CHAPTER 5: The Devil You Face

**Dahlia**

Falen's piercing eyes locked onto Antonio, blazing with fury. Every inch of his stance radiated defiance, a silent promise of fuck around and find out. His broad shoulders squared, his posture unyielding and solid, daring Antonio to push back.

Antonio didn't flinch. If anything, his presence seemed to swell, his own broad shoulders squaring as he took a threatening step forward. The air between them grew heavy, charged with unspoken hostility.

The tension crackled like static electricity, thick and charged, as if the room itself was bracing for the inevitable collision between two immovable forces.

"And who the fuck are you?" Antonio countered, his tone calm yet razor-sharp, carrying the weight of a loaded weapon ready to fire. It was more threatening than the gun now discarded on the floor, forgotten but no less significant. His dark eyes locked onto Falen's, unblinking and unwavering, like a predator zeroing in on its rival.

The air between them seemed to thicken, crackling with unspoken threats and the simmering promise of violence. Every breath felt heavier, the tension almost tangible, pressing down on the room like a storm about to break.

Both men stood like statues, their glares locked in an unrelenting clash, neither willing to yield. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of hospital equipment and the restrained man's shallow breaths.

Without hesitation, they closed the distance between them, step by deliberate step, until they met halfway in the room. Toe to toe, nose to nose, their towering frames dominated the space, radiating raw, volatile energy.

They stood like two apex predators poised to strike, their postures rigid with barely restrained aggression. It wasn't a matter of if they would explode, but when.

I'd had enough.

"Hello? Put your dicks away for a second?" I snapped, my voice slicing through the tension like a whip. "I'm currently holding down a criminal, and if you two start brawling, it's going to get messy. Because then I'll have to let him go just to kick both your asses."

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, fueled by the chaos of the night and my drained patience. I didn't care who they were or how imposing they wanted to seem—this was not the time.

Both men turned their heads toward me in perfect synchronization, their glares now aimed at me. It was so absurdly coordinated that, under different circumstances, I might have laughed. But not tonight.

"Falen. Get security and call this in," I said, my tone sharp and commanding, leaving no room for debate. When he didn't move fast enough, I added with an edge of impatience, "Now."

Falen shot Antonio a glare that practically screamed I'm watching you before reluctantly stepping toward me. His movements were precise and efficient as he carefully wriggled my phone from my pocket. He paused just long enough to give Antonio one final warning look, his protective instincts still bristling, before heading out the door. Even as he left, the tension clung to him like a shadow, trailing in his wake.

The room settled into an uneasy stillness. But the storm brewing between Antonio and me was far from over.

The moment Falen was gone, my attention snapped to Antonio. Poor guy. In one night, his date had been interrupted, he'd been dragged into an emergency at the hospital, and now he was stuck dealing with an overprotective brother who clearly had a stick permanently lodged up his ass.

It was almost funny. Almost.

Poor baby probably needs to feel masculine again, I thought, biting back a grin. But that wasn't entirely fair.

The truth was, I wanted to see if he could handle it. Reckless? Absolutely. Especially for someone sworn to uphold the law. But curiosity was a tricky thing, and I couldn't shake the urge to test him. Sure, he was much larger than the wiry, squirming criminal I had pinned beneath me. 

But size didn't mean shit without the skill to back it up.

And yes, that had a double meaning. It still applied.

"Please let me help you. Just show me how," Antonio said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, but still carrying the unshakable weight of please just listen to me.

I sighed, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Accepting help wasn't in my nature, but his tone left no real room for argument—and, truthfully, my arms were starting to ache from holding the man down.

Without a word, I demonstrated the hold, my movements quick and efficient, my focus sharp.

Antonio stepped in without hesitation, his hands replacing mine with a seamless precision that was both irritating and impressive. His grip on the suspect was firm, unyielding, and absolute, as though he'd done this a hundred times before.

It was annoyingly flawless, his strength undeniable, his control effortless.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, the gentleness catching me off guard.

"Of course," I replied, the lie slipping out easily. But it was a thin lie, barely held together, and the probing intensity of his gaze told me he saw straight through it.

