Chapter 6 – THE BLOOD ON THE SHIRT

Dante held her so tightly she could barely breathe. His large hands were shaking, burying themselves in her hair, pressing her face against his ruined, blood-stained shirt.

“Maria,” he choked out, his voice cracking completely. “I thought I lost you. I thought he killed you.”

For a split second, the warmth of his embrace offered a profound, blinding safety. But then, the memory of the photograph flashed in her mind.

She is clean enough to fix my reputation.

Maria pushed against his chest.

Dante released her instantly, looking panicked. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“I’m fine,” Maria said, her voice shaking as she scrambled to her feet. She backed away from him, wrapping her arms around herself.

Dante stood up slowly, confusion masking his relief. “Maria? What’s wrong? My men are securing the perimeter. We’re safe.”

“Safe,” Maria repeated, letting out a harsh, broken laugh. “Is that what I am to you, Dante? A safe bet? A clean record?”

Dante frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Salvatore, writhing on the ground clutching his bleeding knee, let out a wet, rattling laugh.

“She knows, Dante,” Salvatore wheezed, spitting blood onto the concrete. “I showed her the picture. I told her why you married her.”

Dante went entirely still.

The fierce mafia boss vanished, replaced by a man staring down the barrel of an absolute catastrophe. The color drained from his bruised face.

“Maria,” Dante whispered, taking a step toward her. “Let me explain.”

“You had me followed,” Maria said, her voice rising above the roar of the burning pallets. “Six years ago. You chose me from a photograph because you needed a respectable wife to clean up your public image.”

“That’s not how it happened,” Dante pleaded, his hands raised in surrender.

“Did you write it?” she demanded, tears finally spilling hot down her cheeks. “Did you write those words on the back of that picture?”

Dante closed his eyes. The silence that followed was heavier than the explosion had been.

“Yes,” he confessed softly.

Maria felt her knees weaken. She grabbed the edge of a shipping container to keep from collapsing.

“Four years,” she sobbed. “I gave you four years of my life. I gave up my career, my independence, my pride. And it was all a transaction to you.”

“It started as a strategy,” Dante said, stepping closer, his voice laced with desperate urgency. “My father was under federal investigation. The family name was toxic. I needed someone beyond reproach. But the moment I met you, Maria… the moment you stood up to that caterer at the fundraiser… it stopped being a transaction.”

He reached out, his bloody fingers stopping inches from her face, terrified to touch her.

“I fell in love with you,” Dante swore, his voice breaking. “I swear to God, I fell in love with you.”

“If you loved me,” Maria cried, “you wouldn’t have put another woman in my chair!”

The words struck him like a physical blow. Dante flinched, stepping back.

“I was a coward,” Dante whispered, the admission tearing out of him. “I loved you, but I felt like I was drowning in the pressure of trying to be the man you deserved. Bianca was easy. Bianca didn’t care about my soul. She just cared about my wallet. I used her to hide from you.”

Salvatore laughed again. “Touching. Truly touching. But you’re both going to die in here anyway.”

Dante turned his head slowly. The sorrow in his eyes was instantly replaced by lethal, icy rage.

He walked over to Salvatore.

“You touched my wife,” Dante said quietly.

“I took your pride,” Salvatore sneered.

Dante didn’t argue. He raised his heavy boot and stomped down viciously on Salvatore’s broken knee.

Salvatore screamed, passing out instantly from the pain.

“Dante!” Marco, Dante’s head of security, burst through the side doors, his gun drawn. “The fire is spreading to the roof! The whole structure is going to come down. We have to move!”

“Did you find Leo?” Dante demanded.

“We found him,” Marco confirmed grimly. “He won’t be driving anyone ever again. And the Romano girl is in our custody outside.”

Dante looked back at Maria. The warehouse was filling with thick, black smoke. The heat was becoming unbearable.

“We have to go,” Dante said, holding out his hand to her.

Maria looked at his hand. The hand that had orchestrated her entire life.

She didn’t take it.

Instead, she walked past him, navigating the smoke on her own, leaving him standing in the ashes of the warehouse.

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