For You

ZANYA IS THEIR DAUGHTER (DANTE)

The night was perfect, and so were they.

Dressed in suits matching our dates' gowns, Xavier, Aaron and myself stepped out of the limo, a picture of power and refinement. But even our carefully cultivated image faltered the moment the front door of the girls' apartment opened.

Zanya was breathtaking.

My fingers flexed at my sides, my entire body stilled as my eyes drank her in. She was an ethereal contrast—lethal grace wrapped in angelic beauty. The deep shade of her dress made her blue eyes even more striking, and the way the fabric hugged her curves while allowing easy movement was a testament to both form and function. Perfection. His perfection.

Beside me, Xavier let out a low whistle as Kaili stepped out, looking like a delicate dream in her dress. Aaron, normally smug and easygoing, seemed to momentarily lose his ability to breathe when Queenie strutted out, her confidence dripping in every step.

Quickly collecting ourselves, we approached our dates, as I lead the way. I took Zanya’s hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers before brushing my lips against her cheek. “You are magnificent,” I murmured low enough for only her to hear.

She blinked up at me, surprised, her lips parting slightly, but she said nothing.

Queenie, ever the bold one, smirked at our interactions. “You lot are acting like perfect gentlemen.” Then she narrowed her eyes playfully. “I have a feeling it’s just a front.”

Aaron grinned. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

She rolled her eyes and strutted toward the limo. “We’ll see.”

Inside the limo, I sat beside Zanya, my arm stretched behind her in a casual but possessive manner. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She was tense, but I knew it wasn’t fear—it was caution. The same kind of caution I had when entering unknown territory.

She doesn’t trust easily.

Good. That means she’ll put up a fight when I finally take her for myself.

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The moment we arrived at the venue, cameras flashed wildly. The mafia world was used to power, but me and Zanya together? I'm sure we were a sight to behold.

We hadn’t even reached the end of the red carpet when a shriek cut through the air.

A body barreled into Zanya, knocking her back. I reacted instantly, reaching for my gun as I turned sharply—only to freeze at the sight before me.

A woman, no older than forty, clung to Zanya, sobbing into her shoulder. “Mi bebé! Mi hija perdida!” "My baby! My lost daughter!"

My brows furrowed, the grip on my gun tightening. Mrs. Garcia.

I cleared my throat, keeping my voice steady. “You must be mistaken, Señora.”

Mrs. Garcia’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face twisting into a glare so sharp that I almost took a step back. Almost. "¡Cállate! ¡Eres un bufón crecido!". "Shut up! You overgrown buffoon!"

I blinked, stunned at the insult before I spluttered, “Overgrown buffoon?!” in English, his bewilderment evident.

Mrs. Garcia ignored me, calling out, “You want proof? I'll show you proof. Alejandro!”

A man emerged from the crowd. Tall, with striking raven hair and piercing blue eyes—eyes that matched Zanya’s perfectly. The second Alejandro spotted her, his entire face crumpled, and within seconds, he was embracing her tightly, murmuring, “Mi pequeña hermanita.” "My little little sister."

I stood frozen, my mind racing.

Zanya is their daughter.

Miguel Garcia, the patriarch of the infamous Garcia family, stood a few steps away, his expression unreadable. “Let’s move inside. We’ve already caused enough of a scene.”

I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to let her out of his sight. But when I saw the way Zanya trembled in Alejandro’s arms, I clenched my jaw and followed.

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Inside a private room, the Garcias gathered around Zanya, their eyes filled with years of longing and grief. Lucia, their adopted daughter, stood stiffly at a distance, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Miguel spoke first, his voice heavy. “We thought we lost you forever. We were lied to.”

Mrs. Garcia reached for Zanya’s hand, clutching it desperately. “They told us you died.”

Alejandro’s jaw clenched. “We were deceived. It was a planned accident—your kidnapping orchestrated by someone who wanted to erase you from our lives.”

"That hospital is going to burn to the ground." Miguel said so calmly that it was very off-putting.

I had refused to leave Zanya’s side despite protests, watched her intently. She was too still, too quiet, her fingers twitching subtly as she cast fleeting glances around the room. Not at them, but at the shadows. At the corners.

As if she feared someone was watching.

The realization settled deep in my chest, cold and unyielding.

She was scared.

Not of them, but of whoever took her.

Miguel sighed. “We want to know everything, but we won’t force you.” He exhaled. “We just… we just want you home.”

Zanya flinched at the word. Home.

Her breathing quickened, her hands beginning to tremble. She wasn’t hearing them anymore—she was trapped in her own mind, spiraling into something I had seen too many times before.

She’s hyperventilating.

I stepped in. “She needs air.”

Mrs. Garcia immediately panicked, but Miguel nodded. “Take care of her.”

I nodded but didn’t move yet. My possessiveness burned hotter than ever, a dark promise swirling in my chest. I looked at Miguel straight in the eyes. “Either you let her stay, or I’m flying with you.”

Miguel saw it then. The silent war that had already begun in my head. He sighed. “Can't it be both? I want her to see her home.”

Without another word, I gently took Zanya’s arm and led her out, my grip firm, reassuring.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Not without me.