Avery woke to the soft rustle of sheets and the ghost of warmth beside her. Dante's bed was massive, its silk sheets cool against her skin, but he was gone.
For a moment, she panicked—until her eyes caught a folded note on the pillow beside her, written in clean, sharp letters:
"Took Ethan to school. He asked for you. Be ready when I return."
No signature. He never needed one.
She sat up slowly, Dante's scent lingering in the room like smoke and thunder. Her body ached with questions—about him, about the deal, about where all of this was heading—but there wasn't time to think. Not today.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood by the tall windows, her scarlet-red hair brushed smooth and falling over a crisp blue shirt, tucked into high-waisted black pants. Her nerves curled tight in her chest like coiled wire.
Then came the sound of the front door slamming.
Bootsteps.
Fast, heavy.
Dante appeared in the doorway—black shirt, sleeves rolled, and a silky pair of tailored trousers that whispered danger with every step.
"Get in the car," he said.
No greeting. No explanation.
Avery blinked. "What's going on?"
"We have a lead," Dante said, already turning. "The man who killed your parents. This may be our only shot."
Her heart jolted. "Wait—now?"
He didn't stop walking. "Now."
*****
The engine growled as Dante shifted into gear. Avery barely had time to buckle in before the car shot down the driveway like a bullet from a chamber.
"Dante—!" she gasped, gripping the door. "Are you trying to murder the road?"
His knuckles tightened on the wheel. "This isn't murder. This is survival."
She swallowed hard, breath catching in her throat as the city blurred around them. "And what exactly are we surviving right now?"
Dante's jaw flexed, sharp enough to cut steel. "The storm we're driving into."
The tension was thick, electric. Avery's eyes darted to him, but before she could speak again—
Crack!
A bullet tore through the rear windshield.
She screamed, ducking low as glass rained down around her.
"Jesus—!" she cried. "We're being shot at!"
Dante didn't flinch. He spun the wheel, swerving through traffic like a demon.
"Guess someone doesn't want us finding the truth," he muttered.
More shots rang out, this time striking the side mirror and door. A sleek black SUV tailgated them aggressively, windows tinted, muzzle flashes flickering from inside.
"Dante—what do we do!?"
"Glove box."
Avery reached, hands shaking. Inside: a sleek pistol, cool and heavy in her grip.
"You want me to shoot?" she asked.
"No," he said flatly. "Only if I'm not breathing."
"That's not funny!"
"I'm not joking."
He took another violent turn, sending them flying down a narrow back alley. Tires screamed. The SUV followed.
Avery clutched the gun, her pulse racing.
"This isn't what I signed up for," she said breathlessly.
"Yes, it is," Dante said. "You just didn't know the price yet."
They burst out of the alley onto an open road. Dante shifted gears hard, shooting forward. Sirens wailed in the distance — not for them yet, but soon.
Then, as suddenly as it began, Dante braked and pulled into a shadowed garage under an abandoned building.
He killed the engine.
Silence.
Only their breath.
Avery turned to him, shaking. "Is it over?"
"No," he said, looking her dead in the eye. "It's just beginning. That wasn't a random ambush."
Her lips parted. "Then what—"
"They were guarding him," Dante said. "The man we're going to see. The one who pulled the trigger on your father."
Avery froze.
"Today," Dante continued, voice low and lethal, "we stop running. You wanted the truth, Avery? Then come and take it."
The world slammed back into chaos.
Avery barely had time to breathe after they parked in the garage when the crack of a rifle echoed through the air. A bullet tore through the wall—and another whizzed past her shoulder.
Crack!
Pain flared. A searing line cut across her arm. She stumbled back with a scream, clutching the wound as blood dripped hot between her fingers.
"Avery!" Dante turned sharply just as she collapsed to one knee.
"I'm fine!" she gasped, biting through the pain. "It just grazed me—"
But Dante wasn't listening.
He turned, eyes flashing like a storm ready to swallow the world.
His hand moved to his hip, pulling a sleek black pistol. Another tap on his wristwatch—a smooth click—and something roared to life in the distance.
From the shadows of the alley, a jet-black motorcycle tore toward them on its own, tires spitting sparks, sensors locked on him. It skidded to a stop in front of him like a loyal beast awaiting orders.
Dante mounted without a word.
"Dante—where are you going?!" Avery shouted.
He turned his head slightly, voice flat and venomous.
"They aimed for you."
Then he was gone—a blur of speed and vengeance
------
Dante's coat snapped in the wind as he flew down the narrow streets like death itself. His eyes locked on the black getaway car speeding ahead—and its partner tailing behind.
From his bike's dashboard, a red targeting light blinked.
He pressed the throttle. Hard.
A burst of speed. Then—
Crack!
Dante fired. Once. Twice.
The second vehicle swerved, the windshield shattering in an explosion of glass. Tires screeched. The driver lost control and the car slammed into a pole.
Boom.
But Dante didn't flinch.
Only one target remained.
A black SUV—faster, smarter, and ahead. It tried to weave through traffic, but Dante gave chase, his eyes glowing with something primal and merciless.
From the bike, he launched a sharp sideways burst, his wheel grazing pavement as he pulled close.
Inside the fleeing SUV, the driver looked through the side mirror—
—and Dante was already grinning.
A slow, terrifying grin.
Crack. Crack.
But It slipped through an alley. Turned a corner. Gone.
Dante saw it. Noticed the route. Calculated.
And he let it go.
Not because he couldn't catch it.
But because now was not the time.
He spun the bike back around and drove fast toward the garage. Within minutes, he pulled up beside the car where Avery sat clutching her bleeding arm.
He dismounted and got in without a word, eyes still burning from the firestorm he'd unleashed.
Avery stared at him, wide-eyed, heart still thundering.
"You—you blew up a car," she said, barely breathing.
Dante shifted gears, already pulling out of the garage.
"I don't like targets escaping," he said quietly. "Not after they aim for what's mine."
His grip tightened on the wheel.
Blood was still on her arm.
Fire was still in his eyes.
And the devil was driving her home.