22. Chapter 22 Dante

Chapter 22 Dante

T he engine roars as I push the black escalade to its limits, weaving through the night-shrouded streets of Accel City. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. Beside me, Natalie's quiet gasps punctuate the tense silence, her fear screams loudly in the confined space of the car.

I want to reach out, to soothe her trembling form, but I can't afford the distraction. Not now, when every shadow could hide an assassin, every turn could lead us into an ambush.

Fuck. How did it come to this? Me, Dante fucking Corleone, running like a scared rabbit. The thought makes bile rise in my throat, my pride howling in outrage.

But then I hear it – a soft whimper from Natalie as we take a corner too fast. The sound cuts through my fury like a knife, reminding me why I'm doing this. Why I'm swallowing my ego and fleeing the empire I've built with blood and iron.

Her. It's all for her.

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, drinking in the sight of her. She's curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her body as if she could hold the pieces together by sheer force of will. Her hair is a tangled mess, face streaked with tears and soot. She's never looked more beautiful.

"We're almost there, moy voron," I murmur, softening my voice. "Just hold on a little longer."

She doesn't respond, but I see her nod slightly. Good girl.

I allow myself a moment to drink her in – disheveled hair, tear-stained cheeks, the angry red marks from the ropes still visible on her wrists. A masterpiece of my own making.

Twenty minutes later, we pull into the underground garage of a nondescript apartment building. It's one of my many bolt-holes scattered throughout the city, known only to me and a select few of my most trusted lieutenants.

I kill the engine and turn to Natalie. "We're safe here, for now. No one knows about this place."

She looks at me, those stormy eyes wide with a cocktail of emotions I can't quite decipher. Fear, certainly. Confusion. And underneath it all, a spark of something that makes my blood sing. Desire.

"What happens now?" she whispers, voice hoarse from smoke and screaming.

I reach out, cupping her face in my hand. She flinches but doesn't pull away. Progress. "Now, we regroup. We plan. And then we make those Corsini fuckers pay for what they've done."

A shudder runs through her at my words, but I see the way her pupils dilate, the quickening of her pulse beneath the delicate skin of her throat. Oh, solnyshko. You can't hide your true nature from me.

I lead her to the elevator, keying in the complex security code that will take us to the penthouse. As we ascend, I feel the adrenaline of the night beginning to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

The doors slide open, revealing a space that's the antithesis of Shadowcrest's opulence. It's spartan, functional. A fortress rather than a home.

I deposit Natalie on the couch, my hands lingering longer than necessary. She shrinks away, but there's nowhere to go. My lips curl in a mirthless smile.

"Rest, moya koroleva. I need to make some calls and find you some clothes."

Her eyes follow me as I move to the secure landline. Smart girl. Always watching, always searching for an escape. But there is no escape. Not from me.

I retreat to the bedroom, pulling out a burner phone. My fingers move on autopilot, dialing a number I know by heart.

It rings twice before a familiar voice answers. "Pronto."

"Enzo," I breathe, some of the tension leaving my body at the sound of my oldest friend's voice. "We've got a problem."

There's a pause, then a soft curse in Italian. "Dante. I heard rumors, but... How bad is it?"

I laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. "Bad enough that I'm calling you from a safehouse at 3 AM. The Corsinis made their move. Shadowcrest is gone."

"Merda," Enzo hisses. "Are you hurt? Is Natalie...?"

"We're both fine," I assure him. "A little banged up, but nothing serious."

"Thank God for small mercies," he mutters. "What happened, fratello? Last we spoke, things were tense but stable."

I run a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the room. "It's Natalie. She... she tried to get protection from Luca Corsini. Before I brought her to Shadowcrest."

Enzo's sharp intake of breath tells me he understands the implications. "Cazzo. And now they think she belongs to them."

"She belongs to no one but me," I snarl, the possessive fury rising once more. "But yes, that seems to be their motivation. They want her, Enzo. They think they can take what's mine."

