Dante
I leaned back into the plush chair, stretching my legs out in front of me.
From across the auction hall, she sat—legs crossed, arms folded, exuding a confidence meant to deter men like me. But I wasn't just any man, I was Dante the Fucking Moretti.
I flicked my gaze toward her again, holding it a little longer this time.
Dark hair, sharp eyes, an attitude that screamed untouchable. I'd seen plenty of women like her before, women who thought they could play in a man's world without getting their hands dirty.
Still, there was something about her.
Something quite familiar. I smirked, threw her a wink.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes.
I almost laughed. Feisty.
For a split second, I let myself entertain the thought of who she reminded me of.
Alessia.
The way she carried herself, the way her gaze didn't waver under mine. It stirred something in my chest, something I wasn't willing to acknowledge.
I clenched my jaw and shook the thought away. Alessia was dead.
Just then, a shadow moved beside me. It was Nico.
He leaned in, voice low and urgent. "Boss, we've got a problem."
I barely turned my head. "What kind of problem?"
Nico's face was tense. "Your weapon site got raided."
My fingers stilled against the armrest.
Nico's voice sharpened. "The cops are on their way. They have a warrant."
No fucking way.
I shot up from my seat, my entire body shaking with adrenaline.
I moved fast, passing through the crowd with long strides, heading straight for the exit.
Nothing else mattered at this point, I needed to disappear. But then— A voice.
"Dante!"
I didn't slow though. Then, another voice followed.
"Boss, he's following us," Nico muttered.
I glanced over my shoulder, then I saw Marco Montenegro.
Trailing me, moving with ease through the crowd, his sharp features lit with amusement.
I clenched my teeth and kept walking.
Marco's voice carried over the room. "Come on, don't be rude! I'm calling you."
Must be a joker if he thought I was going to stop to listen to his bulkshits. The car was parked right outside the auction house, Nico already opening the door for me.
I stepped inside the backseat, but before I could slam the door shut, something shifted in the mirror.
Marco?
He was standing in the way. Two of his men flanked him, arms folded, legs spread wide. Blocking the car.
My grip tightened around the door handle. I exhaled slowly, then turned my gaze back to the mirror, watching Marco through the reflection.
That bastard was grinning, like he enjoyed this.
I stepped out of the car and walked toward him, my presence alone enough to make his men flinch.
I stopped a foot away. "Move. I'm late."
His grin deepened. "Got a meeting?" His voice was slow, taunting. "Or a Latina in bed you're rushing to see?"
My muscles tensed. Marco chuckled, his men laughing along.
I didn't respond. Didn't react. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
I turned, moving back toward the car, my patience razor-thin. My problem was bigger than Marco right now. If the police were really on their way, I needed to be gone.
I yanked the door open. "Nico, drive."
He hesitated.
My voice turned ice-cold. "Drive through them if they don't move."
Nico's grip tightened on the wheel.
My tone dropped lower. "Now."
Marco must have caught the shift because his smirk faltered. Nico hit the gas. Tires screeched.
Marco's men cursed, jumping out of the way just in time.
The car jerked forward, speeding toward the road.
I barely had time to register the figure that suddenly stumbled into our path.
A man.
Drunk or stupid—probably both, staggering right into the headlights.
Nico swerved, barely missing him.
The man tripped, landing hard on the pavement, cursing after us as we roared past.
I didn't care. Not even a second later, flashing lights appeared in the mirror.
Red and blue. A siren sounded through the highway.
"Fuck." Nico's knuckles went white on the wheel.
I exhaled sharply. "Don't stop."
"They're telling us to pull over."
"I don't care."
They were more sirens. More flashing lights.
I didn't blink. "Lose them."
Nico gritted his teeth and pressed the pedal harder.
The car sped forward, weaving through the narrow streets, dodging traffic and almost hitting a truck.
The city blurred past us, neon lights flashing against the windows. But the police weren't giving up.
I stayed calm, calculated even. If I let myself panic, I'd make a mistake. And I never made mistakes.
The roads turned darker, narrower, leading us away from the city.
Rural streets. Dirty roads. Empty stretches of land where no one could see us.
The sirens grew distant. Then—silence.
Nico didn't slow down until we reached a secluded alley, barely wide enough for the car to squeeze through.
He killed the engine and everything went still.
For a long moment, I just sat there, staring out into the darkness. Then I exhaled.
"We're clear," Nico muttered.
I didn't respond. My mind was already ten steps ahead.
My operation had been raided. My name was flashing across police scanners.
And Marco Montenegro had seen me run.
I rolled my shirt, then let out a slow, humorless chuckle.