Page 85 of Beneath the Shadows

We drive in silence for a while, the low murmur of the radio the only sound between us. I can tell Dante’s itching to say something, and it’s not long before he breaks the silence.

“How did it happen?” His question isn’t just about Valentino—it’s about me and the role I played in his death.

I keep my gaze fixed on the road. “Vigo’s death was a result of unfortunate circumstances.”

“Unfortunate circumstances?”

“Yes. Sometimes things don’t go as planned, and the outcome is unexpected.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says flatly.

I don’t look at him, but I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face. “What do you want me to say, Dante?”

He exhales slowly, leaning back into his seat. “Nothing. You’ve already said enough.”

I didn’t confirm or deny anything, but the look that passes between us tells me he understands. Valentino’s death wasn’t some random accident. Dante suspects I had a hand in it, but he also knows when to stop asking questions.

As we pull up to the safe house, I feel a sense of unease. The guard that should be outside is nowhere to be seen. Dante and I exchange a steely look—our instincts screaming that something’s gone terribly wrong.

“Where the hell is he?” Dante mutters, drawing his weapon as we approach the front door.

“I don’t know,” I reply, sliding a fresh magazine into my gun and chambering a round.

The front door’s unlocked. My mind races through worst-case scenarios. Inside, the house is unsettlingly quiet, with only our footsteps breaking the silence. Every muscle in my body’s on edge, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The stillness feels wrong—dangerous.

We round the corner and find the guard at the bottom of the stairs. His body lies twisted in a pool of blood.

Stepping over him, I take the stairs two at a time. “Lena,” I shout, but the silence that follows is deafening.

I hurry down the hall with Dante on my heels. Every creak in the floorboards amplifies the tension. When we reach the door to Lena’s bedroom, it’s closed.

“Lena, it’s me.” I knock but get no response.

I turn the handle and push the door open, bracing myself for whatever’s on the other side. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of Lena’s body motionless on the floor, her eyes wide, empty. The blood pooling around her is dark, almost black in the dim light.

My heart pounds furiously as I rush over and kneel beside her. My fingers tremble as I reach for her wrist, searching for any sign of life.

Her skin is cold. Lifeless.

“Lena,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Come on, don’t do this.”

Dante grips my shoulder firmly, pulling me away. “She’s gone, Antonio. There’s nothing you can do.”

Rage erupts inside me, blinding, suffocating. I slam my fist into the nearest wall, the impact splitting the plaster. The pain in my knuckles is sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the storm tearing through me—the crushing weight of my failure.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I try to rein it in. “Damn it,” I roar, the sound reverberating through the empty house. I came here to offer Lena a way out—a new identity, a chance to escape. I promised to protect her.

I set her up. Now she’s dead because of me.

Dante’s already on the phone, his voice clipped and authoritative as he arranges for a cleanup crew.

“I should’ve done more,” I mumble, self-loathing thick in my throat. “This is my fault.”

Dante watches me, his expression one of confusion as he processes my words. “We’ll find out who’s responsible,” he says, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.

I shake my head, the guilt gnawing at me like a sickness. “You don’t understand. I set her up,” I snap. “I promised to keep her safe. She’s dead because I failed.”

Dante’s brow furrows. “Whatever happened here is something you couldn’t have anticipated. We both know how unpredictable things can get.”

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