The line went dead, and I stood frozen, bile rising in my throat. I called Dante immediately, my voice shaky as I recounted the call.
He was livid. "I'm coming home. Don't move. Stay with the guards."
When he returned, his expression was a mix of rage and fear. "I'm calling the detective. This has gone too far."
We gave the detective the phone, and he promised to trace the number. Dante pulled me into his arms once more, whispering, "I won't let anyone hurt you. I swear."
I wished his words could chase away the fear rooted deep in my heart. Whoever was behind this wasn't just determined—they were obsessed. And until we uncovered their identity, neither of us would truly be safe.
The night stretched on endlessly, with neither of us finding any real sleep. Dante stayed by my side, his phone clutched tightly as he waited for updates from the detective. Every creak of the building made me jump, and even the guards patrolling outside didn't ease my anxiety.
Around 3 a.m., Dante's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and immediately answered. I couldn't make out the detective's voice on the other end, but Dante's clenched jaw and the way his eyes narrowed told me enough.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone clipped. A pause. "Understood. Keep me updated."
He hung up and turned to me, his expression grim. "The call you got came from a burner phone. No trace."
I sank deeper into the bed. "So they're still out there, watching us?"
"Possibly. The detective is trying to trace similar calls from nearby cell towers, but it doesn't seem as promising as we'd expect"
I bit my lip, fighting the urge to cry. I didn't want Dante to see me break down. Not now. Not when he needed to believe that I could handle this.
He reached out and squeezed my hand. "I'm not letting them get near you, Sienna. I promise"
The way his voice cracked at the end made my heart ache. I didn't want to be the cause of his fear. I wanted to be strong—for both of us.
By morning, we were both extensively exhausted. Dante finally convinced me to try and sleep, but I only managed a few restless hours. When I woke up, the sun was already high, and Dante was on the phone again, his voice low but firm.
After he hung up, he sat beside me, brushing a stray hair from my face. "The detective thinks he found something."
"What is it?"
He exhaled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "There's a name. Matilda. Apparently, we were in some sort of complicated relationship a few months ago and I decided I didn't want that anymore and I'm sure now she believes I cut her off—because of you."
My mind raced. "So she believes I'm the reason you left her? Of course she does, why wouldn't she?" I muttered underneath my breath.
"Yes. Or maybe someone is using her as bait to distract us from the real thing. The detective is digging into her recent whereabouts, but if she really is the one, I'll know how to handle this."
I tried to process it all. It finally all made sense. "But why can't she just confront you directly, rather than put us through all this torture?"
"Matilda is a maniac, a psychopath, he has always been and she'll stop at nothing to achieve her goals. That's the logic of obsessive people," Dante said, his frustration clear.
The rest of the day felt surreal. I tried to distract myself by reorganizing the kitchen, but every noise outside made me tense. Dante noticed and pulled me into his arms, his fingers running through my hair.
"We're going to get through this," he whispered. "Together."
That evening, the detective stopped by in person, his face tired but determined. "We found Matilda's last known address. Abandoned apartment building on the south side. But when we got there, it was cleared out. We're certain she knows we're until her."
Dante clenched his fists. "So what now?"
The detective looked at me, his gaze serious. "We set a trap. We use Sienna as bait."
My heart pounded. "You want me to do what?"
"It's risky," he admitted. "But we'll be monitoring every move. If Matilda thinks you're vulnerable, she might make a mistake."
Dante immediately shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."
"Dante," I whispered. "If it means ending this, maybe it's worth it."
He turned to me, his eyes blazing with worry. "I can't put you in danger like that."
The detective interjected. "We wouldn't actually put her in harm's way. We'd just create the illusion that she's alone and unprotected. We'll have undercover officers stationed around."
Dante hesitated, clearly torn. I touched his arm. "I can't keep living in fear. We need to stop this."
After a long pause, he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But I'm not leaving her side."
The detective agreed. "We'll set it up for tomorrow. We'll keep you safe, Sienna. I promise."
That night, Dante hardly let me out of his sight. Even as we prepared for bed, he was unusually quiet, his thoughts clearly racing.
I turned to face him, brushing my fingers over his cheek. "We'll get through this. You've protected me all this time, and I trust you."
His hands found my waist, pulling me close. "I can't- I can't let anything happen to you."
I hugged him tightly, hoping to reassure him. For a moment, the fear and uncertainty faded, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.
When morning came, I felt more resolved. The plan was simple—pretend I was going out for groceries alone while the police kept a close watch. Dante, of course, insisted on trailing me from a distance. I could feel his tension even as I walked down the street, trying to appear casual.
As I reached the corner store, my phone buzzed. A new message from the same unknown number: Nice try, but I'm not stupid.
My breath hitched, and I immediately alerted Dante through the small earpiece the detective had provided. He rushed to my side, his presence a comforting shield.
The detective approached us, looking disappointed. "She didn't take the bait. Somehow, she knew."
Dante's face hardened. "You know what, forget all this, I'll go talk to her by myself and make her stop this facade."
"How would you do that?" The detective asked, concerned.
His eyes darkened, "I'll figure it out."