Chapter 2 - Echoes of the Past
The adrenaline was beginning to recede, leaving behind a hollow, shivering void in the pit of Lily’s stomach. She ignored the white handkerchief Dante Moretti offered, keeping her bruised arm pressed tightly against her side as if she could physically hold herself together by sheer willpower.
"I don't need your help," Lily whispered, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to steady it. "And I don't know who you think I am, but you need to stay away from me."
Dante didn't pull his hand back immediately. He let the crisp linen handkerchief hover between them for a second longer before slowly lowering it, tucking it back into his breast pocket with deliberate calm.
"That man knew your name," Dante noted, his tone observational rather than accusatory. "Or at least, he knew what you were running from. And based on how fast he folded when I touched him, he belongs to the remnants of David Rossi’s syndicate. The same David Rossi who vanished from federal custody eighteen months ago."
Hearing that name sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through Lily’s chest. David. The architect of her nightmares. The man who had carved his ownership into her flesh with a hunting knife before she managed to escape through a basement window into the freezing rain.
"I don't know any David," Lily lied, though her voice lacked conviction, betraying every ounce of her terror.
"You're a terrible liar, Miss Vance," Dante said softly, stepping closer, though he kept a respectful distance, ensuring he didn't crowd her against the pillar. "Fortunately for you, I have an allergy to Rossi and his associates. They’ve been stepping on my shipping routes in the harbor for months. Finding one of his stray dogs poking around a wedding I'm attending... well, that becomes my business."
"I am not your business," Lily hissed, her eyes darting past his broad shoulder toward the dance floor. Sophie and Michael were still laughing, twirling in a world of blinding ignorance where weddings were about cake and love, not blood and survival. "I am a florist. I arranged the peonies on these tables. I cut the stems, I swept the floor, and I want nothing to do with you or whatever war you're fighting."
"A florist who calculates exit routes like an operative," Dante countered, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. "A florist who wears long sleeves in July to hide brandings. You can call yourself whatever you want, Lily. But reality doesn't care about your pseudonym."
Before Lily could fire back another desperate retort, a shadow fell over them.
"Lily? Oh my god, are you okay?"
Sophie appeared at her side, her face pale with concern as she looked down at the shattered glass on the floor and the faint smudge of blood on Lily’s lavender sleeve. "What happened? I saw a guy running out the front doors like his coat was on fire, and then I saw the glass—did you cut yourself?"
"I'm fine," Lily said quickly, forcing a tight, breathless smile as she grabbed Sophie’s arm, using her friend as a physical shield between herself and Dante. "I just... I was clumsy. I dropped my champagne glass. It startled me, that's all."
Sophie frowned, her eyes shifting to Dante, who stood quietly beside them, looking every bit the dangerous, wealthy benefactor. "And... who is this?"
"Dante," he supplied smoothly before Lily could invent a lie, extending a hand. "A business associate of Michael’s family. I heard the commotion and came over to see if she needed assistance."
Sophie blinked, instantly charmed despite the lingering tension in the air. "Oh! Michael mentioned some out-of-town partners were coming. I'm Sophie, the bride."
"Congratulations," Dante said, shaking her hand with measured restraint. "It’s a breathtaking wedding. Though your florist seems to have had a minor accident with the glassware."
"Accidents happen," Sophie said warmly, squeezing Lily’s uninjured arm. "Lily, go to the powder room and clean up that sleeve. You can't walk around with a torn dress. I'll send someone to help you."
"No, I'm fine, Sophie, really—"
"Go," Sophie insisted with gentle authority, already being pulled back toward the dance floor by a coordinator waving a clipboard. "Enjoy my wedding, both of you!"
As Sophie vanished back into the glittering crowd, the silence between Lily and Dante returned, heavier this time.
Lily looked down at her torn sleeve, the dark stain of blood expanding slowly against the lavender silk. The reality of the situation crashed down on her with suffocating weight. Marcus had found her. That meant David knew she was alive. That meant the past two years of peace—the quiet mornings in her apartment, the smell of fresh soil and stems, the fragile hope that she had actually escaped—were nothing more than a temporary illusion.
"He'll come back," Lily whispered, more to herself than to Dante. "Or others will. Once Marcus tells them where I am..."
"They won't," Dante said.
Lily looked up, startled by the absolute certainty in his voice.
"Marcus won't tell anyone anything," Dante continued, his slate eyes darkening into something cold and terminal. "By the time he reaches his car, he’ll realize that returning to the city without completing his mission is suicide, and returning to Rossi empty-handed is worse. Men like Marcus survive by hiding. He won't risk bringing my attention back to his boss by admitting he got thrown around like a child at a wedding."
"You don't know David," Lily shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. "You don't know what he's capable of. He doesn't let go of things he considers his property. He hunted me for three months across state lines after I got out. He burned down my safehouse, he—" She cut herself off, realizing she was saying too much, revealing too much weakness to a literal mob boss.
Dante didn't mock her. He didn't offer empty platitudes like everything will be fine. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence anchoring her against the panic threatening to pull her under.
"Then it's a good thing," Dante said quietly, "that I happen to be looking for an excuse to dismantle what's left of David Rossi's operation."
Lily stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. "Why? Why would you care about a ghost hiding in a flower shop?"
Dante held her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Because nobody hunts in my city without my permission. And nobody touches someone under my roof."
"Your roof? This is Michael and Sophie's wedding!"
"Michael’s father leases this entire estate through my holding company," Dante replied simply. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her uninjured wrist, pulling her hand away from the torn sleeve before she could protest.
May you like
He didn't pull back the fabric to expose the scars. He just held her wrist lightly, his thumb brushing against her pulse point—steady, warm, and real.
"You can keep running, Lily," Dante said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying an intensity that vibrated straight to her core. "Or you can let me help you end it. Permanently."
