The silence in the room was suffocating.
The men who had been shouting in furious Italian just seconds ago now stood like statues, their eyes darting from Dante to Emma.
The bodyguard with the broken nose looked as if he wanted to protest, but one sharp glance from Dante silenced him instantly.
Dante didn’t look at his men; his focus remained entirely on Emma, his dark eyes locking her in place.
“Mr. Caruso, with all due respect, she is an outsider,” one of the older men finally ventured, his voice tight.
“She was the waitress.
She handled the glass.
For all we know, she could be the one who—”
Dante didn’t let him finish.
He slammed his hand on the mahogany desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
“If she wanted me dead, she wouldn’t have brought the evidence back to my doorstep.
She stays.
Under my roof.
Under my eye.” He turned back to Emma, his tone dropping to a low, lethal whisper.
“Go to the guest suite upstairs.
Marco will show you the way.”
Marco, the broken-nosed bodyguard, stepped forward.
Emma felt a knot of panic tighten in her throat.
She wanted to run, to scream that she had a life, a job, a normal world to go back to.
But looking at the cold fury vibrating through the men in this room, she realized the truth: the moment she walked into Villa Rosa, her normal life died.
She nodded slowly and followed Marco out.
The guest suite was a masterpiece of silk and velvet, but to Emma, it felt like a prison cell.
For hours, she couldn’t sleep.
The muffled sounds of heated arguments drifted up from the floorboards below.
The Caruso empire was hunting a traitor, and she was caught in the crossfire.
Just before dawn, the yelling stopped.
A eerie quiet settled over the estate.
Emma was staring out the towering window when she heard the faint click of her door lock.
Her heart leaped into her throat.
Marco had said she would be guarded, but the hallway was dead silent.
The door swung open, and it wasn’t Marco.
It was the older Italian man from the office, a wicked silver blade glinting in his hand.
“Dante is blind,” the man hissed, stepping into the room.
“The waitress dies, the evidence disappears, and the family business goes on as intended.”
After Years Of Abuse And Manipulation, Husband Draws Line With Wife’s Aggressive Relatives
Emma backed away, her hands scrambling behind her on the vanity table until her fingers wrapped around a heavy crystal perfume bottle.
As the assassin lunged, she threw it with all her might.
It shattered against his shoulder, throwing him off balance.
She tried to bolt past him, but he grabbed her arm, throwing her to the marble floor.
The blade flashed above her.
*Bang.*
The gunshot was deafening.
The assassin stiffened, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed heavily onto the floor.
Behind him stood Dante, a smoking pistol in his hand, his chest heaving, his rolled-up sleeves stained with fresh ash.
He looked terrifying, a true king defending his territory.
He dropped the gun and rushed to her side, pulling her up by her waist.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice laced with a raw panic she hadn’t expected.
“I-I’m fine,” she gasped, trembling violently as she clung to his shirt.
Dante looked down at the traitor, then back at Emma, his gaze softening into something intense and consuming.
“The war is over,” he murmured, his thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
“The rat has been caught.
You’re safe now, Emma.”
Emma looked into his eyes, feeling the dangerous heat radiating from him.
She was safe from the poison, safe from the assassins.
But as Dante pulled her closer into his embrace, she realized a new truth.
She was safe from the world, but she would never be free from him.
And as her heart raced against his chest, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be.
