The warehouse fell silent, the echoes of gunfire dissipating into the night. Bodies littered the floor, blood pooling beneath them. Victor Antonov was on his knees, flanked by two of Dante's men, his face bruised but still smug. The smirk on his lips was a taunt, a reminder of the past Alessia had fought so hard to bury.

Alessia stood frozen, her pulse roaring in her ears. She felt Dante's presence behind her, cold and distant. The silence between them was louder than the chaos that had just unfolded. It was a silence filled with the weight of everything she hadn't told him- everything Victor had just ripped open with a few well-placed words.

Dante stepped forward, his movements measured, his gun hanging loosely at his side. His voice, when it came, was low and deadly. "You've made a mistake, Victor."

But Victor's eyes weren't on Dante. They were on Alessia. "Oh, I don't think so, Bianchi," he said, his voice calm, almost amused. "The mistake was trusting her."

Dante's jaw tightened, and Alessia could feel his control slipping. He didn't even look at her, his entire focus on Victor, but the coldness radiating from him was enough to cut through her. She wanted to speak, to explain, but her throat was tight, and fear gripped her heart.

Tell him.

"I knew you'd come for me, Dante," Victor continued, unflinching as Dante stepped closer. "But I also knew you wouldn't come alone. She's always where the power is, after all."

Alessia's stomach twisted. Every word Victor spoke was carefully crafted to wound, to plant doubt. He knew exactly what he was doing. And Dante was listening.

"Shut your mouth," Dante growled, raising his gun and aiming it at Victor's head. But his hand wavered, just for a moment.

Victor's gaze flicked to Alessia again, his smirk widening. "She didn't tell you, did she?"

The air between them crackled with tension. Dante's silence was deafening. Alessia could feel his mind working, processing, analyzing. He was putting the pieces together, and it was killing her.

She couldn't let Victor control the narrative. Not anymore.

"I used to work for him," Alessia said, her voice barely a whisper, but loud enough for Dante to hear. The words felt like knives, cutting through the thin thread of trust she had left. "A long time ago."

Dante's shoulders stiffened. His grip tightened on the gun, but still, he didn't turn to look at her. His voice was cold, controlled. "How long ago?"

Alessia swallowed hard. She could feel Victor watching her, enjoying every second of the unraveling he had set into motion. "It was before I met you. I was young. Stupid." She hesitated, knowing the next part would change everything. "I... I trusted him."

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The silence stretched, a knife-edge tension hanging between them. Dante's back was still to her, his breathing steady, but she could sense the storm brewing inside him.

Please, Dante. Look at me.

But he didn't. His voice, when it came, was flat, emotionless. "And now?"

Alessia's heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to make him understand that her past with Victor meant nothing compared to what they had built. But her mind was racing, fear gripping her throat. "I walked away. I left everything behind."

Finally, Dante turned, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The fury in them was unmistakable, but beneath it, Alessia saw something worse-betrayal. His gaze felt like a blade, slicing through her defenses. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The question hung in the air, loaded with accusation. Alessia opened her mouth, but no words came. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind, knowing that someday her past would catch up to her, but the reality of it was far worse than she had imagined. She had thought she could control the fallout, explain it on her terms. But now, with Victor sitting there, Dante's trust was crumbling before her eyes.

"I was trying to protect you," Alessia said, her voice shaky but sincere. "Victor... he's dangerous. I thought if you knew, it would change everything."

"It already has," Dante said, his voice low and lethal.

Alessia's heart sank. She had feared this moment for so long-feared the look in Dante's eyes now. The wall he had built around himself, the one she had slowly begun to break down, was back, stronger than ever. And she had no idea how to scale it this time.

Victor laughed softly, enjoying the spectacle. "She never was good at loyalty, Dante. You should've known."

In an instant, Dante moved. His gun pressed hard against Victor's temple, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "I should kill you right now."

Victor didn't flinch. "But you won't, will you? Because you're not really angry with me. You're angry with her."

The truth of it hit Dante harder than he expected. His anger, his frustration -it wasn't just at Victor. It was at Alessia, for hiding this from him. For making him feel vulnerable. And vulnerability was something Dante couldn't afford. Not now. Not ever.

He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to end Victor's smug, taunting voice right here, right now. But he couldn't. Not with Alessia standing behind him, watching. He had to control the rage, had to keep it bottled up, because once it was unleashed, there would be no going back.

Dante lowered the gun, stepping back, his chest rising and falling with the force of his barely controlled fury. He glanced at his men. "Take him to the safehouse. We're not done with him yet."

Victor was dragged to his feet, his eyes still gleaming with amusement as they hauled him out of the warehouse. But the damage had been done. He had sown the seeds of doubt, and Pante knew it.

When the room was empty, and it was just the two of them, Dante finally turned to face Alessia fully. The coldness in his eyes hadn't faded. "You should've told me."

Alessia took a step toward him, her heart pounding, but he stepped back, keeping the distance between them. "I was going to-"

"When?" Dante snapped, cutting her off. "Before or after Sergei's men took Marco? Before or after you lied to my face?"

"I didn't lie," Alessia said, her voice rising, desperation creeping into her tone. "I left that part of my life behind, Dante. I didn't think it mattered anymore."

"It always matters," Dante growled. "Especially in this world. You know that."

Alessia's chest tightened. He was right. In their world, the past always mattered. It was never really gone, no matter how much you tried to outrun it. But she had tried. She had tried so hard to be someone different, someone Dante could trust. And now, it was slipping away, piece by piece.

"I'm not him," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I'm not Victor."

Dante's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes- something vulnerable. "Aren't you?"

The words stung, sharper than any bullet. Alessia flinched, but she forced herself to hold his gaze, to face the anger and hurt she had caused. "I left him for a reason. I chose you, Dante."

Dante's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You say that now. But trust doesn't work like that, Alessia. Trust is built, not chosen. And you just shattered it."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Alessia felt the weight of his words, the finality of them. She had always known that her past with Victor would come back to haunt her, but she hadn't expected it to destroy everything she had fought for with Dante.

"I can't fix this," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Dante didn't respond. He didn't need to. The distance between them said it all.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the warehouse, leaving her standing alone in the darkness, the cold air swirling around her like a reminder of everything she had lost.