Vale's POV
"Pack?" The word tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. "What do you mean, pack?"
Dante's blazing silver eyes went wide, like he'd said something he didn't mean to. He took a quick step backward and shook his head hard, like he was trying to clear it. When he looked at me again, his eyes had dimmed back to their normal silver glow.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Forget I said that."
But I couldn't forget. The way he'd said it, the way his whole body had changed when he got angry - something was very wrong here. Or very different.
"You called your family a pack," I pressed, sitting up straighter. "People don't have packs. Animals do."
"Drop it." His voice turned cold and dangerous. "You don't need to know everything."
He spun around and headed for the door, moving faster than seemed normal. But I wasn't ready to let him leave. Not when I was finally getting answers, even if they didn't make sense.
"Wait!" I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain in my bruised muscles. "You can't just tell me my father is some kind of criminal and then walk away. I need to understand what's happening to me!"
Dante stopped at the door but didn't turn around. "Your father is Marco Rossi. He controls everything illegal that happens from here to the Mexican border. Drugs, guns, stolen cars, protection rackets - if it makes dirty money, he's involved."
"But why would he attack your family? What did you do to him?"
That made Dante turn around. His face was hard as stone, but I could see pain hiding behind his eyes.
"We didn't do anything to him. We were just in his way." He leaned against the doorframe like he was tired. "My father ran a small business. Completely legal. But it was on land that your father wanted for one of his operations."
"So he killed them for land?" My voice cracked with disbelief.
"He killed them because they said no. Because my father had the nerve to stand up to the great Marco Rossi and refuse to sell." Dante's hands clenched into fists again. "Your father doesn't like hearing the word no."
I felt sick to my stomach. If what Dante was saying was true, then I was related to a monster. A person who killed entire families just to get what he wanted.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I know that doesn't help, but I really am sorry. If I could change what happened, I would."
Something flickered across Dante's face. Surprise, maybe. Like he hadn't expected me to care.
"It's too late for sorry," he said. "But maybe it's not too late for justice."
"What kind of justice?"
"The kind where your father learns what it feels like to lose everything he loves."
A chill ran down my spine. "You're going to kill me."
"No." Dante shook his head. "Death would be too easy. I want him to suffer like I suffered. I want him to spend every day wondering if you're safe, if you're hurt, if you're ever coming home."
"But I don't even remember him," I said desperately. "How do you know he cares enough about me for this to work?"
"Because I've been watching your family for months, planning this. Marco Rossi might be a cold-blooded killer, but he has one weakness. You." Dante's eyes hardened. "He loves his daughter more than his own life. Taking you will destroy him."
The room felt like it was spinning. Everything Dante was telling me painted a picture of a life I couldn't remember living. A rich, dangerous father who loved me. A criminal empire built on violence and fear. And somehow, I was supposed to be the princess of all that darkness.
"I need some air," I said, pressing my hand to my forehead. "This is too much."
"There's no air for you. You're staying in this room until I decide what to do with you."
"Please," I begged. "Just for a few minutes. I feel like I'm going to be sick."
Dante studied my face for a moment. I must have looked as awful as I felt, because something in his expression softened just a tiny bit.
"Fine. Five minutes. But I'm staying with you, and if you try to run, you'll regret it."
He opened the door and stepped outside. Cool night air rushed into the stuffy cabin, carrying the scent of pine trees and something wild. I followed him outside on shaky legs.
The forest around us was thick and dark, full of shadows that seemed to move on their own. In the distance, I could hear water running over rocks. A stream, maybe. The moon was full and bright overhead, turning everything silver.
I took deep breaths of the clean air, trying to calm my racing heart. But instead of feeling better, I felt worse. Because standing there in the moonlight, looking at the forest, something felt familiar.
Not like a memory exactly. More like an echo of something I should know.
"This place," I said slowly. "Have I been here before?"
Dante went very still beside me. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It just feels... known. Like I've walked through these trees before." I took a step toward the forest, and that feeling of familiarity got stronger. "Like I've been here recently."
"That's impossible," Dante said, but his voice sounded uncertain. "I carried you here myself three nights ago. You were unconscious the whole time."
"Then why does it feel like I know this place?" I walked closer to the tree line, following an instinct I didn't understand. "Why does that path look familiar?"
There was a narrow trail leading into the woods, barely visible in the moonlight. But looking at it made something stir in the back of my mind. Not a memory, but the ghost of one.
"Vale, get away from there," Dante said sharply.
But I was already walking down the path, my feet seeming to know where to go without my brain telling them. Dante cursed and followed me, but he didn't try to stop me. Maybe he was curious too.
The path wound between tall pine trees and over fallen logs. My feet found every step without stumbling, even in the dim light. Like I'd walked this way dozens of times before.
"This is impossible," I muttered. "I've never been here, but I know exactly where this goes."
"Where does it go?" Dante asked quietly.
"To a clearing. With a big rock in the middle and wildflowers around the edges." The words came out of my mouth without me thinking about them. "There's a stream on the far side, and the water tastes like metal."
We rounded a bend in the path, and there it was. Exactly like I'd described. A circular clearing with a huge boulder in the center, surrounded by patches of flowers that glowed pale in the moonlight. The sound of running water came from the other side.
Dante stopped walking. "How did you know?"
"I don't know," I whispered, staring at the familiar scene. "But I've been here before. I know I have."
That's when I saw them. Pieces of fabric caught on the thorny bushes at the edge of the clearing. Dark fabric that fluttered in the night breeze like trapped birds.
I walked over and pulled one free. It was torn and dirty, stained with something dark that looked black in the moonlight. But I knew it was probably red. The fabric felt expensive between my fingers, like silk or something similar.
"Dante," I called softly. "Look at this."
He came over and took the fabric from my hands. His face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he started searching the other bushes, pulling free more pieces of torn cloth. Within minutes, he had an armful of fabric scraps, all expensive-looking, all torn and stained.
"These are yours," he said finally.
"What?"
"These clothes. They're what you were wearing three nights ago when I found you." He held up a larger piece that looked like part of a shirt. "But you weren't in this clearing. You were five miles away, unconscious next to the road."
I stared at the bloody fabric in his hands. "Then how did pieces of my clothes get here?"
Dante's silver eyes met mine, and I saw something in them I hadn't seen before. Uncertainty. Maybe even fear.
"I don't know," he said. "But if these are your clothes, and you somehow knew about this place, then you were here the night of the attack. The question is, what were you doing in these woods while your father's men were killing my family?"