When Protection Breaks

The sound of the sirens arrived long before the lights.

Celeste could hear them rising in the distance, cutting through the chaos that still echoed faintly through the estate. The house no longer felt alive in the same way it had days before. It felt wounded now, as though the walls themselves had been breached by something unseen and unforgivable.

Her hands were still wrapped in Dante’s shirt when she realized how warm it had become beneath her fingers.

At first she thought it was only her imagination. Shock had a way of playing tricks on the body, convincing it that everything was hotter or colder than it truly was. But when she pulled her hand back and saw the blood coating her palm, dark and slick beneath the overhead lights, her stomach turned violently.

“You’re hurt,” she said, her voice coming out far thinner than she intended.

Dante did not look down.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, already turning toward the corridor that led deeper into the lower level.

She grabbed his wrist before he could take another step.

“Stop.”

The word came out sharper this time, cutting through the haze that had settled over both of them since the shooting started. He paused, more from surprise than obedience, and finally glanced at the spreading stain along his side.

Celeste followed his gaze, watching the slow bloom of crimson soaking through the fabric of his shirt. It was no longer a small patch. It was growing with every second.

“You were shot,” she said again.

“I noticed.”

“You’re bleeding through your clothes and you think this is the time to be sarcastic?”

Dante exhaled slowly, as though patience were something he had to force himself to remember. Around them, the remaining members of his security detail were sweeping the hallways, their movements quick and efficient as they cleared each room. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder.

“We do not know if Adrian is still inside,” he said. “We move first. We worry later.”

“You’re not moving anywhere,” she snapped. “Not until that is treated.”

He looked at her then, properly this time, and she saw the strain he was trying so carefully to hide behind his calm expression. His skin had gone pale beneath the warm light, the edges of his composure beginning to fray.

“You are not my doctor,” he said quietly.

“No,” she agreed. “But I’m the only person here who isn’t going to let you bleed out because you’re too stubborn to sit down.”

For a moment he said nothing. His jaw flexed once, twice, before he finally nodded toward one of the guards stationed at the far end of the hall.

“Medical room,” he ordered.

They moved quickly after that, the walk feeling longer than it should have as Celeste kept one hand pressed against his side. The blood seeped through her fingers despite the pressure she applied, warm and frighteningly steady.

By the time they reached the small medical suite tucked behind a reinforced door, Dante’s steps had begun to slow.

“Sit,” she told him, guiding him toward the examination table.

He did not argue this time.

The overhead lights flickered on as she searched through the cabinets for gauze and antiseptic. Her hands trembled despite her efforts to steady them. She had spent years navigating courtrooms filled with hostility and men who would gladly see her career destroyed, yet nothing in her professional life had ever prepared her for this.

The moment she cut through the fabric of his shirt, she sucked in a breath.

The wound was not clean.

It had grazed his ribs before embedding itself somewhere deeper, the skin torn and angry around the entry point. Blood welled up again as she peeled the fabric away, forcing her to press fresh gauze against it.

“You should not be doing this yourself,” he said after a moment.

“And you should not have been standing in front of me when Adrian raised that gun,” she replied, not looking up.

Silence followed.

She cleaned the wound as carefully as she could, ignoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. The proximity made it impossible not to notice the heat of his skin or the steady rhythm of his breathing as he fought to remain still.

“You knew this would happen eventually,” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“And you brought me into it anyway.”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

The honesty of it made something twist painfully in her chest.

“Do you regret it?” she asked.

Dante’s answer came without hesitation.

“No.”

Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to continue. The bullet had passed through without lodging, which was the only mercy she could find in the situation.

“You almost died tonight,” she said quietly.

“I almost died many times before tonight.”

“That doesn’t make this one acceptable.”

His gaze softened in a way she had not seen before.

“You are here,” he replied. “That makes it worth it.”

The words landed somewhere deep inside her, unsettling and impossible to ignore. She secured the bandage with careful hands, making sure it would hold before stepping back.

“You need to rest,” she told him.

Dante pushed himself off the table anyway.

“Later.”

Frustration flared again, but before she could argue, his hand closed around her wrist.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

The concern in his voice caught her off guard.

“No,” she admitted.

His grip tightened slightly.

“You will stay with me tonight,” he said.

It was not a request.

She hesitated only a moment before nodding.

The estate had changed by the time they returned upstairs. Police lights flashed beyond the gates, casting shifting patterns across the marble floors. Voices murmured in low tones as the remaining staff moved quietly through the corridors.

Celeste followed Dante into his room without speaking.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

For the first time since the attack, there were no guards within sight. No alarms. No distant gunfire.

Only silence.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion catching up with her all at once.

“You should sleep,” he said.

She laughed weakly.

“I don’t think I remember how.”

Dante moved closer, stopping just within reach.

“You are safe here,” he told her.

The words should have comforted her.

Instead, they made her chest tighten.

“I wasn’t safe before,” she replied. “And neither were you.”

His hand lifted, hesitating in the space between them before finally settling against her cheek. The touch was warm and steady, grounding in a way she had not expected.

“I will not let them take you,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, searching for something she could believe in.

“And if they try again?”

His thumb brushed lightly against her skin.

“Then I will break them.”

Outside, the sirens began to fade.

Inside, Celeste realized the truth she had been trying so hard to avoid.

Protection had never been free.

And tonight, it had almost cost them everything.