When The Queen Burned Her Name

For what was meant to be our final goodbye, I agreed to meet Dante for dinner.

I should have known. The last two people I wanted to see were standing at the restaurant entrance.

It was Dante and his fiancée, Sofia Moretti.

The moment he saw me, Dante yanked his hand from Sofia's shoulder.

I stared at them, my face devoid of expression. "What are you two doing here?"

Dante’s eyes flickered. "Our families have a project together. We were just discussing the details."

After a dinner thick with tension, we were finally about to leave.

Dante offered to drive both me and Sofia home.

No one could have predicted the chaos that erupted in the next second.

A black SUV screeched around the corner, a window rolled down, and the barrel of a gun appeared.

A deafening barrage of gunfire exploded, and the car shuddered violently.

The windows shattered, and the force of the impact threw me against the door.

As my vision swam, I saw Dante wrap himself around Sofia, his body a human shield against the volley of bullets.

He was even murmuring to her, his voice a low comfort. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."

My temple slammed against a shard of glass. Hot blood streamed down my face, blurring my world in red.

As darkness crept into the edges of my vision, my mind flashed back to a street shootout a year ago.

We had just started dating.

The same kind of intersection, the same kind of ambush.

I had been sitting on the side of the car taking the most direct fire.

In that split second, Dante had wrenched the steering wheel without hesitation, putting his own side in the line of fire.

The car was mangled, and he was pinned in the driver's seat.

Blood bloomed across his white shirt, but he fought to stay conscious, reaching over to gently touch my cheek. "It's okay. As long as you're safe."

It took the rescue team an eternity to cut him out.

He nearly died for me that day.

But this time was different.

The person he instinctively protected was no longer me.