Chapter 11- The Knife Behind the Door
834 Words
The world outside the safe house was still, heavy with the weight of a night that refused to end.
Inside, the only sound was their breathing—slow, ragged, human.
Christina lay curled against Dante’s chest, fingers lightly tracing a scar just below his collarbone. She didn’t ask how he got it. She knew by now some wounds didn’t need words. They just needed time.
But time was the one thing they didn’t have.
Dante’s hand was tangled in her hair, his body finally relaxed beneath hers. He looked at peace—dangerous, brutal peace—but peace nonetheless. Christina closed her eyes, letting herself pretend for just a second that they were safe. That this night would hold.
She was almost asleep when she heard it.
A metallic click.
Soft. Subtle.
But not subtle enough.
Her body stiffened instantly. Dante felt it too—his hand dropping from her hair to his waistband where his gun rested beneath the sheet.
He whispered, voice low and sharp, “You heard that?”
She nodded, heart already hammering.
Another sound. A slow creak, like weight pressing on a loose floorboard in the hallway.
They weren’t alone.
Dante was up in a flash, silent as a shadow. He threw on his pants and shirt, gun in hand, motioning for Christina to stay low.
But she was already moving. Quiet, bare feet on cold tile, she followed behind him.
They slipped out into the dark hallway, barely lit by the faint glow from the kitchen ahead.
Then—another sound. The soft, unmistakable slide of a weapon being c****d.
Dante raised his own pistol instantly, stepping out from the hallway with lethal precision—
Only to find himself face to face with a man holding a silencer-equipped pistol aimed straight at his chest.
“Easy, Dante,” the man said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows. “You don’t want to make this messier than it already is.”
Christina froze behind the doorway, eyes narrowing. She recognized that voice.
Marek.
One of Giorgos’ men. Quiet. Efficient. Always lurking behind the scenes.
Dante didn’t lower his weapon. “You want to explain why the f**k you’re breaking into a safe house?”
Marek smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say the terms of our arrangement changed.”
Christina stepped forward slowly, her voice cold. “You were supposed to help us. Giorgos said—”
“Giorgos says a lot of things,” Marek interrupted, shrugging. “But the Serpents made a better offer.”
Dante’s jaw clenched. “You sold us out?”
Marek raised his gun higher. “Sold you out, yes. Her?” He glanced at Christina. “Not exactly. They want her alive. You? Not so much.”
Dante didn’t hesitate. He fired.
Marek dove sideways, the shot grazing his arm. A vase behind him shattered. Christina ducked, grabbing the second pistol Dante had left earlier on the shelf.
Marek recovered fast, firing twice—one bullet embedding itself in the wall beside Dante’s head, the other pinging off the metal doorframe.
The kitchen exploded into chaos.
Dante lunged, using the corner of the counter for cover. Christina moved with him, her hands surprisingly steady as she raised the gun and aimed.
Marek fired again, but Christina squeezed the trigger first.
Blood bloomed across his shoulder as the bullet hit home. He fell back with a grunt, dropping his gun.
Dante was on him in seconds—slamming him against the wall, fist driving into his stomach with brutal force.
“Who else knows?” Dante growled. “Who did you talk to?”
Marek coughed blood, smirking through the pain. “You think you’ve got time for answers?”
Dante slammed his head back against the wall. “You better pray I don’t have time, asshole.”
Christina stood over them, breathing hard, the gun still in her hand.
“Is Giorgos in on this?” she asked, voice deadly calm.
Marek’s smirk wavered. Just for a second.
And that second was enough.
Dante looked at her, eyes grim. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
She nodded, backing toward the bedroom. “I’ll grab the bags.”
Dante turned back to Marek, eyes colder than steel. “You’re lucky I don’t end you right now.”
Marek spat blood. “You think leaving me alive changes anything? They’re already coming.”
Christina appeared in the hallway again, throwing Dante his jacket and shoving a duffel bag into his hand.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Before they get here.”
Dante turned away from Marek, who was slumped against the wall, laughing softly through blood-stained teeth.
“We’re f****d, Moretti,” he croaked. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Christina didn’t look back.
And neither did Dante.
They vanished into the dark, the safe house behind them no longer safe—just another broken promise in a war full of betrayals.
- Writer
