Ashes of the Past

The ride back to the estate was a blur, the weight of the night pressing down on all of us. Matteo, now safely in the back seat, was silent, his face pale from the ordeal he'd endured. Dante, though physically present, seemed miles away, his mind lost in the aftermath of the confrontation with Viktor.

The city lights flickered as we drove through the quiet streets, a stark contrast to the chaos we'd just left behind. I couldn't help but wonder if things would ever truly go back to normal. We had won tonight—Matteo was safe—but Viktor's words echoed in my mind. He'd promised this was just the beginning, and I knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be the last enemy we would face.

When we finally pulled up to the estate, I could see the heaviness in Dante's posture as he got out of the car. He was trying to hide it, but the cracks were showing. I could feel his pain, the toll that the battle had taken on him, even though his exterior remained as cold and unreadable as ever.

I helped Matteo out of the car, supporting him as he stumbled slightly on his feet. "We're almost inside," I reassured him, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.

Inside, the estate felt strangely empty. The usual hustle of the staff and the murmurs of the household seemed distant as if the building itself was holding its breath. I could see a few of the guards stationed in the hallways, their eyes alert but giving us space to move.

Dante led us through the grand foyer and into the living room, his footsteps heavy on the marble floors. "Get him to his room," he said, his voice cold, almost detached. "I'll handle everything else."

I nodded and helped Matteo up the stairs, his weight leaning heavily on me. He winced with every step, but his resolve never wavered. We made it to his room, where I helped him onto the bed.

"Just rest, Matteo," I said softly, pulling the covers over him. "You're safe now."

He managed a weak smile, his gratitude evident despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "Thank you. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come for me."

"Don't worry about it," I said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "We'll make sure nothing like this happens again."

As I turned to leave, I caught sight of Dante in the doorway, his presence looming like a shadow. "I'll be in my office," he said, his voice low, almost distant. "Stay with him."

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving me standing in the doorway. I knew he needed time to process everything, but part of me wanted to go to him, to offer him comfort in the way he had always given it to me.

But I didn't. I stayed with Matteo, keeping my promise to him. It wasn't long before he fell into a fitful sleep, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up with him.

I sat by his side for a while, lost in my thoughts. I couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was still ahead of us. Viktor may have been defeated, but there were others out there—people waiting for the right moment to strike. And Dante, for all his power, was not invincible.

I made my way to the office after a while, knowing that Dante would need to debrief the team, give orders, and plan their next steps. But when I arrived, I found the office empty, the door ajar. The only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

I stepped inside, but my eyes immediately found the glass of whiskey on the desk, untouched, but meant for him. He hadn't been in here long, but he hadn't come to me either. I could feel the distance growing between us, a chasm that seemed to widen with every passing moment.

Sitting down in one of the chairs, I picked up the glass and swirled the amber liquid, my thoughts drifting back to the night we had just survived. How long would it be before the next battle came? How long before the weight of this life—of this world—broke us all?

A soft sound at the door made me turn, and I saw Dante standing there, his expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, his voice tight with something I couldn't quite place.

I stood up, setting the glass down. "I needed to talk to you."

Dante didn't answer immediately. He just stared at me for a long moment, as though weighing something in his mind. Then, he walked over to the desk and sat down, running a hand through his hair. His exhaustion was palpable, but there was something else too—something dark that had settled over him since the fight with Viktor.

"You shouldn't have been there," he said finally, his voice rough. "It was too dangerous. You could've gotten hurt."

I could hear the fear in his voice, even though he was trying to mask it with anger. The protective instinct was in his blood, and it ran deep. But I wasn't afraid of danger. I wasn't afraid of anything—not when it came to him.

"You're not the only one who's fighting this war," I said, walking toward him. "I'm here because I'm part of this. You don't get to carry this alone."

Dante looked up at me, his gaze intense. For a moment, I thought he might say something else, but instead, he reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me close. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure of how much he could give, how much I could take.

"I know," he whispered. "But I don't want to lose you. Not like this."

I closed the distance between us and kissed him, a slow, deliberate gesture. I didn't have the words to fix everything, to explain what was in my heart. But I hoped this kiss, this small act, would be enough to show him that we were in this together. Always.