Dangerous Melodies - Chapter 56: Chapter 56
You are reading Dangerous Melodies, Chapter 56: Chapter 56. Read more chapters of Dangerous Melodies.
DANTE
My phone buzzed with an incoming message.
I froze, my entire world narrowing to the image on the screen. Marisol lay lifeless on the ground, her beauty ruined by the cruel precision of a gunshot wound to the head.
The roar that ripped out of me was raw, primitive. Fury and grief collided in a sound that filled the mansion and shook its walls.
I dropped to my knees, the phone slipping from my hand as my fingers tangled in my hair. I yanked hard, as if one kind of pain could silence another.
My scream echoed through the corridors.
It didn’t take long before Maria and Felix came running, fear etched into their faces. They followed the sound, hearts already braced for the worst.
They burst into the music room and found me there, crumpled on the floor, my body heaving with sobs I couldn’t contain. My hands still gripped my hair. I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t pull my eyes away from the horror I’d just seen.
“Dante!” Felix dropped to his knees beside me. “What is it? What happened?”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t lift my head. The words cracked out of me, hollow, broken.
“Marisol... Marcos killed her.”
Maria’s knees buckled. She didn’t fall, but she froze where she stood. Her hands flew to her mouth as the truth settled, heavy and undeniable.
A low moan escaped her, followed by a choked sob that broke through the stunned silence.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no. That’s not possible. Not Marisol.”
Felix moved fast, already digging for any thread of hope.
“The tracker,” he said. “Check the damn tracker. She could still be alive.”
His words barely registered through the fog, but I reached for my phone anyway. My fingers fumbled with the GPS app.
Come on. Please.
But the screen stayed blank. No signal. No pulse.
The silence clawed at my ears as the phone dimmed in my hand, the cold glass slipping through my fingers.
It hit the floor with a soft clatter.
Maria’s breath caught. Slowly, as if in a trance, she stepped forward and bent down to pick it up.
“Maria, don’t,” Felix said, his voice sharp now. “Please—don’t look.”
But she already had.
Marisol’s lifeless image stared up from the screen—blood soaking into the pavement, eyes closed, body twisted on the cold concrete.
The wail that tore from Maria’s throat shattered everything. It pierced through my numbness and wrapped around my spine like wire.
Her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor, clutching the phone to her chest.
“¡Dios mío! ¡No mi niña!” she sobbed, rocking back and forth. Her grief poured out in waves, violent and endless.
Her pain didn’t pull me out.
It dragged me deeper.
She was gone.
The words echoed like a death knell, hollow and final. And in that moment, something inside me cracked wide open.
I was a boy again, frozen at the estate gates, staring at what they left of my mother. Her body dumped in the grass like garbage. Naked. Her face unrecognizable.
I hadn’t made a sound then, just watched the blood soak into the ground while my father’s men pulled me back.
I hadn’t been able to save her.
And now Marisol was lying in a dark alley, shot in the head like an animal. Alone. Scared. Left to die in silence.
She had trusted me to protect her. And I had done nothing.
No, worse than nothing. I had pushed her away. Told myself it was safer that way. That keeping her at a distance would shield her from the violence I carried like a curse.
But it was a lie.
The truth was, I was a coward. I chose my control, my comfort, my survival over her. I let her walk away with tears in her eyes and my name still on her lips, and now—she was gone.
Because of me.
Because I was too selfish to love her like she deserved.
Everything I’d done to protect her, every step I’d taken, had collapsed in a single moment.
I’d failed her. And now I was just a man on the floor, broken and no better than the one I swore I’d never become.
I’d warned Marcos. Told him exactly what would happen if he touched her. I’d believed that would be enough. I’d let myself believe she was safe.
And because of that lie, she was dead.
I’d pushed her away, convinced that holding her at a distance would somehow shield us both from pain. That control would keep me sane. But in the end, I’d still lost her. I’d denied myself the one thing I wanted most.
Her love. Her presence.
