The darkness was cold and smelled of rust and saltwater. My head throbbed. I found myself on a damp concrete floor, my hands tied behind my back with a painful zip tie. A few feet away, Aria was in a similar situation, silent tears streaming down her pale face. We were in an abandoned warehouse.
"He'll come for us," Aria whispered, her voice shaky.
"I know," I replied, trying to sound confident even though I felt anything but. My heart raced against my ribs, and my mind worked furiously. Just before they pulled me from the car, I had managed to jam my hand into my clutch purse. My fingers found the cold metal of my phone. I had pressed the side buttons in a sequence I discovered while exploring its operating system—a hard reset that, if held long enough, would activate a distress signal. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance we had.
Heavy footsteps echoed from a metal staircase. A figure stepped out of the shadows, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that seemed out of place in the grimy warehouse. He appeared older, with silvering hair and a predatory smile that reminded me of a shark. Marco Valerius. His cold, lifeless eyes scanned us.
"The Moretti jewels," he said with a low laugh. "His precious little sister. And… you." His gaze lingered on me. "The girl with the golden blood. Julian told me all about you. A complication. But a beautiful one."
So it was Julian. The betrayal was confirmed.
"What do you want?" Aria demanded, a spark of Moretti fire in her voice.
"Want?" Valerius's smile widened. "My dear, I want revenge. Your father was a sentimental fool who refused to sell me his company. He cost me a fortune. Your brother… your brother is an arrogant beast who has cost me an empire. So, I am going to take everything from him, starting with the two of you."
He was enjoying himself, relishing his victory. It was the mistake every villain makes.
Suddenly, a muffled thump echoed from above. Then another. Valerius frowned and turned toward the entrance. "Check the perimeter," he barked at one of his guards.
The guard never made it to the door.
The chaos that followed was a brutal display of efficiency. The lights shattered, plunging the warehouse into near-total darkness, illuminated only by thin beams of moonlight streaming through the grimy windows. Muffled gunshots sounded all around us, like a deadly popcorn machine. Men cried out and fell. It wasn't a gunfight; it was an extermination.
From the deepest shadows, a figure emerged, moving with fluid, deadly grace. Dante. He wore black tactical gear, the suppressor on his rifle making him look fierce. He was no longer a CEO. He was the god of death, and this was his domain.
Valerius's men fell one by one, taken out by Dante and his team, who moved like phantoms through the darkness. In seconds, it was over. Only Valerius remained, his face twisted in disbelief and panic. In a final, desperate act, he lunged, grabbing me and yanking me to my feet. He pressed the cold barrel of a pistol to my temple.
"One more step, Moretti, and she dies!" he yelled, using my body as a shield.
Dante froze, his rifle aimed at us. In the dim light, I saw his eyes blazing with a hellish green fire. He looked at me, and in that silent, heart-stopping moment, a hundred emotions seemed to pass between us—fear, regret, and a terrifying, possessive promise.
"Let her go, Valerius," Dante said, his voice impossibly calm. "And I might let you live."
"You lose either way!" Valerius screamed, his hand shaking. He knew it was over. He knew he was a dead man. But he could still hurt Dante. He could still take something from him.
He shifted his aim.
It wasn't a choice. It wasn't a thought. It was pure reflex. As he moved the gun from my head, I threw my body weight backward, slamming my head into his nose. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a brief moment.
That was all Dante needed. But Valerius was faster than I expected. As he stumbled back, he pulled the trigger.
A searing, white-hot pain exploded in my side. The impact threw me to the ground. A scream tore from my throat as darkness began to creep into my vision. I heard another gunshot, much louder this time, followed by the heavy thud of Valerius's body hitting the concrete.
Then Dante was there, kneeling beside me, pressing down on the wound with hands that trembled. "Bella! Isabella, stay with me!" he shouted, panic filling his voice—panic I never thought I would see from him.
"She's bleeding out!" Leo shouted. "We need to move, now!"
A medic from his team was already cutting away the silk of my gown. "Massive hemorrhaging, sir! Her blood pressure is dropping! She's Rh-null! We don't have this in the field kits!"
Dante stared at the medic, then at my pale face, then at his hands, covered in my blood—the blood of the woman who had saved him. His expression shifted from despair to fierce, unshakable resolve. The debt. It had come full circle.
"Get the transfusion kit," he commanded, his voice shaking but firm. He began taking off his tactical vest. "Her blood saved me. Mine will save her."
He lay down on the cold, bloody concrete beside me. As the medic prepared his arm, his intense green eyes locked onto mine. The world was fading, but the last thing I saw was his face, showing a desperate, terrifying tenderness. The last thing I felt was warmth spreading through my veins as his life force, his very blood, began to flow into me.
The debt was being paid. In fire and in blood, we were now even.