C137 He Didn't Lie

Dante stormed down the corridor, his boots echoing against the polished floors with each determined step. His knuckles throbbed from the repeated punches he’d thrown, and the faint smear of blood on them didn’t faze him in the slightest. Angelo trailed behind, his attempts at calming Dante rebuffed by a sharp shrug of the shoulder.

“Leave it,” Dante barked without looking back, his voice rough with unspent anger.

Angelo didn’t press further, watching as Dante reached his door and yanked it open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Inside, Annabelle was pacing furiously, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed with fury.

The moment her eyes landed on him, she exploded.

“You’re insane!” she screamed, storming toward him. “What the hell were you thinking, Dante? You could have killed him!”

Dante barely got a chance to close the door before she was on him, pounding her fists against his chest. “You have no right! No damn right!”

“Stop it,” he growled, grabbing her wrists. His tone was low, dangerous, but Annabelle didn’t flinch.

“No, I won’t stop!” she shouted, twisting against his grip. “He’s your friend, Dante! He is like...your brother! And you nearly...”

“Nearly what?” Dante cut her off, his voice rising. “Killed him? Is that what you think?”

Annabelle’s eyes burned with fury. “It’s exactly what I think! Because you’re a brute who doesn’t care about anyone but himself!”

His grip on her wrists tightened involuntarily. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat.

“Oh, I don’t?” she countered, yanking herself free. “You looked ready to murder him down there! And why? Because you’re jealous?”

Dante’s jaw clenched, the accusation hitting too close to the truth. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, turning his back on her.

“Then make me understand!” she fired back.

He spun around, his towering frame imposing as he closed the distance between them in two swift strides. “I come back after weeks of dealing with hell, and what do I find? *You*, cozying up to Mikhail like I don’t exist!”

Annabelle’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Cozying up?” she repeated. “You have some nerve! Mikhail has been nothing but kind to me while you were off doing God knows what!”

“That’s because he wants you,” Dante snarled, his voice laced with venom. “Don’t act like you’re oblivious. He’s been after you since the moment he laid eyes on you.”

“And so what if he is?” Annabelle shot back, lifting her chin defiantly. “At least he treats me with respect, which is more than I can say for you!”

The words stung more than Dante wanted to admit. His fury flared, and before he knew it, he was pressing her back onto the bed, pinning her there with his body.

Annabelle struggled beneath him, her breathing ragged. “Get off me!” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Dante said through gritted teeth, though his own emotions were spiraling out of control. “Stop fighting me.”

“I’ll fight you all I want!” she snapped. “You don’t get to come in here and manhandle me like I’m your property!”

“You are mine,” Dante said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Not anymore!” she shot back.

The fire in her words made his grip falter for a moment, but the feel of her beneath him, the closeness after weeks of yearning for her, only heightened the tension. His body betrayed him, and he cursed under his breath when he realised she could feel it too.

Her eyes darkened, her tone colder than he’d ever heard it. “If you so much as touch me like that again, Dante, I’ll kill myself.”

The declaration hit him like a punch to the gut. He recoiled slightly, his anger momentarily giving way to shock. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her body. “I would rather die than let you treat me like this.”

The words stung deeper than any insult, but Dante’s pride and frustration wouldn’t let him back down. “Have you been giving yourself to him?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Annabelle blinked, the question catching her off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone cruel. “While I was gone, did you let him have you?”

Her lips trembled, but she quickly steeled herself. “It’s none of your business,” she said, her defiance cutting through him like a blade.

His fists clenched at his sides. “Answer me.”

“Fine!” she snapped. “Yes, Dante. I let him have me. Over and over again. In ways you could never imagine.”

The image her words painted ignited something dark and uncontrollable inside him. Before he realised it, his hands were around her neck, not squeezing but firm enough to hold her in place.

“Go on,” she taunted, her voice shaking. “Kill me. Isn’t that what you’re best at?”

Her words were like ice water dousing his fury. His hands loosened, his breath ragged as he stared down at her in disbelief.

Then she whispered, her voice breaking. “Just like you killed my child.”

The room spun. Dante froze, her words hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. “What did you say?”

Annabelle’s eyes filled with tears, but her gaze didn’t waver. “You heard me,” she said. “You killed my child.”

A deafening silence settled between them, broken only by their laboured breaths.

Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness. The estate was engulfed in a blackout, the faint hum of the generator failing to kick in immediately.

Dante’s grip on her loosened completely as he stepped back, his mind racing. “Stay here,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Annabelle didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the spot where he’d been moments before.

Without another word, Dante turned and strode out of the room, the weight of her accusation pressing heavily on his chest.

*********

The moment Dante's weight lifted from her, his voice was sharp and unyielding. "Stay down," he commanded, snapping her out of her panic.

