The warehouse’s cold steel walls seemed to close in around them as Dante and Alessia took their positions. The air was thick with the weight of impending violence, each breath measured as they scanned the shadows. Dante’s instincts, honed by years of navigating dangerous waters, told him tonight wasn’t about negotiation. Sergei had sent a message, and now Dante had to send one of his own.

Alessia crouched low beside him, her gaze sharp, focused. Her every movement was deliberate, a predator ready to strike. The tension between them had momentarily dissolved, replaced by the clarity of what they both did best: survive. No matter what had been brewing in the quiet spaces between them, right now, their only priority was ensuring they walked out of this warehouse alive.

Matteo slipped into the shadows behind them, his eyes never leaving the perimeter where Sergei’s men had been spotted earlier. “Three of them, maybe more,” he murmured. “They’re spread out, covering the exits. Sergei’s making sure we can’t slip away.”

Dante nodded, his mind racing through the possibilities. Sergei wasn’t making a full-scale assault. This was an ambush in waiting—a trap designed to gauge Dante’s response. The Russians wanted to see how far they could push before Dante retaliated.

“Do we know if Sergei’s here himself?” Alessia asked, her voice a low whisper, barely audible above the hum of the dockside cranes in the distance.

Matteo shook his head. “No sign of him. Just his men. He’s keeping his hands clean for now.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. That was just like Sergei—calculating, always waiting in the shadows for someone else to make the first move. But Dante knew better than to play by someone else’s rules.

“We’re not waiting for them to come to us,” Dante said, his voice hard. “We go on the offensive. Hit them before they have a chance to close in.”

Alessia’s eyes flicked to his, a spark of approval in her gaze. It was the right call—if they stayed defensive, they’d be cornered. Sergei’s men would close in from all sides, and by the time they realized it, it would be too late.

Matteo nodded, already slipping back into the shadows to gather their men. Dante turned to Alessia, his voice softer now. “Stay close to me. No risks.”

She bristled slightly at his tone but didn’t argue. “I always stay close, Dante.”

He knew she did. But this was different. Sergei had made this personal, and Dante wasn’t willing to take any chances with her life—not when he had already realized how deep she’d gotten under his skin.

They moved as one, slipping through the narrow alleyways between the shipping containers that lined the warehouse. Every step was calculated, every breath controlled. Dante’s heart pounded in his chest, not from fear but from the electric rush that always came before the storm. This was his world, and no matter how many times he stepped into the fire, he never faltered.

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The first Russian appeared from behind a stack of crates, his gun raised. But Dante was faster. Before the man could react, a bullet sliced through the air, embedding itself in his chest. He dropped without a sound, crumpling into the shadows.

Alessia moved like a ghost beside him, silent and lethal. Two more men appeared, their weapons ready, but Alessia was quicker, her blade flashing in the dim light as she dispatched one with a swift strike to the throat. The second man barely had time to react before Dante’s bullet found its mark.

The element of surprise was theirs now. The Russians hadn’t expected this—they’d come to watch, to wait, but Dante had turned the game on them.

Matteo’s voice crackled through Dante’s earpiece. “Three more down near the north exit. We’ve got control of the perimeter.”

Dante glanced at Alessia, her dark eyes scanning the area. “Sergei?”

“Not here,” Matteo replied. “But his men are dropping fast.”

Dante felt a surge of cold satisfaction. This wasn’t the final blow, but it was a message. Sergei’s reach wasn’t as long as he thought. And if the Russians wanted a war, Dante was ready to give them one.

“Pull back,” Dante ordered, his voice firm. “We’ve made our point. Let’s not push our luck.”

Matteo acknowledged the order, and within moments, Dante and Alessia were slipping back through the maze of containers, their retreat as silent as their attack. The night air felt heavier now, thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood.

As they reached the car, Dante’s mind was still working, turning over every detail of the night. This wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even the beginning. Sergei had tested him, but there was more to come—he could feel it. And Dante wasn’t going to sit back and wait for the next move.

Alessia slid into the passenger seat, her expression unreadable, but Dante could see the fire in her eyes. She was alive in moments like this, her edges sharp, her instincts flawless. It was part of what made her so dangerous—and part of what made her so hard to ignore.

“Sergei’s going to retaliate,” Alessia said quietly as they sped away from the docks. “He’ll come harder next time.”

“I know,” Dante replied, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “But we’ll be ready.”

There was a long pause, the weight of everything that had happened hanging between them. Finally, Alessia spoke again, her voice softer this time. “Dante, this can’t keep going like this. The tension between you and Sergei—it’s going to spill over. And when it does, there’s no going back.”

Dante glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re playing with fire,” she replied, her eyes locking with his. “And I think you’re underestimating how far Sergei’s willing to go.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “I don’t underestimate anything.”

“You underestimate him,” Alessia said, her voice a little sharper. “He’s not like the others you’ve dealt with. Sergei’s not playing by the same rules.”

Dante didn’t respond immediately, his mind turning over her words. He knew she was right—Sergei was different. He was patient, calculating, willing to wait for his moment. And Dante had to be prepared for that.

But there was something else gnawing at him. It wasn’t just Sergei’s patience that worried him—it was the look in his eyes when he’d spoken to Alessia. The way Sergei had seen through the carefully constructed walls Dante had built around himself.

Sergei had seen the truth.

Dante cared about her. More than he should.

And that made him vulnerable.

“Sergei’s not just after territory,” Dante said finally, his voice low. “He wants more. And he’s willing to use anything to get it.”

Alessia looked at him, her eyes dark and searching. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he’s already figured out my weakness,” Dante replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “And he’s going to use it.”

The car fell into silence, the weight of Dante’s words hanging between them. Alessia didn’t ask what he meant—she already knew. The moment Sergei had looked at her, the game had changed. And now, they were both walking a razor’s edge.

As they neared Dante’s penthouse, the city lights glittering in the distance, Alessia’s voice cut through the quiet. “We need to be careful, Dante. Both of us. Sergei won’t stop. And if we’re not careful…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Dante’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. He knew the risks, but that didn’t change what was already in motion. He had made his choice, and now, they would both have to live with the consequences.

“Careful doesn’t win wars, Alessia,” Dante said, his voice hard. “And we’re at war now.”

Alessia’s gaze stayed on him, her expression unreadable. “Just promise me one thing, Dante.”

“What?”

“Don’t let this get personal.”

Dante didn’t answer, but the silence said more than words ever could.

It was already personal. For both of them.