Chapter 9: Armor's Channels of Cracks
1418 Words
The quiet that followed the last shot was stifling. Around the room, dust fell in lazy clouds that caught in the low light and distorted the jagged edges of broken glass and splintered wood. The air smelled strongly like gunpowder, mixing with the coppery tang of blood.
From the floor, Dante pushed himself, his body screaming in protest as he absorbed the scene. His troops were scattered, a few wounded but alive, eyes wide with the shock of surviving a fight that had tried every limit. Enzo was tending to Marco across the room; his shoulder was blood-stained but still whole.
"Clean?," asked Dante's words broke the uncomfortable silence, and Enzo nodded somber but determined.
"Clean," Enzo said, glancing quickly at Dante to let relief soften his battle-hardened face.
Dante focused on Elena, still pushed against the floor, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her eyes were keen and vibrant, yet her hair was matted and her cheek cut glistened with fresh blood. The relief flowed through him nearly disorganizingly.
His voice low and strained, he whispered, "Are you hurt?"
Elena shook her head and raised herself on wobbly legs. Not at all Only shook.
Dante's palm stayed close to her arm, a reflex to ground her, yet he withdrew, the distance separating them snapping back. Not when they were still encircled by adversaries, this was not the time or venue for weakness.
Giovanni's voice pierced the silence, chilly and mocking, before he could speak more. "Very remarkable, Moretti." But this is only starting point.
Dante's eyes turned to Giovanni's position, surrounded by his last troops. His angry smile was a silent pledge that this struggle was far from finished. Dante's finger tightened on his gun's trigger, but before he could move Giovanni's men pulled him back into the darkness, sliding through the anarchy and vanishing.
The conflict in the room stayed dense and oppressive. Dante's chest rose and fell under regulated breaths, but his eyes clearly showed fire. Though it was not triumph, this was a fight they had survived. Not quite yet.
Enzo moved forward, dabbing at his brow to clear sweat. "What move should I do right now, boss? Giovanni will not stop right here.
Dante turned to see his bruised but standing troops staring back with the same query. His eyes then turned to Elena, whose defiance still fanned behind the tiredness. Even as it developed in his head, he knew the response: this was not only about defending his kingdom now. It was about shielding her, and that transformed everything.
Dante continued, his voice like iron, "We regroup, fortify, and prepare for whatever comes next. "This isn't done."
The hours passed in a haze of anxious stillness and preparation. Dante's men checked guns, boarded windows, reinforced doors, and worked with subdued efficiency. Originally a secret haven, the safehouse felt like a fortitude on close collapse.
Elena watched the men migrate, her heart weighed with the knowledge of what lied next. Every noise outside, every far-off sound, made her nervous since it served as a reminder that danger never distances. Still, her sleeplessness was not driven by fear. Why did Dante care? She had been tormented by this issue since she entered his world.
She located him slumped over a map that had seen better days at the far end of the room. Sharp shadows created by a neighboring lamp show the lines of tiredness and the finessness that distinguished him.
She said gently, "Dante," calling his attention.
He raised his eyes, their concentrated focus on her. "You should be relaxing."
She sighed and said, "I can't." Not with all that is happening.
He didn't argue even though a muscle in his jaw ticked. Rather, he straightened and the quiet between them felt as weighty as the room itself.
You are not used to this, are you? At last, his voice became quieter and more nearly introspective.
"No," she said, approaching more closely. But I decided to live here. I will not run just because it is difficult.
His eyes softened, and for a moment the gulf separating them looked less. His eyes grew softer, then something raw and unprotected took front stage. You should have, he remarked, the admission loaded with sorrow. Being close to me makes you a target.
Elena's heart contracted at his voice's fragility. Then why allow me to remain?
Dante turned away, the inquiry delved farther than he would have cared to acknowledge. Elena had a knack of tearing down those barriers while he had based his life on discipline and on never displaying vulnerability. The fact was she had evolved from someone he could not imagine losing to more than just someone to defend.
A tap at the door caught their focus back to the here and now before he could reply. From the other side Enzo's voice cried out. "Boss, you have to see this.
Dante glanced at Elena, the moment lost as reality collapsed back in. He stepped to the door and opened it to discover Enzo grimly clutching a phone.
Giovanni, Enzo murmured, passing over the gadget.
Dante picked it and pushed it to his ear. The line buzzed then Giovanni's voice emerged, mocking and silky.
"Having fun in the silence, Moretti? It is fleeting.
Dante's hold tightened, his knuckles whitening. Giovanni, you are wasting your time if you are phoning to boast.
One heard a dark chuckle across the line. "Oh, no." This is more of a courtesy call. You see, I have been starting things while you have been occupied building house. You will know just how much you have already lost before morning.
The call cut off suddenly, sending shivers in its wake. Dante turned the phone back to Enzo, his jaw set with will. The room was still, the menace hovering above like a thunder cloud.
"What meant he meant?" Elena asked, the dread she had been suppressing breaking through her voice.
Dante turned to her, sharp and relentless gaze. "It indicates we have limited time."
The following several hours were a haze of activity and preparation. Setting traps and arranging themselves for the attack they knew was approaching, Dante's troops strengthened their defenses. The city outside was absolutely silent, as though it too were holding its breath.
Watching the first rays of morning slink over the heavens, Elena stood beside a window. It was a delicate reminder that life went on even if anarchy seemed certain to swallow everything. A touch on her shoulder made her jump, and she turned to find Dante standing there, his gaze softer than she'd seen before.
"We'll get through this," he continued, the promise in his voice unshakeable.
"How are you so certain?" She murmured, the sensitivity in her words mirroring the uncertainty she couldn't shake.
"Because failure isn't an option," he said succinctly. Not yet. Not right here with you.
Her breath vanished with the admission, and for a time the room and the outside world vanished as well. But the fragile moment was broken by the piercing c***k of a gunshot, then yells and the weight of boots on concrete.
"They're here!" From the corridor Marco's voice screamed.
Dante's countenance grew stiffer, the moment snatched away as fast as it had arrived. He took her hand, once squeezed then let go. Stay near Enzo. Don't walk away from his side.
She began, but he was already sliding into the chaos like a shadow. The door opened, and the conflict they had been preparing for came smashing in.
Gunfire started, and the room turned anarchy. Heart thumping, Elena pushed herself against the wall as the space echoed with yells and bullets. At her side Enzo showed there, a comforting presence among the craziness.
He barked, "Stay down," putting himself in front of her as a shield.
The fighting was a flurry of sound and motion. Elena's gaze spotted Dante, moving like a force of nature, every shot exact, every step deliberate through the anarchy. She could see, though, the gaps in his armor-the times when his gaze strayed to her and the dread he hid surfaced. She struggled.
She turned just in time to see a figure slide through the smashed glass, gun raised and aimed squarely at Dante's back. She heard an unexpected commotion from the rear of the room.
"Dante!," she yelled, the sound cutting through the anarchy.
Dante whirled, widening eyes to register the threat. But time appeared to stop and a gun fired before he could respond.
- Writer
