Chapter Eleven - The Ambush

The basement door creaked.

Light spilled across the concrete floor, stretching toward me like reaching hands.

I tightened my grip on the metal bar, my pulse steadying with trained precision. My back pressed into the shadows, breath controlled, muscles coiled.

This was it.

My one window.

My chance.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Unhurried.

Dante.

Of course it was Dante.

He moved like a man who owned every inch of darkness in the world — including mine.

His silhouette filled the doorway. He descended one step… two…

I moved.

I exploded out of the shadows, bringing the metal bar down in a brutal arc aimed for his skull.

He caught it.

Not with a flinch.

Not with struggle.

Just… caught it.

His hand snapped around the bar mid-swing, muscles tightening like a trap shutting around prey.

Shock jolted up my arms, but I didn’t stop.

I twisted, pivoted, using my whole body to wrench the bar free and swing again—

He deflected it with the side of his forearm, the impact reverberating through the metal. Before I could recover, he stepped in, invading my space, taking the momentum away.

I struck again, this time aiming low.

He blocked.

A punch to distract him—

He ducked.

Knee to the ribs—

He caught my leg mid-air and spun me.

I slammed into the wall hard enough to rattle the chains still hanging there.

The metal bar clattered to the floor.

His body caged mine instantly, one hand pressing the bar aside, the other catching my wrist before I could reach for the second weapon hidden near my boot.

His breath hit my cheek—hot, annoyingly steady.

“Really, Aria?” he murmured. “The moment I leave you alone, you try to split my skull open?”

I bared my teeth. “Sorry I missed.”

“You didn’t,” he said darkly. His fingers tightened around my wrist. “I stopped you.”

His body pressed against mine, pinning me with the ruthless efficiency of a man trained to subdue threats without hesitation.

I hated how breathless I sounded when I snapped, “Get off me.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear—not touching, just hovering there.

“You were waiting for me,” he whispered.

“No—”

“You knew it was me.”

“I don’t—”

“And you wanted this.”

My pulse betrayed me, thundering against the cage of his body.

His hand slid from my wrist to my hip, holding me firmly against the cold wall—not groping, not tender, just restraining, just controlling, just… Dante.

Dark.

Dominant.

Unavoidable.

“I wanted to kill you,” I hissed.

“I know.” His voice was a low rumble. “And look how close you got.”

He lifted his free hand and pressed his palm to the wall beside my head, caging me in further, his body heat engulfing mine.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly.

“I’m furious.”

“You’re lying.”

I hated him for being right.

I shoved against him, but he didn’t even budge. It only pressed us closer, my chest against his, his breath spilling across my lips when he said:

“Try again.”

I did.

He caught both my wrists, pinned them above my head in the same fluid motion he probably used to disarm grown men twice my size, and drove his knee between mine—not to hurt, just to stop me from kicking.

The position was infuriating.

Humiliating.

And darkly intoxicating in a way that made me want to scream.

He stared into my eyes, his forehead almost touching mine.

“You fight beautifully,” he murmured. “But you’re predictable when you’re angry.”

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

“That’s an order.”

He smiled, slow and cruel.

“I don’t take orders from my captive.”

I tried to twist free; he pinned my wrists tighter. I tried to knee him; he shifted his hips, forcing mine back against the wall.

A frustrated, involuntary sound escaped me.

Too raw.

Too revealing.

His smile deepened.

“There it is,” he said quietly. “That’s the sound you make when you forget who you’re supposed to be.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I bit out.

“Really?” he whispered. “Because you don’t look like a killer right now.”

“What do I look like then?”

His eyes dragged over my face, slow, deliberate, claiming every inch.

“Mine,” he said.

The word hit me like a shockwave.

I hated him.

I wanted him dead.

I wanted him—

His knee shifted, pressing me harder against the wall, pinning every escape route I had left.

“And you,” he growled softly, “wanted me to walk back into this basement so you could ambush me.”

“I was going to kill you.”

“You were going to break,” he corrected softly. “Again.”

I swallowed hard, furious at myself for the way my pulse tripped.

He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper.

“Do you want to try and hit me again?”

“Yes.”

He grinned.

“Good.”

His grip loosened—just enough.

Just enough for the fight to start again.

Just enough for him to see how far I’d go.

Just enough for me to prove I wasn’t done.

I inhaled sharply.

And swung.