Chapter 1 - The Brakes and the Blood
“What exactly are you?”
The question had hung in the air of Dante’s Tribeca penthouse eighteen months ago, heavy and suffocating. Sophia remembered the way the city lights had cast long, sharp shadows across his face. He hadn't flinched. He hadn't lied.
“I am the man who holds the leash on the monsters in this city, Sophia,” he had answered, his voice a gravelly whisper. “And occasionally, I am the monster myself.”
That was the night the fairy tale broke. That was the night the trauma nurse realized her fiercely protective, fiercely private billionaire husband didn't just invest in shipping logistics; he controlled the bloodlines of the New York underworld.
The memory dissolved, replaced by the sterile hum of the hospital room.
Sophia blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, her ribs screaming in protest as she tried to draw a full breath. Dante was still staring at her, his dark eyes sweeping over the bandage on her forehead. The silence between them was thick with a thousand unspoken arguments.
The door swung open, shattering the quiet. A doctor in pale blue scrubs walked in, clutching a tablet. He stopped dead when he saw Dante. Every physician in the city knew the Moretti name.
“Mr. Moretti,” the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. “I didn't realize you were… in the room.”
“I am her emergency contact,” Dante said, not taking his eyes off Sophia. “Give me the extent of her injuries. Now.”
“Two fractured ribs, a mild concussion, severe contusions on the left side, and a sprained wrist,” the doctor rattled off quickly. “She was incredibly lucky. A crash like that on the FDR in this weather… she could have easily gone over the barrier.”
“When can she be discharged?”
“Dante, stop,” Sophia interrupted, her voice raspy. “I can speak for myself. I’m a nurse, Doctor. I know the protocol. I just need a prescription for the pain and my discharge papers.”
“Actually,” Dante said, finally standing up. He seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room. He pulled his phone from his overcoat pocket. “She isn't going anywhere yet.”
“I’m going back to my apartment,” Sophia snapped, though it lacked heat because her chest burned.
“Your apartment is compromised,” Dante stated flatly. He looked at the doctor. “Leave us.”
The doctor practically sprinted out of the room.
Sophia stared at Dante, her heart rate spiking on the monitor beside her bed. “What do you mean, compromised?”
Dante walked to the edge of her bed, his large hands gripping the metal railing. The terrifying, cold mob boss was entirely gone, replaced by a man hanging onto his composure by a fraying thread.
“It wasn’t the rain, mia cara,” Dante said softly, the old Italian endearment slipping out before he could catch it. “I had my men pull your sedan from the impound lot twenty minutes after the ambulance brought you here. I had my mechanic look at it.”
May you like
Sophia’s breath caught. “Dante, it was a hydroplane—”
“Your brake lines were severed, Sophia,” he cut in, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy register. “Cleanly cut. Someone tried to kill you tonight. And until I find out who, you are not leaving my sight.”
