Page 25 of Auctioned Innocence (Bonds of Betrayal #3)

DANTE

T he first explosion hits thirty seconds later.

Glass erupts inward as the west wall buckles, debris flying through the air like shrapnel.

Armed figures pour through the breach before the dust settles—black tactical gear, night vision goggles, weapons I recognize as military grade.

I’m already moving, grabbing Sofia and pulling her behind the stone fireplace just as automatic weapons fire tears through the space where we’d been standing.

“Two through the breach!” I shout, returning fire through the shattered window.

My shots force them to take cover behind overturned furniture, buying us precious seconds. Splinters explode from the wooden beams as their return fire chews through the cabin’s interior.

Sofia is beside me, weapon steady in her hands despite the chaos.

No hesitation, no panic—just cold focus as she angles for a clear shot at the lead attacker.

Her bullet takes him center mass. He drops without a sound, blood pooling beneath his black fatigues.

Pride and terror wars.

She’s magnificent, but these aren’t amateurs we’re facing.

These are professionals who came here to kill us both, and they’re not going to make the same mistake twice.

“Movement on the north side!” Sofia calls out, spotting muzzle flashes through what’s left of the window.

I pivot, laying down suppressing fire as more figures attempt to breach from multiple angles.

Bullets punch through the thin kitchenette walls like they’re made of paper.

This is exactly what I’d feared—a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm us with superior numbers and firepower.

“Covering fire,” I shout to Sofia as I reload.

She leans out, her shots measured and calculated.

Another attacker goes down, his scream cutting through the gunfire before ending abruptly.

She’s not just shooting—she’s thinking, picking her targets and making every bullet count.

A metallic clatter moves across the floor. Flash-bang.

I grab Sofia, shielding her with my body as the world explodes in white light and deafening noise.

The concussion hits like a physical blow, my ears ringing so loudly I can’t hear my own breathing.

My vision is nothing but white spots and shadows.

But Sofia isn’t moving.

She’s frozen, her weapon lowered, staring at the gunman with wide, unfocused eyes.

Her breathing has gone rapid and shallow—I recognize the signs.

Panic attack. Flashback.

The sound of automatic weapons, the feeling of being trapped and helpless—it’s all brought her back to that auction house.

“Sofia!” I shout, but she doesn’t respond.

She’s not here anymore.

She’s back on that platform, surrounded by men with guns, helpless and afraid.

The attacker’s finger tightens on the trigger.

I throw myself between them just as he fires, the bullet meant for Sofia’s head barely grazing my shoulder instead.

Pain explodes through my arm, but I’m already returning fire, putting two bullets through him.

He drops, but there are more coming.

“Sofia!” I grab her face with my good hand, forcing her to look at me. “Look at me! You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Well, safe- ish .

We are in the middle of a fight after all.

Her eyes gradually focus on mine, confusion and fear giving way to recognition. “Dante? I…the sound…I couldn’t…”

“I know.” I press my forehead against hers for just a second, feeling warm blood from my shoulder wound seeping through my shirt. “I know, principessa . But I need you here with me. Can you do that?”

She nods shakily, her training starting to override the trauma response. “I’m sorry, I?—”

“Don’t apologize,” I tell her firmly. “Just stay with me.”

Another burst of gunfire snaps us both back to the immediate threat.

Sofia’s eyes clear completely, her grip on her weapon steadying.

The soldier in her reasserting itself over the victim.

“Behind you!” Sofia shouts.

I spin, putting two bullets into an attacker trying to flank us through the bedroom.

He crashes into the doorframe, weapon clattering across the floor as blood sprays across the wall behind him.

“Nice shot,” Sofia calls out, taking down another figure moving through the kitchenette. “Though I think you just ruined your grandfather’s mirror.”

“My grandfather’s probably rolling in his grave watching his cabin get shot to pieces.” I duck as return fire chips stone from the fireplace. “He spent forty years hiding this place from the feds, and we’re about to burn it down in ten minutes.”

“Sorry about that,” Sofia says, not sounding sorry at all as she puts two more bullets into an attacker’s center mass. “I’ll buy him a nice wreath.”

We work together like we’ve been doing this for years instead of minutes.

When I’m reloading, she covers me, her shots keeping enemies pinned.

