Chapter 7 - The Hostage of Venice
Cold water pulled her down into the darkness.
Emily kicked frantically, her lungs burning, until a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her forcefully toward the surface. They broke through the ocean waves, gasping for air amidst the burning debris floating on the water.
"I've got you," Dante breathed, pulling her toward an inflatable emergency life raft that Lucian had deployed seconds before the explosion.
They scrambled onto the raft as the storm raged around them. Hours passed in a blur of freezing rain, dark waves, and exhaustion until a dark, unmarked submarine—part of Dante’s private fleet—surfaced beside them, pulling them safely inside.
They had survived the sea. But the war was far from over.
Three days later, the scene shifted from the sun-drenched islands of Greece to the dark, ancient waterways of Venice, Italy.
Rain fell softly over the Venetian canals, mist clinging to the stone bridges. Inside the fortified, ancestral estate of Palazzo Volkov—a five-hundred-year-old palace tucked away near the Grand Canal—Victor Volkov sat at a massive mahogany desk.
Victor was a cold, brutal man of sixty, with white hair, scarred hands, and eyes like a reptile.
Across the room, bound to a heavy wooden chair with leather straps, sat Emily.
Her red gown was gone, replaced by a simple grey dress. Her wrists were bruised, her face pale, but her dark eyes burned with an unyielding, fierce defiance that surprised even Victor.
"You are surprisingly quiet, Miss Hart," Victor said, his heavy Russian accent cutting through the room. "Most young women in your position cry, scream, or beg for mercy."
"I used up all my tears in Ohio," Emily replied coldly, spitting a trace of blood onto the marble floor. "And begging a coward like you would be a waste of breath."
Victor chuckled darkly, standing up and walking toward her. "Your father was a clever thief, Emily. But he lacked vision. He thought hiding you in Greece would protect you. He didn't realize that Dante Moretti would fall in love with you."
Emily’s heart skipped a beat. In love with me?
"Dante does not care about me," she lied smoothly, trying to mask her emotion. "I was just his prisoner."
"Do not play games with me!" Victor shouted, slamming his hand onto the arm of her chair. "Dante Moretti has spent the last forty-eight hours burning my financial networks to the ground across Europe! He released your father's micro-drive to the Interpol network! Half my capos have been arrested! He is destroying his own empire just to force me out into the open to find you!"
Victor grabbed her chin, squeezing her jaw roughly. "He is coming here tonight, Emily. He thinks he can storm my palace and rescue his little queen. But this palace is a death trap. Two hundred armed men surround this canal. The moment Dante steps through those doors, he will die."
Emily stared into Victor’s cold eyes, her heart aching with a profound, overwhelming love for Dante. He was risking everything—his fortune, his empire, his life—for her.
"You don't know Dante Moretti," Emily whispered softly, a proud, beautiful smile touching her lips. "He isn't coming to rescue me, Victor."
She looked at the grand double doors of the room.
"He's coming to destroy you."
At that exact moment, an explosion rattled the ancient stone foundation of Palazzo Volkov.
Dust rained down from the painted ceilings as alarms began to blare across the estate. Gunfire, heavy and continuous, erupted from the lower courtyard near the canal.
Victor pulled a heavy gold pistol from his belt, his eyes wide with sudden shock. "Impossible! How did he bypass the canal security?!"
Through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Grand Canal, three black high-speed tactical assault boats cut through the water, breaching the palace's private dock.
At the bow of the lead boat stood Dante Moretti.
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He wore heavy black tactical armor, an assault rifle in his hands, his face smeared with dark war paint. He looked like an ancient god of war, striking down everything in his path with absolute, terrifying vengeance.
"Volkov!" Dante’s voice echoed through the PA system of the assault team, booming through the halls of the palace. "Give me my woman... or I will level this city to the ground!"
