Chapter 8 - The Weight of an Empire
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was quiet again.
Victor had been dragged out the back service door by Leo and two security operatives, tossed into an unmarked van, and driven toward the river with a very clear, permanent message.
Emma sat on a stool near the prep counter, her hands shaking as she tried to breathe. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind a cold, hollow shock in her chest.
Dante walked over, holding a small glass of water. His knuckles were slightly bruised, and a single drop of blood stained the cuff of his crisp white shirt, but his posture was as composed as ever.
“Drink this,” he said gently, holding out the glass.
Emma took it, her fingers brushing his. She looked up at him, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes—not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization of what it cost to keep her safe in a world ruled by blood and iron.
“You shouldn't have done that,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. “You put yourself in danger for me. I’m just… I’m nobody.”
Dante crouched down in front of her stool, taking her trembling hands in his own calloused palms.
“Stop saying that,” Dante commanded softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute intensity. “In a city full of people who only care about power, money, and self-preservation, you are the only real thing in my life. You are never nobody to me, Emma.”
May you like
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken years of isolation, duty, and survival. Emma leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder as Dante wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close into a protective, unyielding embrace.
For the first time in her life, she understood that some walls weren't built to keep people out. They were built to keep the safe things protected inside.
