07

Aurora

I drove through the streets of Bellagio, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Sofia had sounded scared. Not just rebellious, not just stubborn—scared.

I knew what that meant.

She was in over her head, and I had no idea where she was or who she was with.

And the only person who could do something about it was the last person I wanted to ask for help.

Dante Moretti.

By the time I reached his estate, the gates were already opening, as if he’d been expecting me. That sent a fresh wave of anger through me, but I shoved it down. There wasn’t time for my pride.

The moment I stepped out of the car, one of his men escorted me inside. I didn’t have to be told where to go. I knew the path to his office too well by now.

Dante was at his desk when I entered, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled as he watched me with that infuriatingly calm expression.

"Aurora."

The way he said my name was smooth, deliberate. I clenched my fists.

"Where is she?" I demanded, skipping any pretense.

Dante’s gaze flicked over me, assessing. "Who?"

"You know exactly who. Sofia. She’s missing."

His brows lifted slightly, as if he were amused by my desperation. "And you think I have something to do with that?"

"I think you know who does," I snapped. "She got involved with someone she shouldn’t have. She called me, and she was scared. Then the line went dead."

Something in his expression shifted. It was subtle, but I caught it.

He already knew.

I took a step forward, my voice low and sharp. "Where is she, Dante?"

He exhaled through his nose, standing slowly. "There’s a new group in town. Not one of mine. They’ve been making moves, testing boundaries. I’ve been… patient with them."

I swallowed hard. "But they crossed a line."

His dark eyes met mine. "Yes."

A chill ran down my spine. Dante was many things—cruel, manipulative, dangerous. But when he said something with that tone, it meant blood was about to be spilled.

"Tell me where she is," I said, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat.

Dante walked around the desk, stopping right in front of me. "You don’t get to give me orders, Aurora."

I knew that. I knew he thrived on power, on control. But this wasn’t about me. This was about my sister.

I lifted my chin. "Then consider it a request."

His lips twitched, but there was no amusement this time. Just something unreadable in his gaze.

"She’s at a warehouse near the docks," he finally said. "They think taking her will get my attention."

My stomach twisted. "And will it?"

His expression darkened. "It already has."

Before I could respond, he turned, grabbing his phone and barking orders in rapid Italian. Within seconds, his men were moving.

I exhaled, trying to steady my breath. "I’m coming with you."

Dante’s head snapped back toward me. "No, you’re not."

I crossed my arms. "She’s my sister—"

"And this is my world," he cut in sharply. "Do you have any idea what kind of people took her? What they’ll do to her if they think they can get away with it?"

I flinched. I didn’t want to think about it.

His voice softened just a fraction. "Stay here. Let me handle it."

I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right. I wasn’t trained for this. I wasn’t prepared for what I might see.

But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him walk out, taking a piece of my fate with him.

I just had to hope that, for once, Dante Moretti would do the right thing.

And that he’d bring my sister back alive.

---

Time stretched unbearably as I waited. I paced his office, my heart pounding, checking my phone every few seconds even though I knew she wouldn’t call.

Minutes felt like hours.

Then, finally, I heard the heavy footsteps of men returning.

I rushed to the door just as it swung open.

Sofia stood there, shaken but unharmed.

The relief hit me like a wave. I pulled her into a tight hug, feeling her tremble in my arms.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

She nodded against my shoulder. "I’m fine. I swear."

I pulled back, scanning her face. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. Dante got there before they could do anything."

My breath caught. I turned toward him, still standing near the doorway, his suit rumpled, a streak of blood on his shirt.

It wasn’t his.

Our eyes met.

Something passed between us—something I couldn’t name.

"Thank you," I said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond. Just held my gaze for a long moment before walking away.

Leaving me with the uncomfortable realization that, for all my hatred of Dante Moretti…

Tonight, I owed him everything.