Dante
He told himself it was because she was their only lead, and that it had nothing to do with the way she’d looked at him when she insisted she wasn’t lying.
It had nothing to do with those dark eyes challenging him to believe her.
And it sure as fuck had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been standing close enough to smell whatever perfume she wore and had caught himself wondering what she would feel like pressed against him. That was a complication he didn’t need.
Luca was silent for a beat. “You believe her?”
“That doesn’t make her innocent,” Luca reminded.
“She knew about the accounts before we picked her up,” he said. “She admitted her father handled money off the books for people outside the Romano family. She claims she didn’t know the extent of it until after he died.”
“Claims? So you don’t believe her,” Luca breathed.
“She’s holding something back.” That much Dante knew.
Elena might not have lied about someone using her identity, but she’d lied when she said she didn’t have anything connected to her father.
He’d seen it when she looked at him, though—her tiny hesitation and the way her gaze shifted.
She was hiding something. The only question was whether she knew how important it was.
“What do you think she’s holding back?” Luca asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Dante admitted.
“Find out and report back to me,” Luca ordered.
“I plan to,” Dante said.
Luca hesitated, and Dante was sure he wouldn’t like what his boss said next. “Marco found another account.”
Dante straightened. “Where?”
“In the Caymans. It was opened fourteen months ago under Elena’s name,” Luca said.
Dante swore under his breath. “How much is in the account?”
“Just over four million,” Luca said.
“Jesus,” Dante breathed.
“And it gets better,” Luca continued.
“It always fucking does,” Dante grumbled.
Luca ignored him. “Money moved out of the account three days ago.”
Dante’s grip tightened around his phone. “How much?”
“All of it,” Luca said.
“Where did it go?” Dante asked.
“We’re tracing it now,” Luca said. Dante stared toward the dark hallway.
Four million dollars had just disappeared.
If Elena knew about that account, she was either one hell of an actress or completely fucking insane for sitting twenty feet away from him and pretending she didn’t know what was happening.
“When did her father die?” Dante asked.
“Two years ago,” Luca said.
“So he didn’t open the Caymans’ account,” Dante assessed.
“Not unless he came back from the dead,” Luca drawled.
Dante rubbed a hand over his jaw. Someone had created an account in Elena’s name after her father died.
It had to be someone with access to her information, and now money was moving through it while bodies were showing up with CAMORRA carved into them.
That wasn’t a coincidence—it was a setup.
The question was who they were setting up—Elena, the Camorras, or both.
“Send me everything Marco has,” Dante said.
“I already did,” Luca said. Dante pulled the phone away from his ear and saw the incoming files with the account statements, transfer records, and identification documents.
His eyes narrowed when he opened the first one.
There was Elena’s name in black and white.
The document also included her date of birth, Social Security number, and her signature.
Fuck. Whoever had opened the account hadn’t just known basic information; they had everything.
“Dante,” Luca said.
“Yeah?” Dante breathed.
“Bring her here,” Luca ordered.
“No.” The word was out before he thought about it. Silence greeted him, and Dante closed his eyes. Well, fuck. He’d just told the head of the Camorra family no, and that wasn’t going to end well for him.
Luca’s voice dropped. “Excuse me?”
Dante pushed away from the counter. “She is staying here tonight.”
“That wasn’t a request,” Luca growled.
“I know,” Dante said.
“Then why the fuck are we arguing?” Because Dante had spent the last hour looking at the woman.
Because someone had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to frame her.
Because if they knew enough to steal her identity, they probably knew where she lived.
And if they knew where she lived, they might know Camorra men had taken her.
Taking Elena to Luca’s home meant bringing the problem straight to him and his new wife, Isabella.
Dante went with the answer Luca was least likely to shoot him for.
“If someone is watching Elena, moving her tonight could lead them straight to you and Isabella.” Luca went quiet, and Dante knew he had his attention.
Marriage had changed Luca. It hadn’t made him soft, and anyone stupid enough to believe that usually didn’t live long enough to correct the mistake.
