Just walked like he owned the compound. Like he owned me.

"You can't just..." I started when we reached my door.

He walked in. Into my space. My sanctuary. The one place in this concrete prison that was mine.

"Unacceptable." He stood in the center of my living room, turning slowly. "Windows face the street. Balcony access from three directions. Your security system..." He actually laughed. Soft and cold. "A child could bypass this."

"Get out."

"No locks on interior doors. Hiding places too obvious. Escape routes easily blocked." He moved toward my bedroom.

"I said get out!" I grabbed his arm. Might as well have grabbed stone.

He looked down at where I touched him. Then up at my face. This close, I could see flecks of darker gray in his eyes. Could feel heat radiating from his body despite his cold demeanor.

"Remove your hand." Quiet words. Dangerous words.

"This is my room. My life. You can't just..."

"I can." He stepped closer. I should have stepped back. Didn't. "I will. Your father gave me absolute authority over your security. That means your movements. Your schedule. Your space. Everything."

"I'm not a prisoner!"

"No." Another step. Now I could feel his breath. "Prisoners have more freedom. They know their enemies."

My hand was still on his arm. I felt muscles shift beneath expensive fabric. Felt my own breathing go shallow and strange.

"I don't need you," I whispered.

Something in his expression cracked. Just for a second. Like seeing lightning through storm clouds. "Twenty three attempts on your life in the past year. You needed someone. You got me."

He pulled free of my grip and walked into my bedroom. I followed because... because I didn't know what else to do.

"Pack a bag," he said, opening my closet. "Essentials only."

"What? No. This is my home!"

"This is a security nightmare." He pulled out drawers. Checking. Always checking. "You'll move to the penthouse. Top floor. One access point. Defensible."

"I'm not moving!"

"You are." He opened another drawer. Paused. His hand emerged holding a leather journal. My mother's journal. The one I wrote in when the grief got too heavy. "Personal items can be retrieved later."

"Don't touch that!"

But he was already setting it aside. Moving to my bookshelf. Running fingers along spines like he was reading secrets in the dust.

"How long?" I asked. My voice sounded small. Defeated. "How long will this last?"

"Until the threat is eliminated."

"And if it's never eliminated?"

He turned then. Faced me fully. And I saw something in his expression that made my chest tight. "Then I'll be your shadow until one of us stops breathing."

My father appeared in the doorway. Perfect timing, as always. "Is everything arranged?"

"She needs to pack." Dante's attention had shifted to my desk. To the painting that hung crooked above it. His fingers found the edge, lifted. Behind it, my safe. The one I thought was so clever. So hidden.

"Standard wall safe. Brexler model. Three years old." His fingers danced over the dial. Not opening it. Just knowing. "Your clinic files need a better hiding place. This model takes thirty seconds to crack, and whoever's hunting you already knows about your medical work.”