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She barely had time to breathe before the man lunged.

He wasn't tall but fast. Stocky. Brutal.

A jagged scar slashed across his left brow, and his eyes gleamed with intent.

He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked hard.

She screamed for Dante, twisting but he dragged her halfway down the corridor, steel fingers crushing her bones.

"You're worth a lot more alive," the man snarled in her ear. "He's not the only one watching."

Then-gunfire.

The man jerked violently as a bullet tore through his shoulder.

Blood sprayed the wall.

Still, he didn't release her.

Another shot.

He stumbled, grunted-and this time, Dante's voice thundered from behind. "Noone dares to hurt what's Mine."

He didn't walk.

He ran.

Like a black storm down the corridor.

Isolde hit the floor as the goon shoved her away and turned to meet him but Dante tackled him like a beast unleashed.

They crashed into the wall.

Dante's hands closed around the man's throat and slammed his head into the concrete.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, the wall cracked. Blood smeared.

The man clawed at him, reaching for a blade-too slow.

Dante caught the wrist.

Snapped it backward with a sickening pop.

The man screamed. Dante didn't flinch.

He drove his knee into the man's gut, then spun him around, grabbed a fireplace poker from the nearby stand, and rammed it through the base of the man's neck.

The body slumped.

Breathing shallow.

Dante stood over it, chest heaving, face splattered with blood.

He turned.

Walked slowly to Isolde-who sat on the marble floor, knees drawn to her chest, shaking.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his black sweater soaked with gore.

He cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. Tears streaming. But no words.

He didn't let go.

"You're mine," he growled. "They will never take what's mine."

Then he pressed his forehead to hers.

Closed his eyes. "I'll kill every man between here and hell if they try."

-----.........-------~~····

The blood hadn't even dried on the marble.

Dante stood in the corridor, shirt soaked, knuckles bruised, his dark slacks splattered in a spray of arterial red.

The fireplace poker he'd driven into the intruder's neck lay discarded at his feet.

Alex stood at the opposite end of the hall, already on his phone, voice cold and precise.

"We need full background on the body-now. Facial scan, ID trace, biometric reversal, every cartel tag in the last ten years."

Isolde hadn't moved.

She still sat on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest, the silk robe tangled around her, her lip trembling as the adrenaline wore off.

Dante crouched in front of her.

His voice was low. Calm. Controlled. "Breathe."

She obeyed. She always did when he used that tone.

"You're safe now."

Her eyes met his.

"No, I'm not," she whispered.

And something in Dante's expression cracked open.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Obsession.

He stood and strode toward Alex, ripping off his bloodied gloves.

"Talk."

"Preliminary scan says the guy's name was Koren Malik. Eastern bloc mercenary. Known freelance trafficker. Low-level-hired muscle."

Dante's jaw clenched.

"Who sent him?"

Alex hesitated.

"We traced his encrypted texts. There's chatter from an old contact in Prague. Tag name: Roza."

The name made Dante still.

Alex noticed. "You know her?"

"She was supposed to be dead."

Dante stepped over the corpse.

"Call Viktor. Wake up the Lisbon safehouses. Pull every flight manifest out of Prague in the last 24 hours. Roza's not working alone."

He turned to another guard.

"I want this body cut up and delivered in five boxes. One to each of the five families who voted against me last quarter. Let them know what I do to warnings."

Back upstairs, Dante removed his shirt and washed the blood from his arms at the penthouse sink.

Steam curled from the water. His jaw was locked.

His hands though steady-flexed with restrained violence.

Behind him, Isolde stood in silence.

He saw her reflection in the mirror.

He turned slowly.

She stared at his bare chest, the wet strands of hair clinging to his temples, the scars across his ribs, the knife wound near his heart.

He stepped toward her.

Each step measured. Intentional.

Her back pressed against the glass wall behind her as he came close-close enough for her to feel the heat of his body.

"You still think I'm the monster?" he asked.

Her voice trembled. "You just crushed a man's throat with your bare hands."

His hand lifted, knuckles brushing her jaw.

"Because he tried to take what's mine."

"You don't own me-"

His eyes burned. "I don't want to own you, dove. I want to be so far inside you that even your thoughts carry my name."

She shuddered.

He reached up, untied the silk robe from her waist, and let it slide open.

"You could've died tonight," he whispered.

His mouth touched her neck.

"I haven't slept since the first time I saw your face. I've rewritten every sin I've ever committed just so I could kneel in front of you and beg you to need me."

His hands slid around her waist, gripping her hips. "I won't survive another man touching you."

He led her to the bed.

Undressed her with slow, reverent hands-dragging the silk from her skin like peeling secrets.

His mouth found her collarbone, then her breast, then her hip, leaving a trail of possession down her body.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, then looked up at her.

"You need to understand something," he said, voice hoarse. "I didn't kill him for fun."

He leaned forward. "I killed him because I can't imagine you in pain."

Then he kissed her there and didn't stop until she screamed his name.

After.

He lay beside her, their bodies tangled, his arm possessively around her waist.

She traced the scar near his ribs.

"Roza," she said quietly she heard that name when they were talking earlier. "Who is she?"

He didn't speak for a long time.

Then-

"She was part of my past. She hates me now."

"She wants to hurt me?"

"No," Dante murmured. "She wants to hurt me through you."

Isolde sat up slightly, the silk sheet falling down her chest.

"What are you going to do?"

He looked at her.

Dark. Focused. "Kill every soul between me and her."