The photo slipped from Elena's trembling fingers and landed face-up on the floor.
Dante. Cuffed. Bloodied. His face half-hidden in shadow but unmistakably him.
The words on the back of the photo burned into her brain like fire:
You want him? Come. Alone.
She stared at the man in the military jacket. "Where did they take him?"
The man gave her a long, unreadable look. "If you go, you won't come back the same."
"I'm not here for warnings."
"Then you'll need this." He handed her a small flash drive. "Blueprints. Guard rotations. He got it before they caught him."
Elena's breath caught. "You helped him?"
"I owed him a life. Maybe now I've paid it."
With that, the man turned and vanished into the shadows as quietly as he'd come.
Elena stood in the empty villa, the silence pressing in around her. Her mind screamed that this was suicide. That she wasn't a killer. That she should wait for help, contact someone-anyone-from her father's circle.
But that would be playing by the old rules. And the old rules had already tried to get her killed.
She stuffed the photo into her jacket, gritted her teeth, and loaded the pistol.
Tonight, Elena De Rossi would make her first kill.
The compound loomed like a concrete fortress, nestled deep within the docks, surrounded by rusted containers and shadows that moved when you didn't look.
Aria crouched behind a rusted pillar, heart hammering against her ribs. She was dressed in black from head to toe, her father's old combat boots laced tight, Dante's knife strapped to her thigh. She had memorized the blueprints on the drive during the cab ride here. The southeast corridor was the least guarded.
A guard patrolled the entrance. Tall, broad, unaware.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the knife. She'd never taken a life. She had always been shielded from this part of the world. She had lived behind silks and cocktails, pretending her father's empire wasn't built on bodies.
But Dante was somewhere inside, and no one else was coming to save him.
She moved like she had seen Dante move-swift and quiet. The guard didn't hear her coming.
The knife slid in under his ribs, angled up, just like Dante had told her once in jest.
Except this wasn't a joke.
The man gasped, eyes wide with surprise, and slumped against her.
She lowered him gently, blood pooling beneath him.
Her hands shook violently. Her breath hitched. The world spun.
But she didn't run.
She wiped the knife clean on his coat and kept moving.
The inside of the compound was a maze of steel doors, flickering lights, and echoes that twisted sound into menace. She passed two more guards by hiding in the crawlspace above a hallway, heart pounding as they chatted casually beneath her.
Dante's name echoed down a distant corridor.
She froze.
It was a man's voice, rough and cruel. "The assassin thought he could outplay us. Let's see how long he lasts without that mouth of his."
A door slammed.
Aria crept toward the sound. At the end of the corridor, a thick steel door stood slightly ajar. She peeked through the crack.
Inside was a dimly lit room-bare walls, a single chair, and Dante tied to it.
Blood streaked his face, and his lip was split. His shirt had been stripped away, revealing bruises and more of those haunting scars across his chest.
But his eyes-his eyes were still alive. Burning.
Elena slipped inside, silent as breath.
"Dante," she whispered.
His head jerked up. "Elena?"
She rushed to him, knife already working on the ropes.
"Are you insane?" he hissed. "You came alone?"
"You told me not to open the door for anyone but you," she replied, cutting through the final knot. "So I came to get you."
A soft sound behind her-a click.
She turned too late.
A man stood in the doorway, a gun aimed at her chest.
"Touching," he sneered. "The princess saves the monster."
Dante surged forward, tackling the man with a guttural growl. The gun fired-once, twice-before sliding across the floor. Elena dove for it, fingers closing around the grip.
The man twisted free of Dante, knife flashing.
Bang!
He dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
Elena stood over the body, gun still aimed, her arms trembling. The echo of the shot still rang in the room.
Dante looked up at her, eyes wide. "You killed him."
She dropped the gun. "I didn't have a choice."
"You made one," he said quietly, rising to his feet. "You chose me."
Their eyes locked, raw and real. Something shifted in that moment-something deeper than adrenaline or fear.
He reached for her face, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. "You're shaking."
"I just killed a man."
"And saved my life."
His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her in. This kiss was different-less fire, more ache. A thank you. A promise. A beginning.
When they finally pulled apart, her voice was barely a whisper. "What now?"
"We run. This place will be crawling with reinforcements any second."
"Then let's go."
They slipped out the back, weaving through crates and shadows. Elena's hands were still stained red. Her mind was a whirlwind, but her steps didn't falter. Not anymore.
Dante guided them to a hidden exit and into a stolen car parked nearby. As they sped away, sirens echoed in the distance.
The city unfolded before them like a new battlefield-dangerous, unpredictable, full of betrayal and broken loyalties.
But for the first time, Elena didn't feel like a pawn.
She felt like a player.
They didn't stop driving until the city lights faded into distant memory.
At a hidden cabin on the outskirts, Dante killed the headlights and pulled the car into a thicket. Elena stepped out, breathing in the cold, clean air. Her bloodstained clothes clung to her.
Inside, Dante built a fire while Elena cleaned her hands in the sink. The blood wouldn't come off easily.
"First time's the hardest," he said softly, handing her a clean towel.
She took it. "Does it ever get easier?"
"No," he admitted. "But you get stronger."
She looked at him, the firelight dancing across his bruised face. "You could've told me not to come."
"I knew you wouldn't listen," he said, then smirked. "That's how I knew I was already in trouble."
Aria laughed softly-surprised by the sound. Then her smile faded. "They'll come after us."
"I know."
"And my father?"
"He'll see your betrayal as a declaration of war."
She stepped closer. "Then I'm choosing my side."
Dante met her gaze, something dark and fierce flashing in his eyes. "And which side is that?"
"Hers," she whispered, and kissed him again-this time not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
In that moment, with blood still on her skin and firelight between them, Elena became something new. Not a mafia princess. Not a sheltered pawn.
She became a fighter.
A killer.
A woman mated to the assassin fate sent to destroy her world-and now, perhaps, to help her rebuild it in blood.