Crimson Secret

The cold night air bit into Alessia’s skin as she stood on the balcony of Dante’s penthouse, staring out over the city that had become a battlefield. Her fingers gripped the railing tightly, knuckles white from the pressure, but her thoughts were elsewhere—far from the shimmering skyline and the sounds of distant sirens that echoed like a reminder of the chaos closing in around them.

Marco. His face flashed in her mind, and a pang of guilt stabbed at her. She should have seen this coming, should have anticipated Sergei’s move. It was classic—go after the ones closest to the heart. And she, of all people, knew how this game was played. But something had changed in her, something she wasn’t ready to confront yet.

Behind her, Dante’s presence was a palpable force. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was there, watching her with that same quiet intensity he always did. He was trying to keep his control—always the master of his emotions, always in control of his world. But she knew better. She could feel the rage simmering beneath the surface, the helplessness he hated to admit to.

And then, his voice cut through the silence, low and measured. “You’re thinking it’s your fault.”

Alessia closed her eyes briefly, the weight of his words settling in her chest. He was right, of course. But what gnawed at her wasn’t just the failure to predict Sergei’s move. It was the realization that she cared. Too much. For Marco, for Dante—for all of it. Her carefully constructed walls were crumbling, and it terrified her.

Turning, she met Dante’s gaze. His dark eyes were filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite read, and it unsettled her. It wasn’t the cold calculation she was used to seeing. No, this was something deeper. Something raw. “I should’ve seen it coming,” she admitted, her voice soft but edged with frustration. “Marco’s in that position because of me.”

Dante moved toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he studied her. And then, with a sigh, he spoke. “This isn’t on you, Alessia. It’s on Sergei. He’s the one who crossed the line.”

But you let him in, she thought, swallowing the words before they could leave her lips. Sergei had exploited a vulnerability—a crack in Dante’s armor. And for all the ruthlessness that made Dante Bianchi the king of shadows, his greatest weakness was his need to control everything. Including the people he let close. And that, Alessia knew, included her.

But it wasn’t the time for accusations. Not now, when Marco’s life hung in the balance. Still, the tension between them was a live wire, threatening to snap with every second that passed.

Dante’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You think too much, Volkov. It’ll get you killed.”

She wanted to snap back, to tell him he didn’t understand, that she wasn’t just another piece in his game of chess. But instead, she bit her tongue, knowing that Dante’s anger wasn’t really directed at her. It was at Sergei. It was at himself. And maybe, just maybe, it was at the part of him that had let her in, let her get this close.

Dante turned away from her, his broad shoulders tense, his hand gripping the back of a chair as though it were Sergei’s throat. His thoughts spun in a dark spiral—Marco, the man who had stood by his side for years, now a pawn in a war that was growing bloodier by the hour. He could picture Sergei’s smug face, the silent taunt: How far are you willing to go, Dante?

The rage built, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. But beneath the anger, beneath the need for vengeance, something else stirred—a fear he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Not since he’d first carved his way into power. A fear that came from caring too much. About her.

Dante stole a glance at Alessia, who was still standing near the balcony, her silhouette framed against the darkened skyline. She was strong, stronger than most men he knew. But that strength made her fragile, too. Because just like him, she hid behind her defenses, and he knew all too well how dangerous it was when those defenses began to crack.

And there it was again, that unwelcome thought: Sergei knew. He’d seen it in Sergei’s eyes during their last encounter. The way his gaze had lingered on Alessia, the way he’d smirked, knowing he had found Dante’s Achilles’ heel. And now, with Marco in his grip, Sergei was tightening the noose.

“I’ll get him back,” Dante muttered, more to himself than to her. The weight of the promise settled heavily in the room, but Alessia heard it loud and clear.

“And what if you can’t?” she asked, her voice steady, but there was something beneath it—something vulnerable.

Dante turned to her sharply, the question hitting him like a slap. He didn’t answer, because there was no room for doubt. Not in his world. You either acted, or you died. But the question lingered, a whisper of a truth he wasn’t ready to face. What if Marco was already gone? What if his decisions had led them all to this precipice, and there was no coming back?

He stepped closer to her, his eyes searching hers, as though he could find the answers in the storm brewing behind them. “I will get him back,” he repeated, but this time, his voice was softer, more uncertain than he wanted it to be.

For a moment, Alessia said nothing, just held his gaze. She could see the cracks in his façade, the ones he tried so hard to hide. And that was when she realized something that scared her more than anything Sergei could do—Dante was just as lost as she was. Beneath all the power, all the control, he was a man standing on the edge of something he couldn’t control. And that terrified him.

“I trust you, Dante,” she said finally, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

It was the truth, and it was dangerous. She had spent years building walls, keeping her emotions locked away, but with Dante, it was different. She trusted him not just with her life, but with something far more fragile—her heart. And that was the most dangerous game of all.

Dante blinked, taken aback by her words. He hadn’t expected that. Trust wasn’t something that came easily in their world. It was a luxury neither of them could afford. And yet, here she was, giving him that trust, despite everything.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “Alessia, I—”

The door swung open suddenly, cutting through the charged silence. One of Dante’s men entered, his face grim. “We’ve got a lead on Marco.”

The moment shattered, the tension dissolving into action. Dante’s expression hardened, the mask slipping back into place. “Where?”

“The docks. Sergei’s holding him at one of the warehouses. But it’s heavily guarded. Getting in won’t be easy.”

Dante nodded, his mind already working through the plan. But Alessia saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He was ready to go to war, but she knew there was more at stake than just winning this battle.

“We do this together,” she said firmly, stepping up beside him.

Dante met her gaze, something unreadable passing between them. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned to his man. “Get the team ready. We move now.”

As the door closed behind them, Alessia and Dante stood side by side, two souls bound by the same darkness, moving toward a fight neither of them could afford to lose.

But even as they prepared for battle, their thoughts lingered on what was unspoken, on the feelings they couldn’t afford to admit. Not yet.