POV: DANTE
The pain was a white-hot thing, consuming everything.
Dante's leg was useless, hanging limp and useless beneath him as Luca practically dragged him from the SUV. His shoulder screamed with every movement. His ribs felt like they were caving in with each breath.
But he was alive.
That was what mattered.
The safe house was in the industrial district of Jersey City, a nondescript warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside. Inside, it was fortified. Reinforced walls. Multiple security checkpoints. Enough firepower to hold off a small army.
"Get him inside," Luca commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos with absolute authority. He was already moving, already assessing, already doing the thousand things that needed to be done to transform a temporary shelter into a war room.
