02

Alora's POV

"Open the door!”

The sharpness of the voice rang out through the living room. Sprinting hurriedly towards the living room, I picked up a blanket and laid it carefully over the boy. A useless attempt at shielding him.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the door, my heart racing.

I instinctively clutched Gianni’s hand. Who was outside? What did they want? And how did they find us so fast?

I didn’t move. Instead, my eyes darted across the room, seeking a safe place.

A louder knock followed. “Open the door now, or we’ll break it down.”

We? There were many people outside? Oh shit.

I stayed seated, trembling in my spot. Whoever was out there didn’t really think I'd open up, right? I wasn't a fool.

I glanced toward the small closet across the room, then back at Gianni. It seemed like a perfect hiding spot for a small person like him.

So, adrenaline pushing me forward, I grabbed Gianni’s arm and dragged him off the couch as gently as I could. His body was limp, heavy, but I managed to pull him into the closet, positioning him in a way that wouldn’t exert pressure on his injuries.

I closed the door to the closet just as another harsh knock landed on the door.

"Please, we don’t have time for this. Open the door." The voice sounded a little less aggressive, as if surrendering.

I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. My subconscious screamed at me not to open the door. I hesitated, glancing once more towards the closet.

“I’m Dante. I’m his brother,” the voice said. “I’m here to save him.”

His brother? I froze, my hand trembling on the doorknob. Could I believe him? Was he really Gianni’s brother? Or was this a heartless trick to convince me to open the door?

I took a deep breath, and for the first time since the knocking started, I spoke, my voice tumbling out in a breathless rush.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be the one who hurt him.”

There was a brief pause. “If you don’t open this door, you’ll regret it. Gianni needs help, and I’m the only one who can save him.”

For a second, my face flushed with anger. How dare this jerk speak to me like this?

But my mind kept racing with possibilities. Could he really be Gianni’s brother? Was it *he* who Gianni spoke about?

“Please,” the voice came again, in a much softer tone. “I’m not here to hurt him. I’m here to protect him. Open the door, or you’ll be putting both of your lives at risk.”

I bit my lip, unsure of what to do. But then, I heard a soft moan from the direction of the closet.

Gianni.

My feet rushed before my brain could comprehend. Opening the door, I winced as it creaked loudly.

Gianni stirred, his face contorted in pain as he tried to speak. I leaned closer, barely hearing what he said.

“D... Dante...”

My breath caught in my throat as his words quickly registered, confirming that the man outside really was his brother.

Another bang sounded from outside—louder this time. “Last chance,” Dante bellowed. “I’m coming in, whether you like it or not.”

I didn’t hesitate anymore, rushing to the door and opening it. Dante, who had been raising his leg to kick open the door, probably not expecting the door to open at that moment, let it drop.

Onto my abdomen. Ouch.

I crouched down, holding my abdomen, the pain spreading wildly.

Looking up, my eyes met his—dark, intense, and filled with impatience.

“Where is he?” Dante demanded, pushing past me without so much as an apology or helping hand. This guy just kicked me in the stomach. Is he insane?

His eyes scanned the house, his towering frame filling the room. But I wasn't fazed.

I prepared myself to give this good-for-nothing asshole a piece of my mind when suddenly he turned around and, with a suffocating glare sent my way, he asked:

“Where is Gianni?”

“I-I hid him,” I stammered, my trembling hands pointing towards the closet. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

Alora, you fool! Why are you scared of this huge asshole? my subconscious questioned me.

Dante shot me a glance, his eyes flashing with annoyance, but he didn’t waste time arguing.

Instead, he spotted the closet and strode over to it, yanking the door open. He knelt beside Gianni, his jaw tightening at the sight of his brother’s injuries.

“He’s lost too much blood,” Dante muttered. “We need to move him now.”

“Move him? Where to?”

Dante glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. “To where he’ll be safe. I don’t have time to explain. And you're coming with us.”

Oh hell no. Like hell I'm going with him.

I frowned, crossing my arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You have your brother, now leave.”

Dante stood, his eyes locking with mine. “You don’t have a choice. We’re leaving now.”

Before I could argue, the sound of cars outside caught both of our attention. Dante’s face darkened, and he turned towards the door, his body rigid.

“They’re here,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who’s here?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he moved toward the window, peeking through the blinds.

“There’s no time. We need to get out of here—”

Before he could finish, a groan escaped Gianni’s lips, his eyes fluttering open.

“Dante,” he rasped, his voice frail.

I turned toward him, relief flooding my chest. Thank God he's fine.

But that relief was short-lived.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening crack rang through the air—gunshots. From outside my house.

Oh shit!