Even if it had only been for a little while, I should have held on.
I thought I was being strong. I thought I was protecting us.
But now I could see the truth.
I’d made the same mistake my father had. And I’d paid the same price.
But I could do what he never did.
I could survive.
And I could destroy the man who took her from me.
My grief hardened into something sharper. Cold. Precise.
A weapon I’d kept hidden for too long.
Marcos would pay. Inch by inch, I’d tear him apart until his last breath came choked with fear.
And when I was done, the world would know the name Dante Kincade wasn’t one to cross.
They’d know what happened when someone took what was mine.
They would tremble. And then they’d bleed.
EPILOGUE
Downtown Los Angeles — 9:42 p.m.
In a hospital in downtown Los Angeles, a young woman was rushed into the emergency room, her body barely clinging to life.
The paramedics had found her with a gunshot wound to the head, her pulse faint and erratic. Blood matted her hair and soaked the stretcher beneath her as the medical team scrambled to stabilize her.
“Gunshot wound to the head. Pulse is weak, critical condition,” one of the paramedics barked as they pushed the stretcher toward the trauma bay.
Nurses and doctors surrounded the woman, assessing her condition with practiced urgency. The heart monitor beeped sporadically, signaling a dangerously unstable rhythm.
“We need to move fast!” another paramedic urged, his voice sharp with the weight of the situation.
The ER staff sprang into action, the room a flurry of controlled chaos. Nurses called out vital signs while doctors quickly assessed the extent of her injuries with grim efficiency.
As they prepared to move her to the operating room, a shrill tone sliced through the chaos.
Flatline.
"Code Blue!" The charge nurse’s voice pierced through the noise, commanding immediate attention.
The room tensed, each person zeroing in on the fight to bring her back.
The ER physician’s jaw clenched as he prepared the defibrillator, a flash of frustration in his eyes. He had seen too many young lives slip away on this table.
Not another one. Not tonight.
"We’re losing her. Defibrillator, charge to two hundred," he ordered, his voice steady despite the urgency.
The machine whined as it powered up, the paddles pressed firmly against the woman’s chest.
"Clear!" The doctor’s voice cut through the air.
Marisol’s body jerked violently from the electrical current, but the monitor remained flat.
For a split second, there was a faint flicker on the heart monitor, a fragile sign of life.
The team leaned in, breath held, but just as quickly, the line went flat again, stealing away the hope they had barely dared to hold.
"No pulse," a nurse muttered, anxiety creeping into her tone.
"Charge to three hundred," the physician said. His words were clipped and decisive. Every second was a battle against time.
The machine beeped, ready.
The doctor wiped sweat from his brow and slammed the paddles down.
"Clear!" he yelled again.
Her body arched off the table once more, then slumped back, unmoving.
The flatline screamed on, relentless and unforgiving.
The doctor’s jaw tightened. "Start compressions."
A nurse moved in and began CPR, pressing rhythmically into Marisol’s chest.
After a few seconds, the doctor stepped forward, brushed her gently aside, and climbed onto the edge of the bed himself.
"Move," he said, his voice rough with urgency.
He took over the compressions, pouring everything he had into each thrust of his arms.
"Come on," he muttered. "Don’t do this."
The defibrillator was turned off with a quiet click.
The room fell still.
One nurse stood frozen, hands pressed together. Another tech took a shaky step back, eyes on the monitor.
"She’s not coming back," someone whispered.
Still, the doctor didn’t stop. He kept going until his arms trembled and his breath came hard.
In one final effort, he raised his fist and brought it down in a precise, desperate strike to her chest.
A precordial thump.
For a moment, the monitor remained unchanged.
The line was flat.
Unyielding.
The doctor exhaled and slumped in defeat. He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Time of death—"
Beep.
The sound cut through the silence like a crack of light.
The team froze.
All eyes snapped to the monitor.
A single blip pulsed across the screen.
Then another.
A heartbeat.
