Chapter 8: Res echoes from the past
1167 Words
Dante walked the entire safehouse, his strain causing the floor to creak. Enzo's words had hardly settled when ideas started to shape his mind, calculations and backups entwined like threads in a complex network. The gnawing sensation that this fight would cost him more than he was ready to admit would not be eliminated even with the most exact arrangements, though.
Elena watched him with the intensity that caused the space between them to crackle from her seated at the old wooden table. Unspoken worries permeated the air, each second marking the approaching storm like a drumbeat. Though the words caught in her throat, she wanted to say anything, anything, to shatter the stillness.
Enzo came back, his face a mask of tiredness and will. "The men are positioned correctly. Although we strengthened the exits, we still need more eyes around the periphery.
Dante nodded, peering at the map laid across the table. It was a patchwork of defended areas, defined paths, and escape routes. There were more stakes than before, hence every action counted.
"Good," Dante remarked, his voice tight. He looked to Elena, the austere lines of his face melting momentarily. You ought to hang around here. Beyond view.
Elena arose and crossed her arms. Dante, we have gone through this. I am not going to hide while you battle.
A shadow of irritation went over his face. "This has nothing to do with bravery, Elena. It's survival-related. Should something happen to you-that is "
Then it happens, she said, approaching closely. I won be sitting back and observing, though. I must act.
Their eyes connected, and the room stopped for a pulse. Though neither was ready to compromise, the forceful tap on the door broke the moment. It was a collision of will.
Called a voice, one of Enzo's reliable men, "It's Marco."
Dante nodded to Enzo, who opened the door, then exhaled. Marco entered; the grim set of his mouth confirmed what Dante suspected.
"They are on the move," Marco said. It is not only the DiGregorios. They have drawn in some of the lesser groups. They approach this as a coup.
Dante closed his fists at his sides. The unanticipated turn of events that made this battle even more perilous was the cooperation of smaller groups. A coup indicated they were trying to destroy him totally, not only for supremacy.
Breaking the quiet, Enzo whispered, "We have to be ready." His eyes locked with Dante's, a silent knowing between us. Though they had already encountered insurmount challenges, this felt different. This came from personal experience.
The minutes stretched into hours, the tension building as the evening sank in depth. Dante looked at the window, the street outside black. Memories unpleasant but tenacious tore at the margins of his memory.
He recalled another evening years ago when he had decided to take charge. It had been cruel and merciless, the road to power dotted with the dead of those who had challenged him. He had convinced himself it was essential, that in a society run on power strength was the only currency available. But tonight the weight of those decisions descended on him as he got ready for a fight more like survival than triumph.
Elena's voice startled him when she said, "You look like you're seeing ghosts."
He turned to find her staring him, eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. Uncertain of what he could say to a woman who looked behind the merciless surface he had honed over the years, he delayed response.
"Maybe I am," he said, the words raw and unaccustomed.
Elena came closer; the distance between them closed until she was near enough to touch. "You don't have to do this alone, Dante.
He swallowed, the vulnerability of the occasion surprising him. Though a shout from outside drew him back into the present, he wanted to reach out and find comfort in their connection.
"They's here!" Marco's voice came out sharp and urgent.
The safehouse erupted into action. Their training kicking in as Dante's men positioned themselves, they moved like shadows. Enzo barked commands, his voice constant throughout the tumult.
Dante turned to Elena and pulled his weapon. "Stay close to me. Stay close whatever comes of course.
She nodded, dread flickering in her eyes but minuscule compared to the will that had pulled him to her from beginning.
First blow arrived like a roar, rattling the walls and spewing dust from the ceiling. The DiGregorios attacked mercilessly and relentlessly. The air smelled bitter from the gunfire breaking through the night.
Every shot measured, every action deliberate, Dante moved with deadly accuracy. He could hear Enzo yelling above the noise, the collision of bodies and the groan of splintering wood. Still, his attention turned just to keeping Elena alive.
A masked assailant with wild, bloodlusty eyes loomed in the corridor. Before Dante could respond, Elena was already moving. She reached down from the floor and swung a hefty metal pipe with all her might. Dante had the opening he needed when the punch sent the man staggered. One shot; the menace collapsed to the floor.
"Not bad," he murmured, a trace of a smile breaking through the stress.
Elena's chest heaved with surge of adrenaline. You expected me to only watch?
A startling, terrible quiet broke off Dante's reply. The sound of footsteps-measured, assured, approaching-had replaced the silence of gunfire outside.
Giovanni DiGregorio, flanked by his men, entered the main room from the burst open door. Tall and with the cold, calculated gaze of a predator certain he had the upper hand, he was
Giovanni drew a nasty smirk on his face. "Well, well," he said. "I felt I would come see the king drop in person."
Dante's hold on his weapon tightened, fury boiling beneath his cool front. Giovanni, you're bold. I will forward that to you.
Giovanni's eyes veered to Elena, a flash of laughter dancing in them. " ah, the cause of all this anarchy. I should thank you, Miss; it makes so much difference how much simpler this is.
Elena's rebellion ignited, but Dante moved forward to put himself between her and Giovanni. I will terminate this here and now if you touch her.
Giovanni laughed, the hollow and grating sound unpleasant. Moretti, I am not here for her. I am right here for you. To see your empire ablaze.
A bullet burst before Dante could answer. Once more the room descended into anarchy as Dante surged, shoving Elena to the ground and protecting her as bullets broke glass and ricocheted off metal. The world melted into a symphony of action and noise, the struggle for survival taking front stage over all else.
Fear and determination mixed as Elena grabbed to him, bracing for the assault. And in that instant, pushed against the frigid floor with Dante's heartbeat thumping in her ear, she realized the strength of their bond-a bond created in fire, unbreakable even as the storm tore about them.
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