"Dante..." Enzo's voice is cautious now. "You know I support you, always. But this obsession with Natalie... Are you sure it's worth it? Worth losing everything you've built?"

For a moment, I'm transported back to our childhood. Enzo and I, two street rats with nothing but our wits and each other. He's always been my conscience, the one person who can speak truth to my madness.

But not this time.

"She's worth everything," I say, my voice low and fervent. "More than the empire, more than my pride. I'd burn the whole fucking world to keep her, Enzo."

He sighs, a sound heavy with resignation and concern. "I was afraid you'd say that. Alright, what do you need from me?"

Relief washes over me. I knew I could count on him. "Information. I need to know everything about the Corsinis' current operations. Their weaknesses, their allies. I want to hit them where it hurts."

"Consider it done," Enzo says. "I'll reach out to our contacts in Sicily, see what I can dig up. But Dante... be careful. The Corsinis aren't to be underestimated."

"I know," I growl. "But neither am I. They'll learn what happens when you try to take what belongs to Dante Corleone."

We talk for a few more minutes, hammering out details and contingencies. By the time I hang up, a plan is already forming in my mind. The Corsinis want a war? I'll give them a fucking apocalypse.

I step out of the bedroom to find Natalie asleep on the couch, her face peaceful for the first time in hours. The sight of her stirs something in me, a protective instinct so fierce it takes my breath away.

Moving quietly, I approach her sleeping form. I should leave her be, let her rest. But I can't resist reaching out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her eyes flutter open at my touch, confusion giving way to recognition. Then fear.

"Shh, solnyshko," I murmur, crouching beside her. "You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She stares at me, those stormy eyes searching my face.

"Why?" she whispers. "Why are you being so..."

"Kind?" I finish, a wry smile twisting my lips. "I told you, Natalie. You're mine. To protect, to cherish, to break if necessary. But never to truly harm."

"Come," I say, gentler than I intend. "Let's get you cleaned up."

In the bathroom, I'm efficient and clinical as I help her undress. But as the water hits her skin, washing away blood and tears, something shifts. Her quiet sobs echo off the tile, and before I can think, I'm stripping down and stepping in behind her.

"I've got you," I murmur, gathering her against my chest. "Nothing can hurt you here."

She stiffens for a moment before collapsing against me, her cries muffled against my skin. I hold her, stroking her hair, murmuring soft nothings in Italian.

This tenderness is new territory for both of us – fragile, dangerous.

I'm not sure how long we stand there, but eventually her sobs subside. I wash her with reverent hands, memorizing every curve, every scar. When I finally shut off the water and wrap her in a towel, she looks up at me with something like wonder in those stormy eyes.

"I don't understand," she whispers. "This... gentleness. It doesn't fit with everything else."

I cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "There's a lot you don't understand yet, solnyshko. But you will."

I lead her to the bedroom, settling her on the bed before rummaging through the safe house's meager supplies. I find a first aid kit and return to her side.

"This might sting," I warn, dabbing antiseptic on the rope burns. She hisses but doesn't pull away.

As I work, I can feel her eyes on me, searching. I meet her gaze, letting her see the hunger, the possessiveness, but also the concern. Her skin is still flushed from the hot shower, hair dripping onto her shoulders. The urge to lick the droplets from her collarbone nearly overwhelms me.

"Try to sleep," I say when I'm done, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We leave for Italy tomorrow."

Her hand shoots out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "Stay. Please."

Something warm and unfamiliar blooms in my chest. "Always, moya koroleva."

I settle beside her on the narrow bed, pulling her against me. She fits perfectly in the curve of my body, like she was made for this. For us.

Sleep eludes me, but I don't mind. I watch Natalie's face in repose, memorizing every line, every freckle. She's exquisite, a study in contrasts – soft and hard, fragile and unbreakable. My perfect match in every way.

