Emma's pulse thundered in her ears.
Dante Romano stepped from the shadows, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his silver hair slicked back, a glass of wine in his hand as if they were meeting at a private dinner rather than in a fortified panic room.
"I imagined this reunion under different circumstances," he said smoothly, with a slight Italian accent. "But fate never waits for permission."
Emma backed up until her shoulders hit the cold steel door.
"You're my father," she said, the words tasting like betrayal on her tongue.
"Biologically, yes," Dante said with a faint smile. "But no more than a bloodline. We share a name, not memories. That was your mother's doing."
"My mother protected me from men like you."
Dante's smile faded. "Your mother was once ambitious, fierce… until she ran. I warned her the world doesn't forgive those who flee power. And now, she's dead. What a shame."
Emma's knees buckled. "Did you—"
"I didn't have to. Illness did what vengeance couldn't."
"You're a monster," she whispered.
"No," he replied, voice growing colder, "I'm a man who built an empire. And now, that empire is at risk because you married him."
"Alexander saved me."
Dante chuckled. "Saved you? Or used you? He knew exactly who you were the moment you walked into his office. He wanted leverage. And you gave it to him on a silver platter."
Her heart twisted.
"Let me go," she said, swallowing hard.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Emma," Dante said. "I'm here to offer you a deal."
Emma stared at him.
"You leave Alexander. You come with me. I'll erase your debts. Protect you. Give you a new life. No more running. No more being used."
"And in return?"
"You publicly denounce him. Tell the world he forced you into this marriage under false pretenses. Destroy his credibility. End his empire."
She sucked in a breath.
"I'll give you one hour to decide," Dante added. "After that, things... become less civil."
The door opened. His men escorted her into a smaller room—no windows, just a table and a chair. Her phone and earpiece were gone.
She sat down, trembling.
One hour. One impossible choice.
And no way to know if Alexander Blackwood was coming to save her.
---
The minutes dragged by like hours. Emma's thoughts spun in wild circles.
Could Dante be telling the truth? Had Alexander known her identity all along? Used her like a chess piece against the very man she had only just discovered was her father?
She remembered the softness in Alexander's voice when he spoke her name, the fire behind his kiss, the urgency in his hands when he told her to run.
None of it felt like a lie.
But lies were slick. They wore charm and tenderness like masks.
A knock jolted her out of her spiraling thoughts. The door opened, and a young man entered—mid-thirties, sharp suit, calm expression.
"Miss Carter," he said politely. "I'm Matteo Romano. Your half-brother."
Emma stiffened.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said quickly. "But I thought you might want to hear a different side to all this."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why would I trust you?"
"Because I'm not Dante. And because Alexander has secrets that could kill you."
Emma sat up slowly. "Go on."
Matteo glanced at the camera in the corner. "What I'm about to tell you, my father wouldn't approve. But you deserve the truth. You're family, whether he sees it that way or not."
Emma remained silent.
"Alexander didn't just know who you were. He sought you out. Your mother's debts, the eviction, the job at Blackwood Industries—it was all orchestrated. He needed leverage on Dante, and you were it."
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
"Then why did he save me tonight? Risk everything to protect me?"
Matteo sighed. "Maybe it started as strategy. Maybe it became something more. I don't know. But make no mistake—he's just as ruthless as Dante. If you stay with either of them, you'll never be free."
Emma's voice cracked. "So what are you saying? That I should run?"
"I'm saying you should make a choice for you. Not for your mother's ghost. Not for vengeance. And not for love—because that kind of love comes with blood on its hands."
He dropped a folded paper on the table. "There's a private airstrip twenty minutes outside the city. One of the pilots owes me. This is your out. Use it."
She stared at it.
"You have forty minutes left."
He left, locking the door behind him.
Emma stared at the paper. Her hands shook as she unfolded it. A flight plan. Coordinates. A name she didn't recognize.
She had an escape route.
But her heart was already caught between two impossible men.
And she had no idea which one was lying—or which one she wanted to believe.
Suddenly, the door burst open again.
Only this time,it wasn't Matteo.
It was Isabella.
Drenched in blood.
"I told you," she whispered, eyes wild. "He'll kill you like he killed me."
Emma shot to her feet. "What are you talking about?"
Isabella smiled, lips trembling. "Alexander Blackwood is not who you think he is. He never was. But it's too late now."
She staggered forward, clutching her side.
Then collapsed to the floor.
Blood spreading like ink around her.