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I find myself pinned in place, my mind screaming for me to flee, yet my feet anchoring me to the floor.
Suddenly, a piercing cry fills the room, followed by the thud of a heavy fall. Dread seizes me, my heart pounding against my ribs. I inch closer, my eyes darting between the two men. Eric lies on the floor, a blood-red stain spreading across his crisp white shirt. Above him stands Dante, his face twisted in a horrifying snarl, and in his hand, a knife covered in blood.
A shock wave ripples through me, followed by an unanticipated sense of relief. I let out a breath, my heart rate slowing as I stare at Eric’s lifeless body on the floor.
There’s a sense of finality in the room. A grim, bloody end to the nightmare that has consumed my life since I ran away. The man who I’ve been running from, the man who has kept me awake at night, filled my dreams with terror and made me look over my shoulder at every turn, is gone. A liberating feeling washes over me, a weight lifting from my shoulders. It’s over, at least for now.
“You killed him,” I breathe.
Dante drops the knife and looks at me, dark eyes flashing with turmoil. “I never wanted you to know the truth about my past.” He runs a hand through his hair, forgetting about the blood staining his fingers. It spreads into his hair and onto his forehead. My stomach twists. “We’re both running from the same life, little doe.”
“You worked for the Mancini family?” I confirm since he just killed the fucking heir to the throne, my husband.
He nods. “Yeah, I was the enforcer.”
Enforcer.
That means he was the hired killer. The man who took out anyone they asked him to, no questions asked.
“Why did you leave?”
Dante takes a deep breath, the air heavy between us. “I left because it was killing me. The darkness was eating me, and if I hadn’t left when I did, I hate to think what kind of monster I’d be now.” His jaw clenches. “I’m still a monster, but not all my soul is gone, little doe.”
“Have you heard of the Doyle mafia?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dante’s face hardens. His silence stretches, the tension in the room thickening. Finally, he nods, his eyes not leaving mine. “I have,” he confirms, his voice low and raspy. “They’re ruthless, even for the underworld. Why do you ask?”
I swallow hard. This is the part I dread the most: unveiling my own skeletons. “I’m Madison Doyle.”
“Fuck.” He rubs his face in his hands. “That’s why I couldn’t find anything about you when I ran your fake name through the system.”
“Through the system?”
He nods. “I’ve got a contact from my past who did a few background checks on you and came up blank.”
Suddenly, something dawns on me. “Shit, there’s no way Eric was here alone. His men will be?—”
“I took care of them,” Dante says. “I assumed the fucker was here for me.”
A sudden chill runs down my spine, and my skin prickles with revulsion. I can’t ignore the implication of Dante’s words. He ‘took care of them’ means those men are dead. I’ve been living in a world of hurt, lies, murder, and deceit for years, but it’s the reality of Dante’s ability to murder that shakes me to my core.
I can taste the bitter truth on my tongue. I’m Madison Doyle, the daughter of a feared mafia boss. I’m staring at a man who has claimed lives, a man I’ve deeply intertwined my life with.
The secrets are out, the skeletons in the closet laid bare. The truth is sobering, threatening to shatter the fragile peace we’ve been enjoying. But there’s also a disconcerting comfort in the honesty of this moment. We’re products of our past, and this is our reality. There’s no running from the truth anymore. We must face it together.
And there’s hope now. If Eric is no longer out there, no one will chase me. The problem is once his father realizes he’s missing, he’ll come looking for him. We may have brought the Mancini mafia to our door, and even I’m not stupid enough to believe that Dante can protect me from them.
18
DANTE
That night, I don’t sleep. After spending a few hours disposing of Eric Mancini’s body and the bodies of four of his men, I came back to find my little doe fast asleep. I glance at her from the desk where I’ve been trying to work out our next steps.
My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, whirling around like a cyclone.
It’s Sunday. Which means I should read a sermon this morning. Instead, I’ll be making an announcement that I’m stepping down.
“Morning,” Madison says, sitting in bed and gazing at me sitting at the desk in the corner. “Did you sleep?”
