The Mafia King's Reluctant Bride

On The Run

The first bullet cracked the air and Alena hit the sand.

"Stay down!"

Dante's voice was low, sharp, right in her ear. His body was already over hers, heavy and warm and solid. A shield.

The beach was black. No moon. Only the sound of waves crashing and men shouting and the distant bark of dogs.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would break her ribs. "Where's my dad?" she choked out.

"Running," Dante said. He didn't look at her. His eyes were scanning the darkness, one hand pulling a gun from his holster. "We have to keep moving. Now."

She nodded, even though her legs felt like jelly. The water was freezing. It soaked through her dress in seconds and made her teeth chatter. But fear was hotter than the cold.

Another gunshot. Closer.

"Go," Dante commanded, and hauled her up by the arm.

They ran.

Sand dragged at her feet. The wind tore at her hair. Behind them, flashlights cut through the dark. Voices yelling in Italian. "Trovatela! Find her!"

Alena didn't know how long they ran. A minute. Five. It felt like hours. Her lungs burned. Her side stitched. But she didn't stop because Dante didn't stop.

He was limping.

She only noticed because his grip on her hand tightened, then loosened, then tightened again. Like he was forcing himself to keep moving.

"Dante?"

"Keep running," he said.

That was when the second shot came.

It wasn't loud. It was soft, like something hitting meat.

Dante jerked. Stumbled.

"Dante!"

"I'm fine," he gritted out. But his voice was different. Tighter. "Just a scratch."

They ducked behind a big rock. The waves crashed just a few feet away, foam glowing white in the dark. Alena dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands were shaking.

"Let me see."

"It's nothing."

"Let me see."

Slowly, he lifted his shirt. There, on his left side, just above his hip, was a hole. Dark and wet. Blood was already soaking through his white shirt, spreading fast.

Alena's stomach dropped. "No," she whispered. "No no."

"It's fine," he said again. But sweat was beading on his forehead. His face was pale in the moonlight. "I've had worse."

She didn't believe him. She ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of her dress. The material tore with a sound that was too loud.

"Hold this," she ordered, and pressed it hard against his side.

Dante hissed through his teeth. "You're gonna give me a bruise."

"Good," Alena snapped. Anger was better than panic. "Maybe it'll teach you to stop getting shot for me."

His eyes flicked to hers. Dark. Intense. Even bleeding, he looked dangerous.

"I didn't get shot for you," he said quietly. "I got shot because you're mine now. And I protect what's mine."

The words hit her harder than the cold.

Mine.

The word she hated and needed all at once. Footsteps crunched on the sand. Close. Too close.

"Move," Dante said, and stood. He swayed for half a second, then locked his jaw and pulled her up with him. His hand was still on hers. Still warm. Still bleeding. "Can you run?" she asked.

"Can you stop asking stupid questions?" She almost laughed. Almost.

They ran again.

This time it was worse. Dante was leaning on her more than he wanted to admit. She could feel it in the way his shoulder brushed hers. In the way his breathing got rougher.

"Alena!"

Her father's voice. From up ahead. Near the road. A black SUV had its lights off, idling. Marco Romano was standing by the open door, waving frantically.

"Come on, baby girl!"

Relief hit her so hard she almost cried. "There!"

But Dante stopped.

"Go," he said.

"What?"

"Go to him. I'll cover you."

Alena stared at him. Blood was still dripping from his side. His face was ghost white now.

"I'm not leaving you," she said.

"You have to."

"I said no."

Gunshots behind them. The Vitales had found their trail.

Dante cursed. He grabbed her face with his free hand. His palm was cold and rough and there was blood on his knuckles.

"Listen to me," he said. His voice was low and urgent. "If I go down, you run. You don't look back. You don't stop. You live, Alena. You hear me?"

Her throat closed. "I hear you."

"Good girl."

He dropped his hand and turned, firing two shots back into the dark. One of the flashlights went out.

"Now!" Marco yelled.

Dante shoved her forward. "Run!"

And she ran.

She ran to her father. She ran with tears in her eyes and Dante's blood on her hands. She ran because he told her to.

The car door slammed. Marco floored it. Tires spun on the sand.

In the rearview mirror, Alena saw Dante.

He was standing alone on the beach, gun raised, back to her. A dark figure against the waves. Buying them time.

"Dante," she whispered.

The car peeled onto the road. The beach disappeared behind them. Alena looked down at her hands. They were shaking. And covered in his blood.

"Is he..." Marco's voice broke.

"He's alive," Alena said. She wasn't sure if it was true. "He has to be."

She pressed the bloody fabric to her chest.

She had said yes to save her life. Now she had to keep him alive to save hers.

Because somewhere between "marry me" and "run", Dante Moretti had stopped being her captor.

And started being the only person she couldn't lose..