Claimed by the Silent Don

The Only Safe Place

Chapter 6:

The second explosion was louder, a gut-wrenching roar that shook the very foundation of the estate. Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling as Dante shoved me through the heavy, reinforced doors of his master suite. He didn't just close them; he punched a code into a hidden panel, and a series of heavy steel bolts hissed into place.

The silence that followed was terrifying. It was the heavy, pressurized silence of a tomb.

"Stay away from the windows," Dante barked, his voice tight with an adrenaline I had never heard before.

He didn't look at me. He moved with a lethal, practiced efficiency, crossing the room to a hidden cabinet. He pulled out a sleek, black submachine gun and checked the chamber. The metallic clack-clack of the weapon felt like a countdown.

"Dante, the guards... Marco..." I started, my voice trembling as I clutched the silk of my dress. "Where are they?"

"If they’re alive, they’re fighting," he said, finally turning to look at me. His tuxedo shirt was torn at the shoulder, and a thin trail of blood was beginning to map its way down his temple. "If they’re not... then it’s just you and me."

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and hit a switch. Thick, armored shutters rolled down, sealing us in total darkness until the dim emergency red lights flickered on. The room took on a crimson, hellish glow.

Dante let out a long, ragged breath and slumped against the wall, his eyes never leaving the door. He looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my plum-colored dress, now stained with dust and soot.

"Strip," he said.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. "What?"

"The dress, Elena. It’s silk. It’s loud, it’s restrictive, and it makes you a target in the dark," he rasped, his eyes darkening. He walked to a dresser and tossed a plain black T-shirt at me. "Change. Now. I’ll turn my back, but I don't have time for modesty."

He turned around, his broad shoulders tensing as he listened to the distant sounds of gunfire echoing through the vents.

My hands shook so hard I could barely find the zipper at the small of my back. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and strangely hyper-aware of the man standing five feet away. I peeled off the expensive gown, letting it pool on the floor like a discarded skin, and pulled his shirt over my head. It was huge on me, reaching my mid-thighs, and it smelled entirely of him, cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and a hint of something cold.

"Done," I whispered.

Dante turned back. His gaze lingered on my bare legs for a second too long before he looked up at my face. The "Silent Don" mask was cracking. I could see the raw, jagged edges of his worry.

"The bed," he commanded, gesturing to the massive, charcoal-silk-draped mattress. "It’s the only part of this floor that’s reinforced with a steel base. If they blow the door, you stay low. Understood?"

"I’m not a child, Dante," I said, though my voice was small. I climbed onto the bed, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down. "Why are you doing this? You could have handed me over at the gala. You could have made a deal with the Shadow Don."

Dante sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, his gun resting across his knees. "I told you. I don't like leaving loose ends."

"That’s a lie," I said, crawling closer until I was inches from his back. "You’re risking your empire for a 'debt.' Nobody does that. Not in your world."

Dante went still. Slowly, he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder. The red emergency light caught the scar on his jaw, making him look like a ghost of the boy he must have once been.

"My father was the one who pulled the trigger on your family, Elena," he whispered, the words coming out like a confession. "I was fifteen years old. I watched him do it. I watched him take the Ricci crown and put it on his own head while your mother’s blood was still wet on the floor."

I felt the air leave my lungs. My mother... he was there.

"I made a promise that night," Dante continued, his voice dropping to a lethal, broken rasp. "I couldn't save them. But I swore that if a Ricci ever returned to this city, I would be the one to pay the debt my father owed. I didn't buy you at that table to own you, Elena. I bought you to set things right."

He reached out, his thumb grazing my cheek, brushing away a stray tear I hadn't realized I’d shed. His touch was electric, a spark in the dark that made my skin hum.

"But I was wrong about one thing," he breathed, his hand sliding into my hair, tilting my head back.

"What?" I whispered.

"I thought I could do this without wanting you."

He leaned in, his lips inches from mine, the tension between us a live wire ready to snap. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the desperate hunger he’d been hiding behind his "Silent" mask.

But just as his breath brushed my lips, a heavy thud echoed from the other side of the bedroom door.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Like a claw against wood.

Dante was off the bed in a heartbeat, his gun leveled at the door. "He’s here," he hissed.