Fragile, but unmistakably there.
A spark of life.
My phone buzzed with an incoming message.
I froze, my entire world narrowing to the image on the screen. Marisol lay lifeless on the ground, her beauty ruined by the cruel precision of a gunshot wound to the head.
The roar that ripped out of me was raw, primitive. Fury and grief collided in a sound that filled the mansion and shook its walls.
I dropped to my knees, the phone slipping from my hand as my fingers tangled in my hair. I yanked hard, as if one kind of pain could silence another.
My scream echoed through the corridors.
It didn’t take long before Maria and Felix came running, fear etched into their faces. They followed the sound, hearts already braced for the worst.
They burst into the music room and found me there, crumpled on the floor, my body heaving with sobs I couldn’t contain. My hands still gripped my hair. I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t pull my eyes away from the horror I’d just seen.
“Dante!” Felix dropped to his knees beside me. “What is it? What happened?”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t lift my head. The words cracked out of me, hollow, broken.
“Marisol... Marcos killed her.”
Maria’s knees buckled. She didn’t fall, but she froze where she stood. Her hands flew to her mouth as the truth settled, heavy and undeniable.
A low moan escaped her, followed by a choked sob that broke through the stunned silence.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no. That’s not possible. Not Marisol.”
Felix moved fast, already digging for any thread of hope.
“The tracker,” he said. “Check the damn tracker. She could still be alive.”
His words barely registered through the fog, but I reached for my phone anyway. My fingers fumbled with the GPS app.
Come on. Please.
But the screen stayed blank. No signal. No pulse.
The silence clawed at my ears as the phone dimmed in my hand, the cold glass slipping through my fingers.
It hit the floor with a soft clatter.
Maria’s breath caught. Slowly, as if in a trance, she stepped forward and bent down to pick it up.
“Maria, don’t,” Felix said, his voice sharp now. “Please—don’t look.”
But she already had.
Marisol’s lifeless image stared up from the screen—blood soaking into the pavement, eyes closed, body twisted on the cold concrete.
The wail that tore from Maria’s throat shattered everything. It pierced through my numbness and wrapped around my spine like wire.
Her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor, clutching the phone to her chest.
“¡Dios mío! ¡No mi niña!” she sobbed, rocking back and forth. Her grief poured out in waves, violent and endless.
Her pain didn’t pull me out.
It dragged me deeper.
She was gone.
The words echoed like a death knell, hollow and final. And in that moment, something inside me cracked wide open.
I was a boy again, frozen at the estate gates, staring at what they left of my mother. Her body dumped in the grass like garbage. Naked. Her face unrecognizable.
I hadn’t made a sound then, just watched the blood soak into the ground while my father’s men pulled me back.
I hadn’t been able to save her.
And now Marisol was lying in a dark alley, shot in the head like an animal. Alone. Scared. Left to die in silence.
She had trusted me to protect her. And I had done nothing.
No, worse than nothing. I had pushed her away. Told myself it was safer that way. That keeping her at a distance would shield her from the violence I carried like a curse.
But it was a lie.
The truth was, I was a coward. I chose my control, my comfort, my survival over her. I let her walk away with tears in her eyes and my name still on her lips, and now—she was gone.
Because of me.
Because I was too selfish to love her like she deserved.
Everything I’d done to protect her, every step I’d taken, had collapsed in a single moment.
I’d failed her. And now I was just a man on the floor, broken and no better than the one I swore I’d never become.
I’d warned Marcos. Told him exactly what would happen if he touched her. I’d believed that would be enough. I’d let myself believe she was safe.
And because of that lie, she was dead.
I’d pushed her away, convinced that holding her at a distance would somehow shield us both from pain. That control would keep me sane. But in the end, I’d still lost her. I’d denied myself the one thing I wanted most.
Her love. Her presence.
Even if it had only been for a little while, I should have held on.
I thought I was being strong. I thought I was protecting us.
But now I could see the truth.
