Page 83 of Ivory Crown

The city was a beast that never slept, but in the cocoon of the black sedan, there was a fleeting illusion of peace. I slid into the backseat, pulling Jade with me, her silence an eerie echo of the chaos we’d just escaped. She looked small, almost breakable, against the leather upholstery. The usual spark that lit her eyes, that same fire that could make even the most complex scientific jargon sound like poetry, had dimmed to a flicker.

“Hey,” I said, my voice low and steady as I reached out, smearing crimson on the black interior—a stark reminder of the violence we’d left in our wake. My thumb came away red as I brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “We’re safe now, alright? Just focus on breathing.”

It was a lie, of course—we were anything but safe—but it was all I had to offer her. Jade’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her gaze locked on some point beyond the car window. I knew she was replaying the scene over and over in her head, the way the blood had spilled, the lifeless eyes of the man who had attacked us. It wasn’t something you could just shake off, not when you were a woman like Jade, whose life revolved around creation, not destruction.

And she had seen me murder somebody.

So not a great morning overall.

“Jade,” I said, a little more firmly this time, needing her to hear me, to see me. “I’m right here. But I gotta make a few calls, okay? You just sit tight.”

As the driver merged us into the flow of traffic, I pulled out my phone, its screen a cold beacon in the dim light. I couldn’t afford the luxury of comfort, not when every second counted. With each call I made, I was threading the needle, weaving a web of safety for the woman beside me—the woman who carried both the future of my family and the weight of my sins.

I hit the call button for Marco, my thumb pressing hard against the screen as if I could push the urgency of the situation through the phone. The ring echoed in my ear like the ticking of a bomb, counting down to an explosion I was racing to prevent.

“Hey, Dante,” Marco’s voice filtered through, tinged with the grogginess of pain meds and hospital sterility.

“Kid, how you feeling?” My voice came out steady, betraying none of the chaos that had become my shadow.

“Doc says I might get out today,” he replied, a note of relief cutting through the haze.

“Good, good. But listen, be careful when you do,” I warned, the protective instinct for my brother sharpening my tone.

“Careful? What’s going on?” Confusion laced his words, seeping through the static connection.

“Someone took a shot at Jade.” I didn’t sugarcoat it; in our world, there was no point.

“Christ, Dante...” The confusion gave way to concern, to the understanding of what this meant for all of us.

“Yeah. It means they’re coming after the family. After all of us.” There was a heavy silence, the kind that spoke louder than any words could, filled with the things we feared and the resolve that bound us together. “Do you want me to come get you today?”

“No. Look after your girl,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Text me when you’re out.”

“Yup,” he replied, then hung up.

The city didn’t slow down, not even as the driver parked the car in front of the monolith that was the Moretti headquarters. The sound of horns and engines blended into a distant roar, but it couldn’t drown out the hammering of my heart or Jade’s shallow breaths beside me. She was trying to keep it together, but the fear had sunk its claws deep.

“Come on,” I said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. It was cold, shaking slightly, and I hated how vulnerable she looked, sitting there in her white shirt and stretched leggings that hugged the curve of her belly.

She nodded, trying to muster a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I pulled her out into the brisk fall morning, shielding her with my body as we moved quickly toward the building’s entrance. It felt like crossing through enemy lines, though the real danger was less visible and far more insidious.

The elevator doors parted and we stepped inside, the metallic chamber cutting us off from the rest of the world. With each floor we ascended, the soft hum of the elevator was like a lullaby trying to soothe the beast of anxiety growling in my gut.

“Almost there,” I murmured, more to myself than to Jade.

She stood close, so damn close, her scent—a mix of lavender and something uniquely her—filled the confined space. It was a contrast to the stench of gunpowder and blood that often clung to me like a second skin.

We watched the numbers light up one by one, a silent countdown to whatever awaited us at the top. I could feel Jade’s gaze on me, heavy with questions she wasn’t asking. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but those were just words, and my life had taught me they were often as hollow as a drum.

“Are you ready?” I asked as we neared the penthouse floor, my voice low and steady despite the storm raging inside.

“Ready for what?” she asked.

“Whatever comes next,” I replied, locking my gaze with hers. Her eyes, usually so full of determination and life, now held a bone-deep fear that I’d put there. A fear I had to erase.

“Dante,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not…I don’t know.”

---