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Hey hello sorry I'm late to update these day cz I'm kind of busy with the discord server I made trying to make it active so if you guys have discord would like to chat and discuss about books or want to share your work get feedback or ask people to read you can join.

The link is in bio just click and u r there. ??????

Thanks.

Enjoy reading.

The war room smelled like gunpowder and ancient grief.

Dim lights cast long shadows across the matte-black table, where maps of Europe lay covered in red pins, slashes of ink, and kill orders inked in Dante's unmistakable, severe handwriting.

He stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, chest half-exposed beneath a deep charcoal shirt, his muscles tense, veins raised down his forearms.

A single trail of dried blood cut across his right wrist-a remnant from the whiskey glass he'd shattered after watching Roza's video.

Alex stood silently beside him, arms behind his back, lips tight.

"Sever all eastern smuggling lanes," Dante ordered, his voice a rasp. "If it breathes and has even breathed in Roza's direction in the last year-I want it gone. Poland. Slovakia. Bosnia. No survivors."

Alex nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And the girl?"

"Dead. The video was pre-recorded."

Dante's jaw locked, the muscle along his cheek tightening with quiet fury.

"Roza made her bleed slowly. Just to remind me how long she watched Isolde."

He didn't say her name.

Not yet.

He couldn't.

Not while his hands still shook with the phantom of her scream.

Isolde watched from the archway.

She wore nothing but one of his black button-downs, the hem grazing her thighs, her hair twisted into a soft, falling braid over one shoulder.

Her bare legs glowed pale in the flickering firelight.

Her lips were flushed, bitten raw from chewing.

She had never looked more delicate.

Because something inside her had changed.

The fear that once made her tremble now lived beside something else devotion. Obsession. A sacred rage no one else could hold.

He was hers.

She wouldn't lose him.

Dante dismissed his men with a flick of his hand and remained still until the door sealed behind them.

Only then did Isolde move.

Her steps were slow, silent, barefoot across the cold marble.

He didn't look at her until her hands were on him.

She reached up, fingers brushing over his chest, slowly unbuttoning what was left of his shirt.

Her eyes searched his, soft but filled with a tremor of obsession.

She wanted to calm the monster. Tame him. Keep him whole.

But not gentle.

Never that.

"You're bleeding again," she whispered, voice small but warm.

He looked down at his hand.

Blood had soaked through the wrap.

She took it gently in hers and began unwrapping it, bit by bit, revealing angry red marks beneath.

He didn't wince.

He watched her.

Every breath. Every movement.

The way she sat him down in his chair.

The way she knelt between his legs and cradled his wrist like something divine.

"You always take care of everyone else," she said softly. "Let me take care of you."

He exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching against her thigh.

"You shouldn't see me like this."

"Like what?"

He looked away.

"Unraveling."

She leaned forward, her lips brushing his knuckles.

"I love the threads."

She cleaned the wound with slow, reverent movements.

Every dab of the cloth was careful. Tender.

His eyes never left her face-the curve of her lashes, the blush of her lips, the perfect slope of her nose.

"You look like a Devil when you're angry," she whispered, smiling just faintly. "But you look like a man when you bleed."

He smirked, eyes narrowing in warning.

"That's dangerous to say."

She met his gaze fully now.

Her voice didn't tremble. " But I don't just want to be the girl you protect. I want to be the one who holds your leash."

He grabbed her by the chin, slow and hard, eyes burning.

"Do you know what you're asking for?"

She nodded.

And kissed his palm.

Later, they lay on the bed tangled in silence.

Dante sat with his back against the headboard, shirt gone, chest rising in slow breaths.

His injured hand rested on his thigh, rewrapped in white.

His hair was disheveled, his eyes rimmed with the kind of fatigue only vengeance gave.

Isolde curled beside him, one hand on his stomach, her body warm and still beneath the sheets.

He looked down at her.

"You should be afraid of what I'm about to do."

"I'm not."

"I'll destroy entire cities to find her."

"You've destroyed more for less."

He laughed softly-hoarse, low, dark.

She leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw.

"You're not the only one who's ruined anymore, Dante."

He looked down at her.

And smiled.

Not with his mouth.

But with something far more terrifying-his soul. "Then you're finally mine."