EMILIO'S POV
Emilio squinted into the darkness, heart still thudding in his chest. A figure moved through the trees—steady, confident, familiar. Relief rushed through him like a wave as recognition dawned.
"Ramon," he whispered, already standing and tugging on his clothes.
He stepped into the night, his steps unsteady but purposeful, and Dante trailed close behind him, silent. When they finally emerged from the thicket, Emilio saw the flashlights, the shapes of men, and the faint growls of dogs held on leashes. They'd come for him. They had tracked him through the woods.
Ramon was the first to reach him. Without a word, he took off his coat and draped a white covering over Emilio's shoulders like a cloak of relief. But his sharp eyes flickered past Emilio—and landed on Dante.
Emilio could feel it. The way Ramon's gaze lingered.
"What the hell happened to you?" Ramon asked, voice low but firm. "And what's he doing here?"
Emilio didn't answer right away. His lips parted, but his mind was still tangled in the night, in everything that had happened—especially what had happened just before Ramon arrived.
Dante remained behind him, unreadable. Watching. Waiting.
Emilio's shoulders stiffened beneath the white coat, and he turned just slightly to glance at Dante, who was standing a few paces behind, arms crossed and jaw tight, as if waiting for judgment. His face was unreadable, but Emilio could still feel the heat of what had passed between them burning on his skin.
"He saved me," Emilio said, clearing his throat. "He helped me get out."
Ramon raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but Emilio didn't care to explain further. Not now. Not when he was barely keeping himself together. His hands were dirty, scratched from the woods, and his heart was still pounding—not just from fear or adrenaline, but from something messier.
"Help him into the car," Emilio ordered, already moving toward the first black SUV. "He's coming with us."
Ramon didn't argue. He simply nodded to one of the men, and they opened the door for Dante.
The three of them got into the back seat. Emilio sat in the middle, and the space between them felt tighter than it should have.
As the engine purred to life and the car rumbled down the forest path, the silence stretched between the three of them—awkward, heavy, almost suffocating. Outside the window, flashlights danced through the trees as Emilio's other men piled into the second vehicle behind them, ready to follow.
No one spoke.
Dante leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, still breathing through the exhaustion and whatever else steamed beneath his cool expression. His dark hair was a mess, leaves caught in it. He looked every bit like a man who had just survived a manhunt—but he still carried himself like nothing could touch him.
Ramon kept glancing at him. Emilio felt it every time.
His own eyes flicked between the two men. Ramon didn't know what had really happened, and Emilio wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of asking again.
But the silence got worse. The car's soft hum couldn't mask the tension—the kind you could cut with a knife. Ramon finally broke it.
"So," he said, tone flat, directed at Dante. "Where should we drop you?"
Emilio's throat tightened. He didn't want to hear Dante's answer, not really. But he kept his face neutral.
Dante rubbed his thumb along the side of his jaw, then answered casually, "Kingston Grove. Block 7. Past the old warehouse."
Emilio nodded slightly to the driver. He knew the place. A high-end private estate district. Quiet, gated. Of course, it was.
The rest of the ride continued in thick, pressing silence. Emilio didn't know what he wanted to say, or if he even should say anything. Part of him still felt embarrassed—like Ramon could smell something on him like what happened back in those woods had marked him. He shifted slightly in his seat, keeping his gaze fixed on the dark road ahead, trying not to look at Dante again.
But his mind refused to quiet.
That look Dante gave him when he caught him staring. The weight of his hand. The heat in his voice.
It had been too much. Too strange. Too real.
And yet Emilio had told Ramon to bring him. Because in the middle of that madness, Dante had been the only solid thing. The only one who hadn't left him behind.
When they pulled up to the gates of the estate, Dante didn't speak right away. The driver buzzed the gate open, and the SUV rolled into the well-lit driveway.
Dante reached for the door handle.
Emilio glanced at him for just a second.
He looked like he wanted to say something—but didn't.
"Thanks," Emilio muttered, almost too low to hear.
Dante paused, and turned his head just enough for their eyes to meet. He gave a nod. A simple one. Quiet. Then pushed the door open and stepped out into the night, the soft slam of the door behind him cutting clean through Emilio's chest.
The car rolled away
——-
The car sped through the empty streets, headlights slicing through the dark. Emilio sat rigid in his seat, his knuckles white on his knees. The leather interior felt too tight, too quiet, too heavy with things unsaid.
Across from him, Ramon hadn't spoken since they left Dante's house—but his eyes hadn't moved.
Then, finally, like a gun cocked in silence, Ramon said, "Why did Romano ambush both of you?"
Emilio's heart skipped.
Ramon leaned forward. "You told me it was just Dante."
A sharp, invisible thread pulled into Emilio's chest. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his mind spun. That wasn't the plan. Romano had assured him—Dante only. Just a scare. Not blood.
"I don't know," Emilio said quickly.
Ramon's brows twitched. "You don't know?" His voice was calm. Too calm. "You were the one who set up the meet."
Emilio looked away, jaw clenched. This wasn't supposed to happen.
And yet... part of him wondered if Romano had betrayed him too. Or if someone else had twisted the game.
"You need to figure out who your enemies really are," Ramon added quietly.
Emilio's pulse roared.
Because maybe... he'd been the fool in his own trap.