Pierced to kill

CHAPTER 5: THE EXCHANGE

*Aurora*

The words on Luca's phone refused to make sense. WE TOOK BIANCA. BRING US THE GIRL... OR YOUR SISTER DIES. Silence settled over the hallway like a suffocating blanket. Even the gunfire outside seemed distant.

Dante stared at the screen without blinking. His jaw flexed. The veins in his neck stood out as he clenched his fists. Luca swallowed hard. "We've tried calling Bianca," he said quietly. "Her phone is off." Another guard rushed toward us, breathing heavily. "Boss!" "What?" "The security team checked the west wing." "And?" "The young miss's room is empty." A muscle twitched in Dante's cheek. "How long has she been gone?" "We don't know." The guard lowered his head. "No one saw her leave."

Dante turned and punched the marble wall. The impact echoed through the corridor. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the stone. Blood dripped from his knuckles. No one dared speak. For the first time since I'd met him... the infamous Dante De Luca looked shaken. Not scared. Terrified. Because this wasn't about power. This was family. I hated him. I reminded myself of that. But watching the expression on his face stirred something uncomfortable inside me. Pain recognized pain.

Luca stepped forward carefully. "We'll find her." Dante closed his eyes for a brief second before opening them again. The fear was gone. The mafia boss had returned. "No." His voice was cold enough to freeze the room. "They won't hurt her." "How can you be sure?" "They don't want Bianca." He looked directly at me. "They want Aurora." Every pair of eyes turned in my direction. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. "This is insane." "I've never seen those people before." "I don't even know who they are."

Dante didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward one of the dead assassins lying in the hallway. He crouched beside the body and rolled back the man's sleeve. A tattoo. Black. A snake wrapped around a dagger. Dante's expression darkened. "No..." Luca's face paled. "It can't be." "What?" I demanded. Dante stood. "I hoped they were gone." "Gone who?" He ignored my question. "Luca." "Seal the estate." "No one enters." "No one leaves." Luca hesitated. "And the girl?" Dante looked at me again. "She stays with me."

"I am not staying with you." "You don't have a choice." "I'd rather die." His eyes hardened. "If that's what you wanted..." He stepped closer until only inches separated us. "...you should've stayed at the gala." My temper snapped. Without thinking, I shoved him. It was like pushing a brick wall. He barely moved. Instead, he caught my wrist before I could pull away. "Let go." "No." "I said let go." His grip tightened just enough to stop me from struggling. "I don't have time for your stubbornness." "And I don't care about your problems!" "They kidn*pped your sister, not mine." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Instant regret followed.

Something flickered across Dante's face. Not anger. Disappointment. He released my wrist immediately. "You're right." His voice was quieter now. "This isn't your burden." He turned away. "Luca." "Get her out of here." For some reason... the thought of leaving felt wrong. I frowned at myself. What was happening to me? I had spent years dreaming of Dante's downfall. So why did he suddenly look... alone?

Half an hour later. The mansion had transformed into a war room. Maps covered the conference table. Laptops glowed. Phones rang constantly. Armed men rushed in and out, reporting sightings and dead ends. I sat in the corner with my arms folded, wishing I were anywhere else.

Luca approached Dante. "We traced the message." "And?" "It bounced through twelve different servers." "Nothing." Dante nodded once. "As expected." Another man entered. "We found one survivor." "Bring him." Two guards dragged in a wounded assassin. Blood soaked his clothes. One eye was swollen shut. Yet somehow... he was smiling.

Dante stood before him. "Who sent you?" The assassin laughed. "You've already lost." Dante remained calm. "Where is Bianca?" The man spat blood onto the floor. "You'll never see her again." The room fell silent. Without warning— c***k! Dante punched him across the face. The assassin's chair tipped sideways. He hit the floor with a groan. Still... he laughed.

"You think this is about your sister?" "It isn't." "It's about the girl." His one good eye found me. "The heir..." The word stole the air from the room. Heir? My heart skipped. "What are you talking about?" The assassin grinned. "So..." "They never told you." "Told me what?" His smile widened. "You really don't know who you are."

Before anyone could stop him, the assassin bit down hard. A sickening crunch echoed through the room. Foam spilled from his mouth. His body convulsed violently. Then... nothing. Dead.

Luca rushed over. "Cyanide." "He killed himself." Dante stared at the corpse with clenched fists. "He'd rather die than talk." I couldn't breathe. The heir. His words repeated in my head. Who did he think I was? Or worse... who was I really?

Later that night, I stood alone on the balcony outside my room. The sea crashed violently against the cliffs below. The cool wind carried the scent of salt and rain. Footsteps approached behind me. I didn't need to turn around. I already knew it was him.

Dante stopped beside me, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. Neither of us spoke for several moments. Finally, he broke the silence. "When you were a child..." "...did anyone ever tell you your birthday might be wrong?" I slowly turned toward him. "What?" He looked at me, his gray eyes unreadable. "The records from your orphanage don't match the records from your birth." A chill crept down my spine. "What does that mean?" "It means someone changed your identity." I laughed nervously. "That's impossible." "I thought so too."

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed me an old photograph. The edges were burned. The colors had faded with time. There were three people in the picture. A man. A woman. And a little girl wearing the exact same silver pendant hanging around my neck. The girl couldn't have been older than eight. She was smiling brightly. My breath caught. She looked exactly like me. Only... the name written beneath the photograph wasn't Aurora Moretti. It read—

Isabella De Luca.