When she needs to move position, I provide suppressing fire, forcing them to keep their heads down.

We’re outnumbered and outgunned, but we have the advantage of knowing every corner of this cabin—and the desperation of people who refuse to die.

The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the scent of splintered wood and blood.

Brass casings litter the floor around us, evidence of just how much ammunition we’re burning through.

“Reloading!” Sofia calls.

I step up, spraying covering fire as she slams a fresh magazine home.

A figure appears in the doorway—I put him down with three shots to the chest.

He crumples backward, taking out a cabinet as he falls.

“That was my grandfather’s good China,” I mutter.

“Was it expensive?” Sofia asks, taking aim at movement through the shattered window.

“Priceless family heirloom.”

“Well, now it’s priceless family confetti,” she quips, her shot dropping another attacker before he can get a clear angle on us. “At least it’s still in the family.”

Another attacker comes through the bedroom, then two more through the destroyed west wall.

They’re coordinating, timing their advances to stretch our defensive capabilities.

“We need to move!” I shout to Sofia. “They’re going to overrun us!”

“Where exactly do you suggest we go?” she calls back, reloading with practiced efficiency. “The spa? The wine cellar? Oh wait—your grandfather was a bootlegger, not a Bond villain!”

Despite everything, I almost smile. Even in a firefight, she can’t help but let the real Sofia shine through.

“Smart mouth is going to get you killed,” I tell her, taking down two more attackers.

“My smart mouth has gotten me out of worse situations than this,” she retorts. “Have I ever told you about that time in Rome when I talked my way out of?—”

“Focus!” I shout as more muzzle flashes light up the darkness outside.

But there’s nowhere to go.

They’ve got the exits covered, and we’re trapped in an ever-shrinking defensive circle.

Sofia spots something I miss—movement through the back window.

Her shot shatters glass and drops another attacker before he can get a clear angle on us.

“That’s their sniper!” she calls out. “He was covering their advance!”

With their overwatch eliminated, the remaining attackers become more cautious, less coordinated. I can feel the momentum shifting.

Sofia and I fire simultaneously at the last two figures trying to breach through the front door. They both go down hard, their weapons skittering across the blood-slicked floor.

Then, suddenly, silence.

I count heartbeats, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing but the crackle of flames where the breaching charge hit the wall, the ringing in my ears, and the sound of our own ragged breathing.

I count heartbeats, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing but the crackle of flames where the breaching charge hit the wall and the ringing in my ears.

“Clear,” Sofia calls softly from her position.

“Clear,” I confirm, but I keep my weapon raised as I move to check the bodies. Professional gear, no identification. Exactly what I expected.

I turn to find Sofia watching me, her chest heaving. There’s a small cut on her cheek where debris caught her, blood trickling down to her jaw. Her eyes are bright, fierce, alive. Beautiful and deadly in ways that steal my breath.

“You hurt?” I ask, moving toward her, my own breathing still uneven.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is steady despite everything we just survived, despite the bodies scattered around us. “You?”

“Never better.” I reach out, cupping her face to examine the cut. My thumb traces just below the wound, and I feel her sharp intake of breath. The touch is meant to be clinical, checking for injury.

It isn’t.

The moment my skin meets hers, everything changes. The relief of survival, the way she’s looking at me with those dark eyes—it all crashes together into something I can’t resist.

“Dante…” My name is barely a breath on her lips, but I hear everything she’s not saying.

The want.

The need.

The acknowledgment that we almost died, that life is too short for the games we’ve been playing.

I should step back.

Should check the perimeter for more threats, start planning our next move.

We’re standing in a cabin full of corpses, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss her.

I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the fire in her eyes, the slight part of her lips, the way her free hand reaches up to fist in my blood-stained shirt.

“We should…” But I can’t remember what we should do. Not with her looking at me like that. Like she wants me just as much as I want her.

“Should what?” She tilts her face up, challenging me even now.

Always challenging me.

Her other hand drops her weapon to the floor with a soft thud, then it comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart.

My self-control breaks away.

I back her against the wall, one hand tangling in her hair as the other pulls her flush against me.

Her sharp intake of breath turns into a soft sound that nearly destroys what’s left of my restraint.

She’s all heat and curves pressed against me, and, when her arms wind around my neck, I forget how to breathe.