Collateral Kiss のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

The pounding of her heartbeat filled the vault louder than any gunfire outside. Emilia stood frozen, staring at the steel door as the muffled voice pressed through again.“Signorina… please. If you wait, it will be too late. He’ll kill me before I can tell you what you need to hear.”Her hands trembled at her sides. The voice was rough, edged with desperation, but not without control. He sounded too calm for a man supposedly bleeding out.She stepped closer, bare toes brushing the seam where steel met stone. The metal radiated cold against her skin.“What do you want from me?” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear her through the thick door.As if in answer, the voice sharpened. “Your father’s debt is not what he told you. Moretti has lied to you. Open this door, and I’ll prove it.”Her stomach twisted violently. The air seemed thinner, her chest rising and falling too fast. A lie? Her father’s betrayal was already a wound that wouldn’t heal — could there be something deeper

Emilia quickly learned that Dante’s promise—you won’t leave my side—wasn’t a threat. It was a sentence.She shadowed him everywhere now. Not because she wanted to, but because his guards ushered her along like a shadow stitched to his heel. Her protests went unanswered. The house had turned into a military camp after the midnight breach, and Dante ruled over it like a general who couldn’t afford distraction.The strategy room was nothing like the glittering dining hall or the velvet-draped salons. Its walls were paneled in dark wood, scarred with old scratches, the air heavy with tobacco and the metallic tang of weapons oil. A long table dominated the space, its surface buried under maps, diagrams, and lines of red thread linking photos Emilia didn’t recognize.She stood at the edge, ignored at first, as Dante’s lieutenants filled the room. Luca was there, naturally, at his right hand. Others Emilia knew only by sight—Bruno, broad-shouldered with scars down his cheek; Marcello, silent

The fire was dead, but the smoke lingered like a curse. The eastern wing of the Moretti estate was nothing more than blackened stone and twisted beams, the air still stinking of ash and wet plaster. Men stood in clusters across the courtyard, coughing, their faces streaked with soot, their hands blackened from carrying water buckets.Emilia clutched the edges of a wool cloak someone had draped over her shoulders. The cold night wind pushed the smoke back toward her, burning her lungs. Around her, voices clashed — accusations, denials, the kind of whispers that grew sharper the longer Dante stayed silent.He was at the center of it all. Not speaking. Not moving. Just standing with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the gutted wing. His stillness was terrifying. The men shifted nervously, as though waiting for the moment he would explode.“Couldn’t have spread that fast without help,” one muttered.“Someone left the oil stores open—”“No, someone wanted this.”The word tra

The slip of paper burned in Emilia’s hand long after she blew out the candles. She had folded it again and again until the edges were creased, the ink smudged into shadows. The traitor eats at your table.The words refused to leave her. They chased her through uneasy sleep and clung to her when the gray light of morning crept through the curtains. By dawn, she had hidden the note beneath the mattress, but it might as well have been branded into her skin.She stood at the mirror, brushing her hair with slow, distracted strokes. Her reflection looked pale, hollow-eyed. No crimson dress tonight, no armor of silk to shield her. Just a woman trapped between silence and fear.A knock came at the door. The maid entered with a tray of coffee and bread, bowing quickly before setting it down. Emilia murmured thanks, her voice absent. She stared at the steaming cup, unable to lift it. The idea of swallowing anything turned her stomach.Behind the maid’s retreating footsteps came heavier ones. Sh

The first sound Emilia heard was shouting.It cut through the dawn like a blade, sharp and urgent, echoing across the courtyard. She startled awake in the armchair, heart hammering as booted feet pounded against the stone outside.“Open the gates!” someone bellowed.She rushed to the window, pressing her palms into the glass. The courtyard below rippled with chaos — men rushing to the iron gates, rifles raised, shouts colliding with the clatter of chains. Lantern light flickered over tense faces.And then she saw him.Marcello.He staggered through the gates, his dark coat torn, one arm slung across a guard’s shoulder. Blood smeared his temple, darkening his collar. His boots left streaks on the gravel — thick, red, undeniable.The surrounding guards muttered, their voices drifting upward in broken fragments.“Should’ve died out there…”“…too convenient he made it back…”“…Valenti’s trap, but how did he survive?”Emilia’s chest tightened painfully. She pressed her forehead against the