Page 2 of Danica's Revenge

I’mscared.

When we finally arrive at the Fera mansion, the gates are flung wide open.They’re never open.

“Hurry up, Carlo,” I urge the driver, eager to find Dante even as I know I won’t find him at home.He’s gone.They'd phoned earlier to say they'd taken him.They took Dante.We'd rushed back but it was already too late.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone shopping.Things felt off this morning.Dante insisted that I leave, that I take two of the guards.Something had been bothering him.I could tell.I tried to push but he was an impenetrable wall—completely shut down.“Please, Danica.I have to take care of something.”

So I left.There was no talking to Dante when in work mode.I was furious at the time.

But I consoled myself with the fact that Dante always came back to me again.When he was ready, he would come crawling back—literally crawling on his knees, naked except for the beautiful collar that nobody else has ever seen.

What a magnificent sight it is to see a man that tall, that muscular, covered in tattoos and scars, crawling towards you, looking up at you with those intense green eyes, a curl of his thick, slicked back hair undone over his forehead.

My darling boy, I sigh, angst trapped in my throat.Where are you?

When we reach the top of the driveway, I notice that the front door is open too.There are many new faces milling about, shouting in rapid Italian.I don’t catch any of it.It’s been three months since I moved into the mansion with Dante to be his full-time Domme.But there is only so much Italian my brain can process —especially with my mind already overloaded from my studies.

Now the doctor has also arrived at the house—the doctor who stitched up my wrist on the night Dante and I met; that fateful night at the restaurant when he literally saved my life.I owe him so much.I still can’t believe how quickly things have moved since then.If you'd told me six months ago that I’d be living with the head of the Fera family as the commander of his body and pleasure, I would never have believed you.Now, the mere thought of losing Dante is enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

He takes care of everything.I want for nothing—things money can buy and those it can't.Nobody can serve my body the way Dante does, nobody.

He’ll be back soon,try to reassure myself.I wish I could believe it.

I jump out of the van even before Carlo fully brings it to a halt.

“Miss Matthews,please.Careful!It’s my job to keep you safe!”he shouts after me for the umpteenth time today.They’re always telling me how it’s their job to protect me.What about Dante?Why didn’t they protect him?

I feel like crying but I bite my lip to keep a strong face.Tears won’t help me now.

“Fuck,” I mouth under my breath as I reach the door.It’s complete carnage in the foyer.Two figures lie unmoving on the floor, drowning in separate pools of blood that have merged into one.I recognize them, unfortunately—it’s Marco and Gio, two of the guards.Dead.Where are the others?

“Miss Matthews,” a familiar voice turns my attention to the right.

“Oh God, Emilio.Thank God.What happened?”I rush over to Dante’s right-hand man, his personal guard.The doctor is preparing to stitch up a gunshot wound in his leg.

“We tried to stop them, Miss Matthews.We really did.But there were too many of them.They got in before we even noticed.I don’t know how but they knew about all the security…” Emilio flinches as the doctor pours more disinfectant into the nasty-looking wound.I look away for a moment.

“Where’s Dante?”I ask, though I know there isn't much point.“Who did this?”

“I don’t know.To both of your questions.They were Italian.But we don’t know who…Or why.”He hangs his head.“We failed to protect him.”

“He’s usually pretty good at protecting himself.”

“Something was wrong today.He didn’t even put up a fight…”

“Thank you, Emilio.I’m glad you’re alive.”I am.

I wish I knew what had been on Dante's mind this morning—what troubled him so much.He clearly suspected something.

I walk over to his study, his sanctuary of power.It no longer looks sanctified.It is a complete mess.Broken glass, spilled coffee, bullet holes in the furniture…a puddle of blood in front of the desk.Dante’s, I presume.

I close the door behind me and lean against the heavy wood that, not too long ago, had provided no resistance to the unexpected intruders.

The anxiety pushes up my throat, the knot in my belly tightens, there is no keeping it at bay anymore.I break down, sobbing.Oh god, Dante.Please be alive.Please.

He has become my entire world.I can’t imagine my life without him.I don’t want to.What am I even supposed to do now?This is his territory, not mine.I am just a journalism student.Until a few months ago, I'd never even held a gun.Sure, Dante insisted I take lessons from one of the guards, and I’ve fired a few bullets.I am actually quite a good shot—“a natural,” according to Gio.But I am no match for whoever took my Knight away.

I sit down on the floor, my back still firmly against the door.I don’t know what to do with myself, what to think.My 25 years of life had largely been spent in innocence, until the tattooed god that is Dante Fera unexpectedly showed up at the restaurant that night, dashing as always in his expensive shoes and oversized rings, clothes tailored perfectly to his muscular body.

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