Chapter Twenty-Five Names on a List
Dante spent the next three days in the study with the door shut, men Elena had never seen before coming and going at all hours, voices low and urgent through the walls.
When he finally emerged, hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, he found her curled in the window seat of her sitting room, exactly where he always found her.
"I have a list," he said without preamble, dropping into the chair across from her. "Three names. People who had access to the estate grounds in the last month, who have reason to want me destabilized, and who are patient enough to send a photograph instead of a bullet."
"Tell me."
"Salvatore Calvetti, obviously, though I still don't think this is his style.
" He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
"Marcus Whitfield — the man from Sofia's party.
I had him investigated after the incident, and it turns out his business dealings are not nearly as clean as he'd like people to believe.
He owes money to men who would very much like leverage over me.
" His eyes flicked to hers, reluctant. "And the third name is going to upset you. "
Elena's stomach dropped. "Who?"
"Your father."
"That's insane." She was on her feet before she'd decided to stand. "My father would never—"
"I don't think he sent the photograph, Elena.
I think someone got to him." Dante's voice gentled, though his eyes stayed sharp with worry.
"Your father's debts to me weren't his only debts.
There were others — smaller lenders, men with fewer scruples than I have, which is saying something.
If one of them found out settling your father's debt to me meant losing their own leverage over him, they might have decided to remind everyone involved exactly how easily this family could still be hurt. "
"You think someone is using my father."
"I think it's possible. I don't know yet." He reached for her hand, drew her back down beside him. "I need to speak with him. Today, if you'll allow it. Not as an enemy, Elena — as your husband, trying to protect the family that raised you, however imperfectly they did it."
She searched his face, the exhaustion and the worry etched plainly across features that had once seemed made entirely of ice, and nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."
"Elena—"
"He's my father, Dante. Whatever happens, I want to be there.
" Her chin lifted, that quiet, unshakeable strength surfacing again, the same strength that had made Salvatore Calvetti blink first at the gala.
"You said yourself I'm not something you protect from a distance anymore. So don't start now."
Something in his expression softened into something like pride. "No," he agreed quietly. "I suppose I won't."