Page 29 of Shadows of Steel
I nod, pulse quickening at the base of my throat. “I always double-check.”
Without a second thought, Dante pushes the door open, his frame tensing.
“Wait here.” He instructs sharply before stepping inside, a gun held firmly at his side. He retrieves his phone, swiftly sends a message, and slips it back into his pocket, his gaze methodically scanning the room.
I follow anyway.
Dante senses my presence without looking. His jaw clenches. “I distinctly told you to stay back.”
I lift my chin adamant. “I’m not one of your subordinates to stand idly by and obey commands. I’m your fiancée, I reserve the right to defy you.”
He exhales sharply, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves forward, scanning the apartment. At first glance, nothing seems out of place. My things are where I left them. The air appears undisturbed, yet an unsettling sensation prickles along my spine.
Did I forget to secure the door?
Impossible. The mere thought feels inherently wrong, I wouldn't overlook such a critical detail.
We approach my bedroom, and the scent assaults me first.
Dense. Metallic.
Blood.
A strangled breath lodges in my throat as I step forward, eyes wide in disbelief.
My bed is soaked, drenched in crimson as though re-enacting the brutality of a murder scene. Blood saturates the sheets, spills onto the plush carpet, seeping deeply into the fibres, staining the floor in gruesome patterns.
And then my gaze lifts to the wall.
A message, violently etched in jagged, chaotic letters, mocks me.
A ring on your finger won’t keep me away.
You’ll be mine, come what may.
Nausea twists viciously within me. The words are sinister, a vile taunt, an unmistakable declaration of possession. My hands clench into tight fists, nails digging painfully into my palms, the sharp sting anchoring me to reality as I desperately struggle for breath.
Blood.
It's everywhere.
The air compresses around me, tightening mercilessly around my ribcage, restricting my lungs until I’m gasping helplessly. My pulse thrashes uncontrollably, darkness edging into my vision.
My lungs refuse to draw air.
“Harlow.” The voice pierces through the fog, authoritative and unyielding. “Breathe. Now.”
I attempt to comply, but my body betrays me, lungs defiant, chest rigid.
A shadow of movement shifts into my vision, and a firm, commanding hand tilts my chin upward. Dante’s eyes, intense, dominate my view.
“Look at me,” he orders quietly, his voice absolute. “Only at me. Match my breaths.”
I do as instructed, synchronizing each shallow, trembling inhale with his controlled pace. Gradually, my breathing steadies, mirroring his calm rhythm.
His eyes darken, possessive yet strangely comforting, grip unwavering as he murmurs. “There you are.”
He captures my hand firmly, grounding me in his touch. “Don’t look around. Keep your eyes solely on mine. We're leaving now.”