The weight of his scrutiny pressed against me like a challenge, daring me to keep up the charade. My pulse quickened under the pressure, but I refused to falter, meeting his eyes with all the calm I could muster.

Antonio's attention shifted back to the gunman, his expression hardening in an instant, transforming into something colder, sharper. "Talk," he commanded, his voice low and lethal, slicing through the thick tension like a scalpel.

The gunman remained defiant, his lip curling into a sneer, but I swore I saw Antonio's dark eyes flash with something murderous.

Then, unexpectedly, his gaze flicked to me, lingering for a brief moment. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a glimmer of thought or feeling he wasn't letting show.

"You must be crazy or used to this," he said pointedly, his tone calm but edged with incredulity. "Because if my brother was in the line of fire, I'd lose my shit."

I narrowed my eyes at him, irritation bubbling to the surface once more. The audacity of his calm observation grated against my frayed nerves.

"Fine," I admitted, my voice clipped. "I'm not entirely okay, but no one was hurt, so I'm compartmentalizing."

Without missing a beat, I shifted my focus to the suspect pinned beneath Antonio's unyielding grip. "Speaking of which—feel like giving me answers, buddy? What was your motive for trying to shoot my brothers?"

The gunman glared up at me, his lip curling into a sneer of defiance. "Fuck you, bitc—"

He didn't get the chance to finish.

Antonio moved with startling, almost predatory speed, his size belying the fluidity of his actions. In one brutal motion, he seized the man by his collar, lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. The room seemed to hold its breath as the sheer force of his movements disrupted the stale hospital air, and then—

Boom.

Antonio slammed the man into the tile floor with an efficiency that was as terrifying as it was calculated. The impact shook the room, the harsh sound of bone and muscle colliding with the unforgiving surface echoing like thunder.

A sickening crack followed, loud and visceral, as the man's shoulder struck the ground first. A scream ripped from his throat, raw and guttural, reverberating off the sterile walls like the cry of a wounded animal.

I felt my stomach twist involuntarily, the sound digging into my nerves. His defiance, so bold and brazen just moments ago, crumbled in an instant. He writhed on the floor, unable to clutch at his arm, his body curling inward like a broken marionette. His gasps came sharp and shallow, his pain reducing him to something pitiful and small.

"Antonio!" I shouted, my voice slicing through the charged air, sharp with a mixture of shock and reprimand.

But then his gaze snapped to mine, and the words died in my throat.

Antonio's eyes were darker than I'd ever seen, the cold void in them sending a shiver down my spine. There was no hesitation, no mercy, no humanity in that gaze—only an unyielding, controlled fury that radiated from him like a palpable force.

He loomed over the broken man, his shadow swallowing what little defiance remained. Without breaking eye contact with the gunman, Antonio leaned down, his movements fluid and unnervingly calm. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a deadly whisper—low, smooth, and laced with the kind of menace that could unnerve even the most hardened criminal.

I couldn't hear the words, but the effect was immediate.

The gunman's body stilled under Antonio's unyielding grip, his trembling hands falling limply to his sides. He no longer struggled, no longer needed to be forcibly restrained—Antonio's sheer presence had stripped him of every ounce of fight.

His face turned ashen, the color draining from his skin in a way that made him look almost lifeless, as though Antonio had drained the will out of him with those whispered words. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each one labored, as if even the act of breathing required permission.

Antonio held him firm, his grip unrelenting, absolute. The gunman's wide, unblinking eyes locked onto Antonio's face, a glazed look of terror replacing the defiance that had burned so brightly just moments ago. His panic was unmistakable, his glossy eyes darting frantically as if searching for an escape that didn't exist. To him, Antonio wasn't just a man—he was a monster. Something he couldn't hope to defy.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the gunman's ragged, uneven breaths and the faint hum of hospital equipment. Antonio straightened slowly, his movements fluid and controlled, like a beast savoring the stillness after a successful hunt. His piercing gaze remained locked on the man, a silent reminder of who held the power.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath my skin. This wasn't just control—this was dominance, raw and terrifying in its absoluteness. And for a fleeting moment, I wasn't sure what to do: step in, or step back.

For the first time that night, unease prickled at the edges of my resolve—not for myself, but for the man who had dared to cross Antonio. The room felt smaller, the weight of his presence pressing down on everything and everyone within it.

