Page 94 of Auctioned Innocence
Can’t do anything but watch as Viktor’s gun comes up.
“No!” The word tears from my throat as I bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs.
The bang echoes through the mountain night, but it’s not Viktor’s gun—it’s the sound of Dante throwing open the door and rushing toward me.
He takes in my tear-streaked face, my shaking hands, and the way I’m clutching the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
“Shh,principessa.” He’s beside me instantly, gathering me close without hesitation. “I’ve got you. It was just a dream.”
“She’s dead because of me,” I whisper against his chest, clutching onto him. “Maisie died because I convinced her to fight back.”
“No.” His voice is firm, absolute. “She died because Viktor Petrov is a monster who kills innocent people. She died because she was brave enough to stand up to him. That’s not on you.”
I don’t believe him. “But if I hadn’t?—”
“If you hadn’t what? Been captured? Been strong? Been everything that makes you who you are?”
His hand strokes my hair with infinite gentleness. “Maisie made her own choice. She fought because that’s who she was—a fighter. Just like you.”
I clutch his shirt tighter, trying to anchor myself in the present. “I can still see her face. The way she looked at me right before?—”
“She was proud,” Dante says quietly. “Proud of you for trying to save everyone. Proud to fight beside you. Don’t let Viktor take that away from her memory.”
My breathing gradually slows, matching the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Stay?” I whisper.
He hesitates only a moment before sliding under the covers. I curl into him immediately, fitting perfectly against his chest, my head tucked under his chin.
“Just until you fall asleep,” he murmurs, but his arms tighten around me like he’s not planning to let go anytime soon.
“I’m not a child anymore, Dante,” I say into the darkness.
His arms tense around me. “I know.”
“Do you?” I scoff. “Because sometimes I think you still see that ten-year-old who used to follow you and Marco around.”
“Trust me,” his voice is rough, strained, “what I see when I look at you now has nothing to do with that little girl.”
I tilt my head up to meet his eyes in the moonlight streaming through the window. “What do you see?”
For a moment he just stares at me, his gaze intense and hungry. “I see a woman who’s brave enough to stare down armed men. Smart enough to hack security systems that stump professionals. Strong enough to survive hell and come out fighting.”
His hand cups my cheek, the pad of his thumb sweeping my skin. “I see the most beautiful, dangerous thing I’ve ever encountered.”
The word “dangerous” sends heat coursing through me. “Dangerous how?”
“Dangerous to my sanity. To my control. To every promise I’ve ever made.”
His thumb traces across my lower lip. “Dangerous because you make me want things I have no right to want."
The words hang between us in the darkness, heavy with promise and possibility.
I want to respond, to tell him exactly what I want him to do about those dangerous desires, but exhaustion and emotional overload finally catch up with me.
My eyes drift closed despite myself, and the last thing I remember is Dante’s hand still cupping my face, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns across my skin.
I wake to pale morning light and Dante’s heartbeat under my ear.
For a moment, everything is warm and perfect.