Annabelle could barely make out his face in the faint light slicing through the window, but his expression was set like stone. Her breath hitched when the first gunshot cracked somewhere in the house, followed by another, then screaming.

“Stay in this room,” Dante barked, his tone fierce and unrelenting. “Lock the fucking door after me. Don’t let anyone in unless you hear my voice. Shoot anyone who comes through that door.”

Before she could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the pitch-black hallway like a shadow. Her heart hammered in her chest as her trembling hand reached for the latch. But then her thoughts screamed louder than the chaos outside.

“Cathy,” she whispered.

Her fingers froze. The fear clawing at her throat tightened its grip. She had no time to search for a gun in Dante’s room. Moving purely on instinct, she bolted through the connecting door to her own room, fumbling for the loaded gun she’d stashed in her drawer.

Every gunshot that shattered the air felt like it rattled her bones. Her pulse raced as she clutched the weapon tightly and dashed into the hallway. She didn’t think—she couldn’t afford to think.

A piercing shriek echoed ahead, near Cathy’s room. Her stomach plummeted. “Please, no,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the sound of her frantic footsteps.

“Miss!” a guard shouted behind her. She didn’t look back, didn’t trust anyone—not now.

Annabelle froze at the landing.

Through the faint moonlight filtering in from the windows, she saw them—men clad in black, fighting viciously. She couldn’t tell who was who. Her instincts screamed at her to raise her gun.

“Stay the hell away from me!” she warned, aiming the weapon at the guards approaching her. Her voice shook, but she held firm.

“Miss, please,” one of them pleaded. “Go back inside!”

“I’m not leaving my—” Annabelle’s words cut off as her survival instincts took over. She spun just in time to see a man lunging at her from the shadows. She fired, the shot echoing like a cannon blast in the enclosed space.

The man fell, but before she could react, rough hands grabbed her from behind.

“Got you, bitch,” one of them sneered, his breath hot and vile against her ear.

Annabelle struggled wildly, her free hand swinging toward his shin in a desperate attempt to break free. But the sharp sting of a slap sent her head snapping to the side, the pain momentarily disorienting her.

Suddenly, the man’s body jerked violently. His grip loosened, and he crumpled to the ground, dragging her down with him.

Before she hit the floor, an iron grip yanked her upright.

She gasped, her vision clearing to reveal Dante’s face, his features contorted with fury. His dark eyes burned like embers in the dim light, and his hand trembled as it held her arm.

“I. Told. You. To. Stay. Inside!” he ground out, each word dripping with barely contained rage.

“Cathy,” she croaked, her throat tightening around the single word.

“She’s safe, you idiot!” he snapped.

“Boss, you need to go now!” Angelo’s voice cut through the chaos.

Dante hesitated, his eyes darting toward the sounds of renewed fighting outside. His jaw clenched, torn between his instincts to protect Annabelle and the war raging beyond.

“You’re in the best position to go with them, boss,” Angelo pressed urgently. “The miss will only stay put if you’re there.”

Dante glared at Annabelle, his frustration palpable. “Damn woman,” he muttered under his breath.

Then, turning to Angelo, he added in a gruff voice, “Try not to die.”

“I wouldn’t dare, boss,” Angelo replied with a faint smirk before disappearing into the fray.

Annabelle’s heart pounded as Dante grabbed her wrist, his grip almost painfully tight. She stumbled after him, the dark corridors of the mansion feeling more like a labyrinth than ever before.

They descended into the basement, the air growing colder and heavier with every step. Annabelle’s breath hitched as the faint metallic scent of blood hit her nose. The dim light reflected off tools she didn’t dare identify.

“What is this place?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dante didn’t answer. He moved with a purpose, navigating the space with a confidence that made her stomach churn.

At the far end, he pressed something on the wall. A hidden compartment slid open, revealing a narrow tunnel.

He stepped inside without hesitation, pulling her along.

Annabelle’s feet dragged to a stop when she saw the men stationed at the other end, their dark figures blending into the shadows. Her grip tightened on her gun, but none of them raised their weapons.

The realisation hit her like a freight train.

“Mafia,” she whispered, half-question, half-statement. “You’re in the mafia.”

Dante rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in irritation. “Oh, the newest genius in town,” he muttered sarcastically.

He turned to seal the door behind them, and Annabelle’s panic surged.

“I’m not leaving without my sister!” she cried, her voice breaking.

“Anna?” a small, frightened voice called out from beyond the men.

Annabelle’s breath caught in her throat as the guards parted slightly, revealing Cathy standing unharmed.

Relief flooded her as she ran to her sister, pulling her into a fierce hug.

Tears streamed down her face as she thought, “He didn’t lie this time. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”