In that moment, I realized there were depths to Antonio's ruthlessness I hadn't fully grasped until now. A quiet, lethal power that was simmering and restrained but only just.

And the man on the floor had experienced it firsthand.

**Antonio**

I lost my temper when the punk mouthed off to Dahlia, his sleazy grin and condescending tone coursing through my veins like venom. Before I knew it, I picked up the punk with ease, his scrawny body no match for my strength. I bashed him down on the floor, the sound of his head hitting the tile echoing through the room. He let out a pathetic whimper as I leaned in, my whisper sending shivers down his spine.

"You should've kept your mouth shut, friend," I hissed, my hot breath in his ear. "Now, you're going to tell me everything I want to know. And if you lie to me, even once... I'll make sure you suffer a slow and agonizing death. You'll beg for mercy, but it'll be too late. Do you understand?"

The punk nodded frantically, his eyes wide with fear. I could smell the sweat dripping down his spine as he trembled beneath me.

The color drained from his face, and he squirmed beneath me, trying to break free. I tightened my grip, my fingers digging into his scrawny neck, as his eyes went wide with fear. He should've known better than to cross me, especially in front of Dahlia.

"You know who I am, don't you?" I growled, my lips inches from his ear, my hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

He nodded, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips, as his eyes darted around, searching for an escape.The stench of fear clinging to him like a shroud. He knew he was in trouble, and he knew exactly who he was tangled with."Good," I said, my voice dripping with menace.

My gaze drifted to the tattoo on the upper back of his neck – a broken skull, the emblem of the Sinister Blinders. My mind raced with implications, but I kept my focus on the present. This punk was part of the one organization I'd vowed to take down, and now he was right in my sights.

"What were you doing here?" I demanded, my hand tightening around his throat, my fingers closing in like a vice.

The punk stuttered, trying to find the right words, his eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe. I squeezed harder, and he gasped, "Eliminating a loose end... E-E-Emma target... Car crashhhh..."

I loosened my grip for the punk to speak properly. "I-I was hired to take out Emma," he stammered. "The Sinister Blinders wanted her dead, and I was supposed to make it look like an accident."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who hired you?"

The punk swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I-I don't know, okay? I just got a message with the details and a payment. I didn't ask questions."

I leaned in closer, my eyes blazing with intensity. "You're lying," I growled. "I can see it in your eyes. You're hiding something. Tell me, what do you know about the Sinister Blinders?"

The punk's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. But I had him pinned down, and he knew it.

"Okay, okay!" he squealed. "I know they're a gang, and they're involved in some heavy stuff. I don't know what, but I've seen them around. They're like ghosts, appearing and disappearing without a trace."

I nodded, my mind racing with possibilities. This punk was small fry, but he might lead me to bigger fish.

Dahlia stepped forward, her eyes blazing with concern, her face etched with worry for her brother. But I raised a hand, my voice firm, my tone unyielding. "Stay back."

She halted, her expression faltering for a moment before she regained her composure. I turned back to the punk, my eyes burning with intensity, my anger simmering just below the surface.

As I rose to my feet, the punk scrambled to get away from me, his eyes darting around for an escape route. I spared him a last glance, my gaze searing into his soul, before turning to Dahlia. Her eyes still held a touch of fear, but I chose to ignore it, knowing that she needed to understand who I was, and what I was capable of.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you," I said, my voice dripping with menace. "But don't think you're off the hook. I'll be watching you, and if you so much as think about betraying me... you'll suffer."

The punk nodded, his eyes wide with fear, as I turned to leave. I spared him one last glance, my gaze freezing him in place.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against her cheek in a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the violence that had just erupted. "Sorry, Passerotto," I whispered, the words barely audible, as I turned to leave.

I didn't look back, knowing that our paths would cross again soon. The game had just begun, and I was ready to play. This was just the starting point, and I would stop at nothing to unravel the threads of the Sinister Blinders and bring them down.

As I walked out of the room, I couldn't help but think of Dahlia. She was getting closer to the truth, and I needed to make sure she stayed safe. The game was getting more complicated, and I had to stay one step ahead of the Sinister Blinders if I wanted to protect her.