Beneath His Protection

Chapter 11- The Knife Behind the Door - Part 2

he new safehouse was little more than a ruin in disguise.

Its faded stone exterior looked like it had been swallowed by time, tucked between overgrown trees and the crumbling edges of the old port’s southern district. No one in their right mind would look for fugitives here. It wasn’t safety. It was absence.

Dante parked under a broken canopy, headlights off, engine still warm. Christina watched him from the passenger seat. He hadn’t said a word in almost thirty minutes.

The tension between them had shifted—no longer about bodies and hunger, but blood and betrayal.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Why would Giorgos send Marek if he still needed us alive?”

Dante’s hands tightened on the wheel. “He didn’t need me alive. He needed you. That’s the difference.”

Christina’s heart dropped, not from fear, but from the cruel clarity of it. “Because of my father.”

“Sí. Per il dossier.”

The way he said it—dossier—made her skin crawl. Not because of the word, but because of what it meant.

Secrets. Leverage. Power.

“My father never told me anything about a file.” Her voice cracked slightly. “All I have is that note, and a passport that isn’t even mine.”

Dante finally turned to her, his eyes hollow but sharp. “That’s because he didn’t trust Giorgos either. Fidarsi è bene, non fidarsi è meglio.”

She knew enough Italian by now to understand: Trust is good—Not trusting is better.

⸻

The inside of the new safehouse smelled of rust and dust. It was cleaner than the last one, but that wasn’t saying much. Christina dropped the duffel bag on the bed and sank onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands.

Dante stood by the window, one hand resting on the sill, watching the darkness.

Then came the buzz.

His encrypted burner lit up, one line on the screen.

“SΚΙΑ”

Christina sat up. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. The word burned into his retina.

“Giorgos. He wants to meet. Alone.”

He turned to her. “But I’m not going without you.”

Her brow arched. “You trust me now?”

He didn’t smile. “Sei l’unica che mi resta.”

You’re the only one I have left.

⸻

Later – Old port ruins, near the eastern train yard

The place was dead. Abandoned, probably since the crisis years when half the buildings had been gutted and sold for scrap. The only light came from a crooked streetlamp, flickering like a dying star.

Giorgos was already waiting.

Dante spotted him first—leaning against a cracked marble column, cigarette burning slow between his fingers.

Christina stepped forward without hesitation. “Why did Marek try to kill him?”

Giorgos looked up, utterly unfazed. “Because I told him to.”

Silence fell like a knife.

Dante tensed, but Christina raised a hand to hold him back.

“Why?”

Giorgos took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled. “Because I needed to know how far you’d go. I needed to know if you’d choose loyalty—or blood.”

Christina’s voice dropped. “You played us.”

“I protected you. In my way,” he countered. “Your father left behind something dangerous. More than a file—it’s a weapon. And he made sure it could only be unlocked with your DNA.”

Dante muttered under his breath. “Merda…”

Christina felt like the ground had shifted. “So what, I’m a key now?”

“No,” Giorgos said, stepping closer. “You’re leverage. The Serpents know it. I know it. Your father knew it. And now? Così fa il gioco.”

Now the game begins.

“Where is it?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “I don’t know.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Dante snapped.

But Giorgos wasn’t rattled. “I know it’s in Athens. Somewhere your father once called ‘το κρησφύγετο’. The hideaway. That’s all I have.”

Dante narrowed his eyes. “And why should we believe a damn thing you say?”

“Because I didn’t sell her out. Not yet.”

Christina stepped in front of Dante, voice cold and firm. “We’re done playing your game. From now on, we move alone.”

Giorgos gave a dry, bitter chuckle. “You think you can do this without blood on your hands? You don’t even know who your enemies really are.”

He flicked the cigarette to the ground.

“When they come for you—and they will—you’ll remember this moment.”

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the mist like a ghost slipping back into myth.

⸻

Christina stood still, the silence deafening.

Then, finally, Dante spoke.

“You okay?”

She shook her head. “No. But I will be.”

He pulled her into his arms. Held her tight. No words. No lies. Just pressure. Contact. Heat.

In the distance, a low horn sounded. A freighter, maybe. Or a warning.

They didn’t move.

They stood there, locked in a moment between war and escape.

And the city held its breath.