Chapter 17:Blood At The Gates
899 Words
The attack came at midnight.
But the silence before the storm was worse.
Sophie sat in the center of the indoor garden, listening to her heartbeat echo in her ears. She could feel the walls vibrating faintly — footsteps, radios, distant commands. Her training from childhood returned like muscle memory.
Her father taught her to listen to danger.
To smell it.
To feel it.
Tonight, it felt close.
Too close.
Marco appeared again, but this time his face was carved with tension.
“They breached the outer gate.”
Sophie shot to her feet. “Dante—?”
“He’s out there.”
Her chest tightened. “I should—”
“No.”
Marco stepped in front of her, voice dropping. “He will slaughter everything coming this way. The best thing you can do is stay alive.”
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
Marco looked at her. Really looked.
“Sophie… you’re the first person who has made him lose control. He would burn the city down if something happened to you.”
Her throat tightened. “But I don’t want him to get hurt because of me.”
Marco’s expression softened.
“That’s the problem,” he said. “He doesn’t care.”
⸻
Outside, the storm broke.
Gunfire crackled through the night, sharp and vicious. Men screamed. Tires screeched. The scent of gunpowder drifted even into the garden. Sophie’s pulse raced.
She turned toward the door.
Marco blocked her path again.
“You move, I tie you to the chair,” he warned.
Sophie glared at him. “Try.”
Marco almost smiled. “You are your father’s child.”
A sudden explosion shook the entire mansion. Dust rained from the ceiling. Sophie stumbled, catching herself on the railing.
“Is that—?”
“The south gate.”
Marco’s radio crackled.
“Boss just neutralized the second convoy.”
Sophie’s stomach sank.
Neutralized was a polite word for killed.
She imagined Dante moving through the chaos — face expressionless, eyes emotionless, each kill precise and merciless. A living shadow with a gun in his hand.
Hunting.
Destroying.
Protecting her.
And for the first time, fear and admiration tangled together in her chest.
Another explosion. Another scream. Another burst of gunfire.
Sophie couldn’t stay still.
She paced.
Her palms sweated.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
Her father used to say, “Only the weak wait. Warriors move.”
But Marco kept her trapped like a protected object.
She hated it.
Suddenly the door burst open — one of Dante’s men stumbled inside, bleeding, eyes wild.
“Marco! They—”
But he didn’t finish.
A single silent bullet hit him in the skull. He dropped at the doorway.
Time slowed.
Sophie’s breath froze.
A man stepped into the garden.
Black mask.
Black clothes.
A blade in his hand.
Marco shoved Sophie behind him. “Stay back.”
The intruder smiled behind his mask.
“She looks just like her father,” he said.
Sophie’s blood turned to ice.
Marco fired.
The man dodged with terrifying speed.
Another shot.
Marco missed again.
The intruder lunged.
Marco blocked the blade with his arm, grimacing as blood spurted. They collided, both crashing against the garden wall.
Sophie’s instincts roared alive.
She grabbed the nearest thing — a metal plant stand — swung it hard, striking the intruder’s shoulder.
He snarled and turned toward her.
Marco screamed, “RUN!”
But Sophie didn’t run.
She ducked the attacker’s swipe, grabbed his wrist, twisted — just like her father taught her — and slammed her knee into his ribs.
He choked.
Marco seized the opening and drove the knife into the man’s throat.
The intruder collapsed.
Sophie trembled, staring at her shaking hands.
Marco wiped blood from his face. “You just saved my life.”
But Sophie barely heard him.
She heard the footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Controlled.
Dante.
He walked into the garden soaked in blood — not his — muscles heaving, chest rising sharply from the adrenaline still burning through him.
His eyes scanned the room.
The body.
Marco’s bleeding arm.
Sophie’s shaking hands.
And something snapped inside him.
He crossed the garden in three long strides and grabbed her face gently but urgently.
“Did he touch you?”
His voice was a growl.
“No… I—I fought—”
The moment the words left her mouth, something dark flickered in his eyes.
“You fought him?” he repeated.
Sophie nodded.
Dante exhaled a sound that was half fury, half admiration, half something else entirely.
He pulled her into him, holding her so tight her bones almost cracked. She felt his heartbeat slamming against her cheek — wild, frantic, terrified.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered.
Sophie froze.
It was the first time she ever heard fear in Dante’s voice.
Not anger.
Not wrath.
Fear.
For her.
Before she could answer, Marco cleared his throat.
“Boss… there’s more coming.”
Dante released her slowly but his hand stayed on her waist.
His voice returned to steel.
“Good,” he said.
“I’m not done killing.”
Sophie shivered again.
This time,
not from fear—
but from the terrifying truth she was finally beginning to accept:
Dante Romano would destroy the world for her.
And the world was about to learn that the hard way.
- Writer
