All Chapters of Collateral Kiss : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The car tore through the streets like a hunted animal, its tires screaming against slick asphalt. Emilia clutched Dante’s arm, so tightly her nails bit into his jacket. The air reeked of gasoline and fear.Another gunshot cracked. The reinforced glass spiderwebbed but held, shards sprinkling her lap like glittering snow. She choked on a scream.“Down!” Dante barked, his voice sharp enough to slice through chaos. He forced her head against his chest, his body a shield of muscle and heat.The sound of bullets rained around them, echoing like war drums in the night. The car jolted left, nearly throwing her from the seat. Her temple slammed against Dante’s collarbone, but he didn’t flinch.“Return fire!” he roared.The guard in the passenger seat leaned out, answering with a hail of bullets. Sparks lit the darkness as rounds ricocheted off stone walls.Through the cracks in the glass, Emilia caught glimpses of the nightmare: a black sedan locked onto its tail, headlights glowing like a pr

The night pressed heavily over the Moretti mansion, but Emilia didn’t sleep. She couldn’t. Every time her eyes closed, she saw it—the flash of the gun, the man’s head snapping back, the dark bloom of blood on concrete.She had begged Dante to stop. He hadn’t.Her pillow was damp with tears when she finally gave up trying. She slipped from bed, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and padded barefoot across the hall. The silence was thick, broken only by the ticking of an antique clock somewhere deep in the house.She didn’t expect to find him awake. But when she passed the open doors of the library, she froze.Dante sat alone by the fire, a glass of whiskey untouched at his side. His suit jacket was discarded, his sleeves rolled up, the light catching the ridges of old scars along his forearms. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t working. He was simply staring into the flames, jaw tight, eyes shadowed.For the first time since she’d met him, he looked… tired. Human.Emilia should have turne

The Moretti mansion no longer felt like a palace of marble and chandeliers. It felt like a fortress under siege.Dawn seeped into the world reluctantly, pale light filtering through rain-smeared glass. The storm had passed, but its ghost lingered in the dripping eaves and the trembling of leaves along the high stone walls. The air carried the smell of gunpowder and wet stone, a reminder that no amount of polish could erase what had been spilled in the night.Emilia sat on the edge of her bed, the velvet shawl clutched tight around her shoulders, her bare feet pressed against the cold floor. She hadn’t slept. Every time her eyes closed, shadows rushed in—men in masks, the thunder of gunfire, Dante’s arm shielding her as bodies collapsed in the corridor.The house was awake long before she was. Footsteps had been pacing since before dawn: guards’ boots clicking, staff whispering, radios crackling with terse commands in Italian. She heard the shuffle of maids carrying linens to cover blo

The sky was pale when Emilia finally rose from the chair. Her body ached from the hours spent frozen by the window, her mind raw with the words she’d overheard. He wants her. The guards’ whispers clung to her like shackles she couldn’t shake. She washed quickly, though her reflection in the mirror made her flinch. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her skin almost translucent under the light. She looked less like a captive in silk and more like a ghost haunting her own body. A knock sounded, firm but unhurried. Before she could respond, the door opened. Dante stepped inside. He was dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. There was no tie, no jacket, yet he radiated control, so absolutely the air seemed to tighten around him. His gaze swept the untouched breakfast tray, then rose to her face. “You didn’t sleep,” he observed. Emilia’s throat tightened. She wanted to ask how much he already knew—whether he’d placed those guards deliberatel

The third knock reverberated through the suite, softer this time, as if coaxing rather than demanding.Emilia’s breath caught in her throat. She stood halfway between the window and the door, her body pulled in two directions at once. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.“Signorina,” the voice came again, muffled but steady. “You don’t have long. If you want freedom, it must be now.”Her pulse thundered. Freedom. The word curled through her like a spark through dry tinder. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to still the treacherous thrum of hope.No. It’s a trick. It has to be.But still, her feet inched closer to the door.The air smelled faintly of wood polish and burning candles, but underneath it was the salt of her own sweat. The golden doorknob gleamed, reflecting her trembling hand as she hovered inches away from it.“You don’t know me,” the man continued, voice low. “But I know you. Moretti keeps you caged. I can take you beyond these walls. Away from him. Awa