Chapter 9 - Protective Shields
The circle of armed, broad-shouldered men tightened around Dante, creating an impenetrable wall of dark wool, muscle, and authority. They treated him not merely as an employer, but as an irreplaceable sovereign whose survival was the only thing preventing an all-out war across three states.
“Sir, the medical transport is three minutes out,” Marcus said, pulling a satellite phone from his pocket. “We need to get you off this hillside and up to the vehicles. The local troopers will have the road closed within ten minutes.”
“I don't need a hospital,” Dante replied coldly, rolling his left shoulder with a slight wince to test the joint. “I need a dry shirt and a secure line to the dock authority.”
Cara took a slow, deliberate step backward.
The sheer scale of Dante Moretti’s world was crashing down upon her. In the quiet, warm dining room of Bellini’s, he had seemed like an exceptionally wealthy, dangerous patron. But here, in the dark woods, surrounded by a private army of men who looked like they operated outside the jurisdiction of any government, the reality of who he was became terrifyingly clear.
She didn't belong in this world. She was a waitress from Queens who had moved upstate to escape her own quiet, complicated history. She had done what any human being with a conscience would do: she had run after a man who was about to be murdered. But now that he was safe, now that his wolves had arrived to protect him, she felt suddenly, intensely exposed.
Her heart fluttered with panic. She remembered the look on Vanessa’s face when the tray had shattered. She remembered the cold calculation in the man’s voice. These people killed without blinking; they moved millions of dollars and buried their mistakes in the deep water of the Hudson. If Dante’s security team realized how much she had heard, would they ever let her walk away?
Cara took another step back toward the shadow of a fallen pine tree, her boots sinking softly into the mud.
She intended to slip away into the dark, climb back up to her beat-up silver coupe, and drive back down the mountain before anyone asked for her identification. She would pack a bag, leave her apartment, and put as many miles between herself and Bellini’s as her bank account would allow.
“Ma'am,” one of the younger security guards said, his voice flat, stepping slightly to his left to block her retreat toward the upper path. “Please stay where you are until Mr. Moretti—"
“Step back, Leo,” Dante’s voice cut through the rain like a straight razor.
The guard froze instantly, stepping aside without a word.
Dante turned away from Marcus and the perimeter team. He ignored the men, ignored the idling SUVs waiting on the road above, and ignored the cold rain that continued to pour down over his scarred, powerful frame.
He walked directly toward her.
Cara retreated another half-step, her breath catching in her throat, her hazel eyes wide with a sudden, instinctual wariness.
Dante didn't stop until he was standing less than two feet away. He towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the glare of the xenon headlights behind him, casting her entirely into his personal shadow. The air around him smelled of rain, ozone, and the faint, permanent trace of cedar and expensive tobacco.
He reached out.
His hand did not grab her with force. His large, calloused fingers—marked with dark ink across the knuckles—closed around her slender wrist with infinite, gentle care.
May you like
His touch was surprisingly warm against her freezing, rain-soaked skin.
“Wait,” Dante murmured.
