Crossing the Line
1395 Words
“Pack your things.”
Dante’s voice was calm, but Aruna felt the shift immediately. Something had crossed a line.
“I already did,” she replied hollowly. “When I walked out of that bar.”
“That wasn’t packing,” he said. “That was running.”
She stood near the bed, the threatening note still clenched in her hand. The words burned themselves into her mind, refusing to fade.
You should have died with your mother.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’re moving rooms.”
Her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“It has windows,” Dante replied.
She stared at him. “That’s your reason?”
“That’s my warning,” he corrected.
He took the note from her fingers and read it again, slower this time. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“They wouldn’t send this unless they were sure you’d read it,” he said. “Which means someone knew exactly where you were.”
Fear crawled up her spine. “You said this place was safe.”
“It is,” Dante replied. “But safety is a moving target.”
He gestured toward the door. “Come.”
They descended deeper into the house this time. Down a staircase she hadn’t noticed before, hidden behind a panel that slid open silently. The air grew cooler with every step.
“This feels like a bunker,” Aruna muttered.
“It is,” Dante said.
The room he led her into was smaller, but solid. No windows. Thick walls. One door reinforced with steel. Cameras positioned discreetly in the corners.
“This is where I stay when things get ugly,” he said.
Her chest tightened. “So now I get your cage.”
“Our cage,” he corrected.
She turned to him sharply. “You said you were protecting me. This feels like imprisonment.”
Dante met her glare evenly. “Protection always does.”
Silence pressed in.
She dropped her bag onto the bed and sat down heavily. “I can’t breathe in here.”
“You can,” he said. “You just don’t like the idea that you’re not in control.”
Her laugh was sharp. “Funny coming from you.”
He did not argue.
A moment later, his phone buzzed. Dante stepped aside, his voice low as he spoke in a language she did not understand. She watched his posture shift, shoulders squaring, expression hardening.
When he ended the call, his eyes were colder.
“They tried to access your old medical records,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. “My mother’s?”
“And yours,” he added.
She stood abruptly. “Why would they want mine?”
“Because they’re trying to find leverage,” Dante replied. “Or confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?”
“That you’re worth the risk.”
Her hands shook. “I’m just a woman who worked at a bar.”
Dante stepped closer. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re the daughter of a woman who died because she saw something powerful people wanted buried.”
She swallowed hard. “And you?”
He did not hesitate. “I’m the man standing between you and them.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she whispered.
“It shouldn’t,” he replied. “It should make you careful.”
Later that night, sleep refused to come.
Aruna lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of electricity and distant footsteps. Dante sat at the small table, going through files, his focus unbroken.
“Do you ever rest?” she asked softly.
“When necessary.”
“And when is that?”
“When the threat is gone.”
She turned onto her side, facing him. “And if it never is?”
He did not look up. “Then neither do I.”
She hesitated before asking, “How many people have you killed?”
His hand paused.
“Enough,” he said.
The answer chilled her more than a number ever could.
“Does it bother you?” she asked.
“No.”
She studied his face. “Does anything?”
His gaze lifted to hers. “Yes.”
Her heart skipped. “What?”
“You,” he said.
The word settled heavily between them.
She looked away first. “I never asked for this.”
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re claiming me?”
Dante closed the file and stood, walking toward her slowly. Not threatening. Not rushed.
“Because I am,” he said.
Her pulse raced. “You can’t just decide that.”
“I already did.”
She pushed herself up on the bed, putting distance between them. “I’m not your possession.”
Dante stopped inches away. “You walked into my protection. That comes with rules.”
“And if I break them?”
His gaze darkened. “Then I break whoever put you in danger.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” he replied. “But it’s the only consequence that matters.”
The tension between them thickened, heavy and unspoken.
“Don’t touch me,” she said quietly.
“I won’t,” Dante replied immediately.
She blinked. “That was too fast.”
“I don’t take what’s not given,” he said. “Not like that.”
She searched his face, trying to find deception. “Then what do you take?”
“Loyalty,” he answered. “Time. Trust.”
“And if I give you none of those?”
“Then I keep you alive anyway.”
Her voice wavered. “Why?”
He leaned closer, stopping just short of contact. She could feel his breath now, warm and steady.
“Because they already think you’re mine,” Dante said. “And in my world, that makes you untouchable.”
Her heart pounded painfully. “And what does it make you?”
His eyes locked onto hers.
“It makes me responsible.”
A sharp alarm suddenly cut through the room.
Dante straightened instantly, all softness gone.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
She grabbed his arm. “What’s happening?”
“They breached the outer gate,” he said.
Fear flooded her. “They’re here?”
“Yes.”
Gunshots echoed faintly in the distance.
Her breath came fast. “You said this place was safe.”
“It is,” Dante replied, pulling free gently. “That’s why they’re trying so hard.”
He paused at the door and looked back at her.
“No matter what you hear,” he said, “you do not open this door.”
“And if they get in?”
“They won’t.”
“And if you don’t come back?”
His jaw tightened.
“I will,” Dante said.
The door slammed shut.
Aruna was alone.
Minutes stretched like hours. The sounds outside were muffled, but unmistakable. Shouting. Footsteps. The dull thud of something heavy hitting the walls.
She hugged her knees to her chest, fighting panic.
Then silence.
Too sudden. Too complete.
Her heart pounded as she stared at the door.
“Dante?” she called softly.
No answer.
The handle turned.
She scrambled backward as the door opened slowly.
Dante stepped inside, blood splattered across his sleeve.
She gasped. “You’re hurt.”
“Not mine,” he replied.
Relief crashed into her so hard her knees nearly gave out.
“They’re gone?” she asked.
“For now,” he said.
She stared at the blood again. “Because of me?”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavy.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
Dante closed the door behind him and looked at her with something raw in his eyes.
“Don’t be,” he said. “This was inevitable.”
She took a shaky breath. “What happens now?”
He stepped closer, towering over her, his presence overwhelming.
“Now,” Dante said quietly, “they know exactly how far I’m willing to go for you.”
Her voice barely worked. “And how far is that?”
His gaze burned into hers.
“Further than they expect,” he said.
“And further than you’re ready for.”
- Writer