I’d made the same mistake my father had. And I’d paid the same price.
But I could do what he never did.
I could survive.
And I could destroy the man who took her from me.
My grief hardened into something sharper. Cold. Precise.
A weapon I’d kept hidden for too long.
Marcos would pay. Inch by inch, I’d tear him apart until his last breath came choked with fear.
And when I was done, the world would know the name Dante Kincade wasn’t one to cross.
They’d know what happened when someone took what was mine.
They would tremble. And then they’d bleed.
EPILOGUE
Downtown Los Angeles — 9:42 p.m.
In a hospital in downtown Los Angeles, a young woman was rushed into the emergency room, her body barely clinging to life.
The paramedics had found her with a gunshot wound to the head, her pulse faint and erratic. Blood matted her hair and soaked the stretcher beneath her as the medical team scrambled to stabilize her.
“Gunshot wound to the head. Pulse is weak, critical condition,” one of the paramedics barked as they pushed the stretcher toward the trauma bay.
Nurses and doctors surrounded the woman, assessing her condition with practiced urgency. The heart monitor beeped sporadically, signaling a dangerously unstable rhythm.
“We need to move fast!” another paramedic urged, his voice sharp with the weight of the situation.
The ER staff sprang into action, the room a flurry of controlled chaos. Nurses called out vital signs while doctors quickly assessed the extent of her injuries with grim efficiency.
As they prepared to move her to the operating room, a shrill tone sliced through the chaos.
Flatline.
"Code Blue!" The charge nurse’s voice pierced through the noise, commanding immediate attention.
The room tensed, each person zeroing in on the fight to bring her back.
The ER physician’s jaw clenched as he prepared the defibrillator, a flash of frustration in his eyes. He had seen too many young lives slip away on this table.
Not another one. Not tonight.
"We’re losing her. Defibrillator, charge to two hundred," he ordered, his voice steady despite the urgency.
The machine whined as it powered up, the paddles pressed firmly against the woman’s chest.
"Clear!" The doctor’s voice cut through the air.
Marisol’s body jerked violently from the electrical current, but the monitor remained flat.
For a split second, there was a faint flicker on the heart monitor, a fragile sign of life.
The team leaned in, breath held, but just as quickly, the line went flat again, stealing away the hope they had barely dared to hold.
"No pulse," a nurse muttered, anxiety creeping into her tone.
"Charge to three hundred," the physician said. His words were clipped and decisive. Every second was a battle against time.
The machine beeped, ready.
The doctor wiped sweat from his brow and slammed the paddles down.
"Clear!" he yelled again.
Her body arched off the table once more, then slumped back, unmoving.
The flatline screamed on, relentless and unforgiving.
The doctor’s jaw tightened. "Start compressions."
A nurse moved in and began CPR, pressing rhythmically into Marisol’s chest.
After a few seconds, the doctor stepped forward, brushed her gently aside, and climbed onto the edge of the bed himself.
"Move," he said, his voice rough with urgency.
He took over the compressions, pouring everything he had into each thrust of his arms.
"Come on," he muttered. "Don’t do this."
The defibrillator was turned off with a quiet click.
The room fell still.
One nurse stood frozen, hands pressed together. Another tech took a shaky step back, eyes on the monitor.
"She’s not coming back," someone whispered.
Still, the doctor didn’t stop. He kept going until his arms trembled and his breath came hard.
In one final effort, he raised his fist and brought it down in a precise, desperate strike to her chest.
A precordial thump.
For a moment, the monitor remained unchanged.
The line was flat.
Unyielding.
The doctor exhaled and slumped in defeat. He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Time of death—"
Beep.
The sound cut through the silence like a crack of light.
The team froze.
All eyes snapped to the monitor.
A single blip pulsed across the screen.
Then another.
A heartbeat.
Fragile, but unmistakably there.
A spark of life.
End of Dangerous Melodies Chapter 56. Continue reading Chapter 57 or return to Dangerous Melodies book page.