She stares straight ahead from the passenger seat. She is terrified and furious, her body vibrating with a fierce, combative energy, that defies the destruction she just witnessed. She is the most magnificent creature I have ever encountered in my miserable, blood-soaked life.
I’ve never seen anything so vital. Mine.
The word drops into the center of my brain like a lead weight dropping. It is not a rational conclusion. It is not a strategic calculation. It is a certainty. She belongs to me. I do not know her favorite color. I do not know her history. I have only known of her existence for twenty minutes. None of that matters. The cold focus that has kept me alive for twenty years breaks. I feel the sudden shift in my gut. The protector instinct roars to life. It demands blood. It demands violence against anyone who dares to look at her, let alone point a weapon in her direction.
The Bellantis just signed their own death warrants. They aimed at what is mine.
I take a hard left onto a deserted one-way street in the West Loop. The chassis of the SUV absorbs the sharp turn. I check the side mirrors again. Empty. No headlights tracking us. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and shadow. The silence in the vehicle is charged enough to choke on. I need to break it, but I do not know how to speak to civilians. I only know how to give orders. I only know how to neutralize threats. My entire existence is built on hard angles and defensive perimeters.
The secure phone in the center console buzzes. A harsh, vibrating demand for attention. I hit the speaker button without taking my eyes off the road.
Matteo's voice fills the cab. Crisp. Professional. Edged with impending violence.
"Status."
"Secured the package. Route is clear. Secondary sweep showed negative for a tail."
"The alley?" Matteo asks.
"Burned. Bellantis sent a crew to shoot up a silver car. Collateral damage wasn't a concern for them. They left a mess."
"Bring her to the compound."
"No."
The word leaves my mouth before I even process the decision. I grip the steering wheel until the leather creaks in protest. The Costa family compound is heavily fortified. It has impenetrable stone walls, iron gates, and twenty-four-hour surveillance. It is a fortress. But it also has my brothers. It has foot traffic. It has variables. I do not want variables around her. I want control and isolation. I want to be the only man looking at her. The thought of another man laying eyes on her right now makes my blood run hot.
Matteo pauses. The silence on the secure line is absolute. He is the boss. He is calculating my sudden insubordination.
"Dante." A warning tone creeps into his voice.
"I'm taking her to the Grand Continental. The fourteenth floor. It's secure. I'll lock it down."
"Turi is double-checking the perimeter at the compound right now," Matteo argues smoothly. "He's bringing the boys inside. We have the manpower to house her. Bring her home."
"I said no." My voice drops to a guttural rasp. The predator in my gut snaps his teeth. at my brother's suggestion. "I'm keeping her at the hotel. Send a cleanup crew to the alley. Scrub the security footage from the surrounding traffic cams. Do not let anyone know she survived."
Matteo exhales sharply. The sound crackles through the speaker. "Keep your head, Dante. We're at war."
"My head is exactly where it needs to be."
I cut the connection. The green light on the console dies. I am officially operating off the books. I am breaking protocol. I do not care. Protocol will not keep her safe.
No one else touches her. No one else keeps her safe.
The vehicle plunges into the subterranean tunnel network beneath Wacker Drive. Yellow sodium lights flash rhythmically through the windows, casting long, moving shadows over Gemma's face. She turns her head slowly. Her dark eyes lock onto mine. The anger in her gaze is spectacular. She isn't cowering. She isn't weeping into her hands. She is practically vibrating with an electric, defiant rage.
"You don't get to just kidnap me," she snaps. Her voice is a rich alto. "Pull this car over right now. I need to call the police. I need to talk to my insurance company. My truck is gone."
"The police on the South Side are bought by the Bellantis. Your insurance company will drop you the second they find nine-millimeter bullet holes in the chassis. You go back there, you die."
I state the facts flatly. My tone is a shield against the chaos she’s stirring up. It is the cold detachment I wear every second ofevery day to keep the monsters at bay. But beneath that armor, a terrifying possessiveness is thrashing. I want to pull the SUV over to the side of the dark tunnel. I want to yank her across the center console and bury my face in the soft curve of her neck, breathing in that sweet orange and warm cumin until it overwrites the metallic smell of blood in my memory. I need to map every lush curve of her body with my rough hands. My teeth grind.
"I'm not a target!" she yells. She throws her hands up in frustration. The movement draws my eyes to the curve of her breasts beneath her shirt. "I sell tacos! I'm not part of whatever mob war you're fighting!"
"You are now."
"I have a life!" she protests, her voice cracking slightly. The tough exterior wavers for a second, exposing the raw, bleeding devastation underneath. "That truck was everything I had. It was my independence. It was my whole life."
