Page 126 of The Wrong Man

“Dylan.” She shoves the gun at someone, I don’t see who, and then she’s running up the stairs and pulling me into a hug so fierce it nearly knocks me over. “Oh, my sweet boy. My brave, wonderful boy.”

“How are you...” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t process any of this.

“Your young man found me,” she says, pulling back to cup my face in her hands. Her eyes are wet. “Showed up at my door, bold as brass, and told me you needed help.” She glances at Dante, and there’s something complicated in her expression. “We’ll talk about the rest later. For now, let’s get you out of here.”

Behind her, I see two more familiar faces. Sean and Teagan, hovering at the bottom of the stairs, looking shell-shocked but relieved.

“Dylan!” Teagan’s voice cracks. “Oh my God, Dylan, you’re okay.”

“The car fire,” I say, still trying to piece everything together. “That was you?”

Sean grins, though it’s shaky. “Turns out I’m pretty good at creating chaos. Who knew?”

I want to hug them both. Want to thank them for being brave enough to walk into danger for me. But my legs are shaking and Dante’s arm is the only thing holding me up.

“Later,” Aunt Moira says firmly, reading my face. “Hugs and explanations later. Right now, we need to move.”

I nod, too overwhelmed to speak.

Dante’s hand finds mine, and I hold on tight.

We walk out of Declan’s house together, into the cool night air, surrounded by the people who came to save me.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe.

Chapter thirty-seven

Dylan

Dante’s people take us to a house somewhere in the city. I don’t know where exactly. I spend most of the drive with my face pressed against Dante’s chest, his arms wrapped around me, trying to convince myself this is real.

A young man called Liam checks me over when we arrive. He’s gentle and professional, his hands careful as he examines the bruises on my wrists from the handcuffs, the marks on my jaw where Declan grabbed me days ago.

“Nothing serious,” he says finally, and I see Dante’s shoulders relax slightly. “Some bruising, some dehydration. Rest and fluids, and he’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” I manage, and Liam gives me a soft smile before retreating to where another young man, Nicolo, is waiting.

The house is nice. Expensive. The kind of place that probably belongs to someone in the family, someone whose name I’ll never know. There’s a room in the basement that’s been set up for a specific purpose, and that’s where they’ve put Declan.

I stand outside the door for a long time, trying to find the courage to go in.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dante says quietly. He’s been hovering near me since we arrived, close enough to touch but not crowding. Letting me set the pace. “No one would blame you if you never wanted to see him again.”

“I know.” I take a breath. “But I need to. I need to say... I need him to hear...”

I can’t finish the sentence, but Dante seems to understand. He squeezes my hand once, briefly, and then steps back.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

I nod and push open the door.

The room is bare concrete, lit by a single harsh bulb. And there, in the center of it, is my brother. Tied to a chair.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Weeks ago, I was in this position. Bound and helpless and terrified, staring up at a man who held my life in his hands. Now Declan is the one in the chair, and I’m the one standing over him.

His face is a mess. Broken nose, black eye, blood crusted on his upper lip. He looks smaller somehow. Diminished. The larger-than-life monster of my childhood reduced to just a man. A pathetic, desperate man who ran out of people to betray.

“Well,” Declan sneers when he sees me, but there’s fear underneath. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in the slight tremor of his voice. “Come to gloat?”