All Chapters of THE DEVIL'S CLAIM : Chapter 11 - Chapter 18

Liliana’s POVThe knife is warm against my palm like a secret promise.It’s small, nothing dramatic , a kitchen blade I slipped from the tray Marco dropped the other night, tucked between the mattress and the frame. I’ve carried it the way you carry a heartbeat: close, private, pulsing. It hums against my skin and steadies me, because the truth is simple and ugly and exhilarating: I can’t live like this. Not his. Not anyone’s.Every plan in my head is inked in fear, but fear sharpens thinking. I’ve watched them long enough — the rhythm of their footsteps, the way Marco whistles when he’s bored, the stupid thoroughness of the guard who nods to Luca at three in the morning and never checks the east corridor. I’ve counted shifts, folded times into patterns. There are cracks in this house. I’ll wedge myself into one and pry it open.The tray clatters in the hall , a practiced noise, meant to sound accidental. Luca’s laugh floats through the door, low and easy. Marco’s baritone answers wit

Liliana’s POVThe car ride was too quiet.Dante sat beside me, his hand resting heavy on my thigh like I belonged to him, like I wasn’t already plotting how I’d shove that hand off the first chance I got. The tinted windows cut off the world outside, leaving only the low hum of the engine and Marco’s crude jokes from the front seat.I kept my eyes on the blur of headlights rushing past, trying not to think about the chains that had only just come off, about the bruises still painted across my skin.“Relax, doll,” Dante murmured, his voice lazy, dangerous. “You’re trembling like a virgin on her wedding night.”“I’m not yours,” I snapped, the words scraping my throat raw.His fingers dug into my thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Keep saying that, maybe you’ll believe it.”Before I could throw another insult, Luca’s voice cut through from the front passenger seat. “We’ve got company.”The car swerved slightly. My pulse jumped. Through the windshield, I caught the glint of headlights in the

Dante’s POVThey dragged her through the night and I watched.There’s no slow burn to that kind of rage. You don’t warm into it. It obliterates everything, immediate and white-hot. I felt my hands go numb when the man in the Crawford jacket yanked Liliana through the air and shoved her into the SUV. Her eyes found mine for a second — defiance, panic, the stupid little light of hope and then a fist slammed the back of my head and the world folded.I came up on my knees, all roars and broken breath, glass in my palms and blood slick on my fingers. Marco was spitting curses, Luca was already firing, and the convoy was a sinking thing in the gutters. Men screamed, tires shrieked, metal crumpled. I saw the SUV peel away with her in the back like a ransom note.“Boss!” Luca’s voice cut through the chaos. “They took her!”My mouth tasted metal. “Drive,” I told Marco. “Now.”We chased like possessed men, tires screeching over wet asphalt, lights chasing taillights. Marco kept us tight on the

DANTE'S POV The smoke still clung to my skin. Acrid, heavy, bitter. It threaded itself into my lungs as if it meant to stay there forever. Blood had dried stiff against my cuffs, black under the neon flicker of emergency lights still stuttering in the ruined street.The safehouse was gone—shredded walls, broken men, the stench of gunpowder and death hanging thick. She was watching.Liliana huddled against the armored car, her dress torn, hair loose, eyes wide and wet as they tracked the movements of my men. They were efficient, no wasted motions, no questions. Bodies were dragged to vans, weapons stripped and stacked, blood sluiced from the floor with buckets of bleach and water that turned pink then brown. It wasn’t the first cleanup they’d done, and it wouldn’t be the last.But she wasn’t ready for it.Her chest rose and fell too fast, her fists clenching like she could hold herself together if she just gripped hard enough. She wasn’t built for this world, not yet. She was porcela