Morning comes too soon. We dress in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. As we board the private jet, I can see the questions burning in Natalie's eyes. But she stays quiet, docile. It unnerves me more than her usual fire.

"Speak your mind," I say as we reach cruising altitude. "Your thoughts are practically screaming."

She starts, as if surprised I've noticed. "I just... I can't make sense of any of this. You, me, what happened at Shadowcrest. It's all so..."

"Overwhelming?" I finish, a wry smile twisting my lips. "Welcome to my world, solnyshko. Chaotic, dangerous, but never boring."

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "You're insane," she breathes, but there's no real conviction in her voice.

"Maybe," I concede, reaching out to cup her face. This time, she doesn't flinch away. "But my insanity, my obsession... it's the only thing keeping us alive right now. The only thing that will see us through this war."

Natalie's breath hitches, her pulse quickening beneath my palm. "War?"

I nod, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "The Corsinis want you, moy voron. They think they can take you from me. I'm going to show them how wrong they are."

A shudder runs through her, but I see the way her pupils dilate, the almost imperceptible arch of her body towards mine. Oh, my beautiful, broken girl. You can lie to yourself, but your body knows the truth.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I smile, slow and predatory. "I'm going to destroy them, solnyshko. Raze their empire to the ground, salt the earth so nothing will ever grow there again. And you..." I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're going to help me do it."

She gasps, a sound caught between fear and arousal. "I-I can't," she stammers. "I'm not like you, Dante. I'm not a killer."

I pull back, meeting her gaze. "You're more like me than you know, Natalie. I've seen the darkness in your art, the violence in your soul. You've just been too afraid to embrace it. Until now."

My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. "Let me show you," I murmur, my voice a dark promise. "Let me unlock the beast that lurks beneath your skin. Together, we'll paint the world in shades of blood and shadow."

For a long moment, she's silent, warring emotions playing across her face. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nods.

A thrill of triumph surges through me. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and dark hunger. She resists for a heartbeat, then melts into me with a broken moan.

I devour her, my hands roaming her body with possessive intent. She's mine, all mine, and I'll mark every inch of her to prove it.

When I finally pull away, we're both panting. Natalie's lips are swollen, her eyes glazed with a cocktail of lust and fear that sets my blood on fire.

"Rest now, moy voron," I tell her, my voice rough with need. "Tomorrow, we begin your training. Tomorrow, we start our war."

I stand, forcing myself to step away before I lose control completely. As I move towards the bedroom, I hear her voice, small and uncertain.

"Dante?"

I pause, looking back at her. "Yes, solnyshko?"

She meets my gaze, something unreadable in her eyes. "Promise me... promise me you won't let them take me. That you'll kill me yourself before you let that happen."

For a moment, I'm frozen, the words hitting me like a physical blow. Then I'm moving, crossing the room in two long strides. I grab her, pulling her against me with bruising force.

"Never," I growl, my lips brushing her forehead. "I'll die before I let anyone take you from me. You're mine, Natalie. Mine to protect, mine to possess, mine to love in my own twisted way."

She shudders in my arms, a sob catching in her throat. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she burrows closer, as if she could crawl inside my skin and hide there.

"Okay," she whispers, the word muffled against my chest. "Okay."

I hold her for a long moment, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the beat of her heart against mine. Then I release her, stepping back before I can give in to the urge to throw her on the bed and claim her completely.

"Sleep," I order gently. "You'll need your strength."

She nods, curling back up on the couch. I watch her for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her. Then I turn, retreating to the bedroom.

As I lie in the darkness, listening to the soft sound of Natalie's breathing from the other room, I feel a savage joy rising in my chest. The Corsini's thought they could take her from me, thought they could destroy what I've built.

They have no idea what's coming for them.

I am the monster that haunts the nightmares of lesser men. And when Natalie embraces the darkness within her... we'll be unstoppable.

Let the war begin. I've never felt more alive.

