Chapter 6: Unraveling Shadows
The city felt different now.
The soft glow of the streetlights, the distant honking of cabs, and the laughter from late-night diners all seemed like a mask hiding something darker beneath. Something rotten had thrived while people like Eliana barely got by.
Eliana stood by the large window of Dante's safe house apartment, located high above the city and away from prying eyes. Her reflection in the glass looked different tonight. It seemed harder, older. She was not the same girl who once dreamed of being a musician.
She held her father's journal, her thumb brushing over his familiar handwriting. The weight of his secrets felt heavier. Every name and every note inside became silent ghosts whispering around her.
Dante entered the room, his jacket still damp from the rain. He brought two cups of coffee and offered her one without saying a word.
Eliana took it, their fingers barely brushing. That brief touch created an electric charge in the air between them.
"Any updates on Lux?" she asked softly, breaking the silence.
Dante sighed and shook his head. "He vanished five years ago. Off the grid. No social media, no digital footprint. Our only lead is his old accountant—Miguel Torres."
"Another shadow," Eliana murmured, her voice tight with frustration.
"Every man in this world leaves a footprint eventually. We just have to look where no one dares go," Dante replied.
She looked at him, studying his face in the dim light. Exhaustion lingered in his eyes, but not weakness. No, it held a colder kind of vigilance that tightened her chest.
"Why are you still helping me, Dante?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft but steady.
He blinked, caught off guard.
"You could have walked away after you saved me at the Red Room. But you're still here. Training me. Protecting me. Why?"
Dante stared at her for a moment. The words hung between them, heavy.
"Because I owe your father a debt I can never repay," he finally said.
She frowned. "You didn't really know him."
A small, bitter smile appeared on Dante's lips. "I knew enough. He was a good man, and I failed him, Eliana. When Bellanti ordered me to look for weaknesses in your father's life, I obeyed. I shared information without understanding the full cost. I didn't ask questions because that's what soldiers do." His voice cracked slightly. "And it led to his death."
Eliana's breath caught.
There it was. The truth she had suspected. The betrayal she feared.
But the way he said it—raw and vulnerable—made it harder to hate him than she wanted.
Her chest ached with a mix of emotions: pain, anger, and something warmer beneath it all.
"You regret it," she whispered.
"Every single day."
For a long time, neither spoke. Outside, the rain tapped gently against the windows, filling the silence.
Finally, Eliana took a slow breath. "Then help me finish what he started."
Dante's gaze locked onto hers. The unspoken promise between them was not built on trust but on shared scars.
"I will."
The next morning, they drove deep into the industrial district, where crumbling warehouses and forgotten factories sprawled like hollow bones. Dante tracked Miguel Torres to an old textile mill turned gambling den for the Syndicate's mid-tier enforcers.
"Eliana, you stay in the car," Dante said as he loaded a small pistol into his holster.
Eliana shook her head. "No."
"This isn't training anymore. This is real," he warned.
"That's precisely why I need to be there," she countered, her voice firm. "I won't learn anything by just sitting in the car. And you might need me."
For a moment, Dante hesitated, then nodded. "Stay close."
They slipped inside through a rusted service door.
The scent of old smoke and cheap whiskey hit them instantly. Men crowded around poker tables, their voices thick with laughter and bravado. But beneath it all pulsed the tension of the underworld—a place where one wrong look could spark a gunfight.
Eliana's heart raced, but she kept her expression neutral, mirroring Dante's calm.
He spotted Miguel in a corner booth, counting chips with a short, nervous man beside him.
Dante quietly signaled, guiding Eliana behind a stack of crates. He spoke under his breath, "You watch and listen. But if anything goes wrong, you get out. Understood?"
She nodded, swallowing hard.
Dante approached Miguel casually and slid into the booth across from him. "Miguel Torres. Been a long time."
Miguel's eyes widened. His hand twitched toward his belt—toward the gun holstered at his side. Dante was quicker, his weapon already drawn beneath the table.
"Easy," Dante murmured. "I'm not here for your blood. I'm here for information."
Miguel's breathing became shallow. "I don't work for Bellanti anymore."
"That's not what I asked." Dante's voice remained calm but sharp. "Where's Adrian Lux?"
Miguel's throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice faltered. "You're crazy. Lux is dead."
"Wrong answer." The barrel of Dante's gun pressed harder against Miguel's thigh under the table. "Try again."
The man beside Miguel began to panic, shifting in his seat. Eliana noticed immediately—his eyes darted toward the bar.
"Incoming," she whispered into her earpiece.
Three men from the bar started moving toward Dante's table, hands reaching under their jackets.
Dante acted quickly.
He grabbed Miguel by the collar, pulled him from the booth, and shoved him toward the exit, gun pressed to his back. Eliana slipped from her hiding spot, covering their rear with shaking hands gripping her own weapon.
Gunshots rang out, and glass shattered.
They sprinted through the back alley, Miguel stumbling between them, crying out as they dragged him to the car.
Once inside, Dante sped onto the rain-slicked streets, tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
Miguel gasped in the back seat. "You're insane! You're both insane! They'll kill me now!"
"They were going to kill you anyway," Dante growled. "Talk, or you die tonight instead."
Miguel sobbed, hands shaking. "Lux… Lux was never killed. He staged it. He's been hiding under Bellanti's protection… in Europe. Switzerland. New identity. They made sure everyone thought he was gone."
Eliana's breath hitched. "Why?"
"Because he knows everything," Miguel whispered. "Every offshore account, every politician Bellanti bought, every deal made under the table. If Lux talked, Bellanti's entire empire would crumble."
Dante's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "Do you have proof of this?"
Miguel nodded eagerly. "I—I have a file. A hard copy. In my safe house. I kept it in case Bellanti ever turned on me."
Eliana looked at Dante, her voice trembling with determination. "Then that's where we go next."
That night, back at the safe house, Eliana sat on the couch, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. The adrenaline had faded, but the heaviness lingered.
Dante entered and sat across from her. His shirt was stained from their earlier fight, and a faint scrape was visible on his temple.
"You did well today," he said softly.
"I almost froze back there," she admitted.
"But you didn't." His voice was steady and kind. "You saw the threat before I did. You're learning."
Her lips trembled. "It's scary."
"It always is." He leaned forward slightly. "The difference is knowing fear won't stop you."
Their eyes met again. For a long, quiet moment, the air between them shifted.
He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The simple, tender gesture sent warmth rushing through her chest.
Eliana's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can trust you completely. But I'm trying."
Dante's gaze softened. "That's all I ask."
The silence that followed felt fragile and intimate, like the first breath after being underwater for too long.
As the city lights flickered far beneath them, Eliana realized that for the first time in years, she wasn't entirely alone in her fight.
She had him.
For now.
To be continued...
Hey 🦋...
Please stay tuned for the next part...