The card still lay on the desk where Ava had found it.
A serpent coiled around a rose, painted in deep red ink-blood, perhaps--mocking her with its twisted beauty. Even now, hours later, she could not scrub the sight from her mind. It seemed to seep into the very air of the mansion, clinging to her lungs with every breath.
This was no idle threat. This was personal.
Ava sat stiffly in the velvet chair by the fire, her arms wrapped around herself, when the sound of measured footsteps broke the silence. Dante entered, his dark suit sharp against the glow of the room, his presence a storm contained only by sheer force of will. His men flanked him, their expressions grave.
He crouched in front of her, his voice low but edged with fire.
"Piccola, listen carefully. The message was Isabella's doing. She thinks she can crawl into my house, into our sanctuary, and leave her venom behind!
Ava's blood ran cold. "So... she got inside?"
"No." Dante's eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. "But she had help. Two of my own men betrayed me."
Before Ava could reply, the heavy doors creaked open. Two men were dragged inside, bound, their heads bowed in shame. Ava recognized one-Marco, the guard who had greeted her at the gates so often with a polite smile. Now his face was swollen, blood dripping from his lip. The betrayal was a knife in her chest.
"Dante..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "What are you going to do?"
"What must be done," he said simply.
He rose, circling the traitors with a predator's calm.
His voice was low, measured, but every word landed like a blow.
"You ate at my table. You swore loyalty. And yet you let Isabella's poison into my home-into the air Ava breathes."
Marco tried to speak, but the gag muffled his words.
The other shook his head desperately, as if denial could save him.
Dante's boot lashed out, striking Marco in the ribs.
The man crumpled to the marble floor, a muffled scream escaping. Ava flinched, her fingers digging into her palms.
"Do you know what betrayal means to me ?"
Dante crouched, gripping Marco's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "It means you die slowly."
The pistol gleamed in Dante's hand. He didn't raise it immediately. Instead, he pressed the barrel against Marco's temple, dragging it down his cheek like a cruel caress. Marco shook violently, tears spilling.
"Dante, please," Ava whispered. Her chest tightened, torn between fear and the sick, shameful pull of his dominance. "Don't do this in front of me".
He looked at her , his gaze softening only for a heartbeat before hardening again.
"You need to see, piccola. Because you must understand who I am. Only with me are you safe.
Only with me do you survive this world."
The gunshot cracked like thunder. Ava gasped, her body jerking. Marco screamed, clutching his leg where the bullet tore through his flesh. Blood pooled on the pristine floor.
"This is mercy," Dante said, standing tall, his voice steady as marble. "A clean death is too kind. You'll bleed for your sins first."
The second traitor shook so violently his gag slipped loose. "Please! I swear, she forced us–"
The next shot shattered the marble inches from his face. He yelped, collapsing into sobs.
Dante crouched, his voice ice.
"Tell Isabella when you see her in hell: the Don always collects his debts."
Ava pressed her hands to her ears, but she couldn't shut it out--the screams, the scent of gunpowder, the sight of Dante, merciless and composed. He was no longer the man who kissed her softly in the night; he was the Don, judge and executioner.
Her stomach churned. And yet, beneath the horror, another truth clawed at her. The way he claimed her
-defended her with fire and blood- ignited a twisted, dangerous ache in her chest.
Dante turned to her , his pistol still smoking, his hand stained crimson.
"Do you see now?" His voice was softer, but it carried a lethal weight. "This is who I am. The man who will burn the world to keep you safe. Fear me.
Hate me. But never doubt me again."
Her lips trembled. "And if I leave?"
He crossed the distance in two strides, his hand gripping her chin, tilting her face up. His bloodstained fingers smeared against her skin.
"Then I will find you. Because you are mine. The only way out of my life is through death."
A violent shiver raced down her spine. Fear tangled with something darker, something that bound her to him despite everything.
Dante kissed her forehead gently, almost tenderly, before pulling away. "Go upstairs, piccola. I don't want you to see what comes next."
Her breath caught. "What comes next?"
He smiled then -cold, merciless, terrifyingly beautiful.
Ava stumbled upstairs, her vision swimming with tears. She clutched the railing, her heart a storm in her chest. Behind her, muffled cries rose again, followed by Dante's low voice-steady, ruthless, commanding. She could only imagine the horrors unfolding in the room below.
In the safety of his bedroom, she collapsed onto the bed, trembling. Her mind replayed the scene on an endless loop: the blood, the gunshots, the steel in Dante's eyes. He had shown her his truth, and it terrified her.
And yet-God help her-it bound her to him even
more.
Her tears spilled freely. She was caught between two worlds, two selves: the Ava who longed for freedom, and the Ava who craved the man who would kill for her without hesitation.
Below, another gunshot echoed. Then silence.
Her breath hitched. She buried her face in her hands, torn between terror and the sick comfort of knowing that as long as Dante breathed, no one could touch her.
She didn't know how long she sat there, shrouded in shadows, before the sound of footsteps drew closer.
The door opened slowly, and Dante entered, his suit stained with crimson, his expression unreadable.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, his gaze locking with hers.
"It's done," he said quietly. "The message has been sent, you don't need to worry anymore".
Ava swallowed hard. "What... what message?"
Dante stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.
"The kind written in blood," he said, his voice low and final. "Isabella will understand exactly who she has provoked."
Ava's heart thundered as Dante leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear with a whisper colder than death:
"Tomorrow, Isabella learns what it means to cross the Don."