The plane touches down at a private airfield on the outskirts of Florence, the ancient city's skyline a breathtaking panorama of red-tiled roofs and historic spires bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun.

As we disembark, Natalie blinks in the bright sunlight, her expression a mix of awe and trepidation. I can practically hear her artist's soul singing at the beauty surrounding us, even as her body remains tense, poised for fight or flight.

"Welcome to la mia bella Italia," I murmur, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her towards the waiting car. She flinches almost imperceptibly at my touch, a shiver rippling through her despite the warm Tuscan air.

The drive to the villa is spent in silence, Natalie's gaze fixed on the passing landscape. The undulating hills, dotted with ancient villages and groves of silver-leafed olive trees, seem to captivate her, offering a momentary escape from the dark reality of her situation.

As we wind up the cypress-lined drive, the villa comes into view - a sprawling stone estate imbued with centuries of history and secrets. Beside me, Natalie draws in a sharp breath, her artist's eye no doubt drinking in every detail of the timeworn fa?ade and the lush gardens spilling out around it.

Waiting at the door is a familiar figure - Enzo, my oldest friend and confidante. His sharp gaze takes us in, a subtle furrow forming between his brows as he no doubt notes the shadows haunting Natalie's eyes, the tension that radiates from her like a palpable force.

"Benvenuto, amico mio," he greets me warmly, enfolding me in an embrace that feels like coming home. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from my shoulders.

Turning to Natalie, Enzo takes her hand, his smile gentle and disarming. "Signorina, it's a pleasure. Welcome to our little slice of paradiso."

I watch, an irrational flare of jealousy licking through my veins, as Natalie offers a tentative smile in return, a hint of color rising in her pale cheeks. Even now, stripped bare and remade by my hands, she is still so responsive, so achingly alive.

Inside, Enzo leads us through the villa's grand halls and light-filled chambers, his easy charm and cultured anecdotes filling the spaces between Natalie's hesitant responses and my own calculated silences.

He shows Natalie to her room, a haven of airy linens and antique furnishings overlooking the rolling Tuscan hills. For a fleeting moment, I see a spark of something in her eyes - wonder, perhaps, or a desperate sort of longing.

It stirs a dark resolve within me. Soon, I vow silently. Soon, she will look at me with that same depth of emotion. Not with fear or revulsion, but with need. With hunger. With a craving so profound, it will obliterate everything else.

Enzo and I retreat to the study, the somber weight of our impending conversation settling over us like the gathering dusk.

"She is more than just a plaything to you." It's a statement, not a question, Enzo's eyes piercing in their intensity.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, considering my response. "She is...everything," I admit at last, the words feeling raw and unfamiliar on my tongue. "My muse, my obsession. The key to unlocking something within myself I hadn't even realized was locked away."

"And what happens when you've unlocked it?" Enzo presses, leaning forward in his chair. "When you've possessed her so completely, there is nothing left to conquer?"

A slow smile spreads across my face, dark and full of cruel promise. "Oh, but don't you see? The beauty of it is...there will always be more to take. More to own. Natalie is an endless well of inspiration, of potential. I will never tire of breaking her and remaking her in my image."

Enzo sighs, a sound laden with heavy understanding and an undercurrent of resignation. "I hope, for both your sakes, you know what you're doing, Dante. The human heart is a labyrinth. One can become lost within its twists and turns."

"I don't intend to lose myself," I retort sharply, draining the last of my scotch and feeling its fire blaze a path down my throat. "I intend to become found. To emerge from this reborn, with Natalie's soul entwined with mine for eternity."

If Enzo replies, I don't hear him, my mind already spinning out, tangled in visions of Natalie - broken and remade, a dark queen to rule at my side.

No, this is not about love, I assure myself, my grip tightening on the empty glass until my knuckles bloom white.

This is about possession. About power. About the heady rush of holding another's soul in my hands and knowing I can shape it, mold it, shatter it and resurrect it as I please.