If anything, Isabella had made Luca more dangerous because he had something to lose now—something he would kill to protect.
“Keep her there,” Luca finally said.
Dante released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I planned to.”
“Don’t push your fucking luck,” Luca grumbled.
A corner of Dante’s mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Bullshit,” Luca said. Dante almost laughed. Luca’s voice turned serious again. “I want to know what she’s hiding before morning.”
“So do I,” Dante assured.
“And Dante—" Luca said. “Don’t let that woman get inside your head.”
Dante stared down the hallway again, knowing that it was too late because she was already living in his head rent-free. “She hasn’t,” he lied.
“You told me no. I’d say she’s already camping out in your head, man,” Luca said.
“Telling you no was a tactical move to keep you and Isabella safe,” Dante insisted.
“That’s bullshit, and we both know it,” Luca growled. The line went dead, and Dante looked at his phone.
“Asshole,” he breathed.
“Talking to yourself already?” Elena’s voice had him reaching for his gun before his brain registered who the voice belonged to. He turned and found her standing at the end of the hallway—exactly where he’d told her not to be. Of fucking course she was.
Dante slowly lowered his hand. “What did I tell you?”
Her brows lifted. “You said not to move.”
“And yet here you are,” Dante drawled.
“I got thirsty,” she said.
“There’s water in the room,” he reminded.
“No, there isn’t.” He frowned, and she smiled. It wasn’t a big smile. Barely there, really, but fuck if it didn’t change her entire face. Dante stared at her for a second too long, and then he caught himself.
“Go back to the room,” he growled.
“After I get some water,” she insisted.
“Elena,” he said her name as though it was a warning.
“Dante,” she countered. His name sounded different coming from her—softer, and he didn’t like that either. At least, that was what he told himself.
She walked past him into the kitchen like she wasn’t currently being held by one of the most dangerous crime families in the country. Dante watched her open the wrong cabinet, then another. “You going to help me find a glass?” she asked.
“No,” he breathed.
“Charming,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Wasn’t trying to be,” he drawled.
“I noticed.” She finally found a glass, filled it from the faucet, and took a long drink. Dante tried not to watch her throat move as she swallowed, but he failed. Jesus Christ. He needed sleep, or a woman. Preferably one who wasn’t possibly connected to a conspiracy against his family.
Elena lowered the glass. “What did Luca want?”
“None of your business,” he said.
“Considering I’m the reason he called, I’d say it is my business,” she said.
Dante crossed his arms over his chest, and she looked him over. “You listen at doors often?”
“I didn't have to. This place isn't exactly soundproof,” she said.
“How much did you hear?” he asked.
“Enough to know you told him no.” Shit. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You told Luca Camorra no because you didn’t want to move me.”
“I told him moving you was a security risk to him and his wife,” Dante insisted.
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Yes.” The answer came too quickly, and her mouth curved. Dante hated that smile, mostly because he wanted to see it again.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“I don’t lie,” he insisted.
“Everyone lies,” she said.
“Not about things that matter.” Something in her expression changed, and the teasing disappeared.
“Then tell me what he found,” she said. Dante considered refusing. Hell, he should have refused, but instead, he unlocked his phone.
“Recognize this?” He held the screen toward her. Elena took the phone and her face drained of color. There—that was a real reaction. It wasn’t calculated or controlled. He could see real fucking fear in her eyes.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered.
“Answer the question,” he growled. “Do you recognize it?”
She stared at the account statement. “That’s my name, my information—" Her eyes moved over the screen, and Dante watched every reaction. The way her eyes widened and her mouth tightened. He saw the way her hand began to tremble.
When she reached the balance in the account, she looked up at him. “Four million dollars?”
“You didn't know about it?” he asked.
“No,” she breathed.
“Four million dollars was sitting in an account with your name on it, and you expect me to believe you had no idea?” he asked.
“I don't give a damn what you believe. I've never seen this account before,” she insisted.
“The signature is yours.”
She looked down again and frowned. “No, it isn’t,” she said.
Dante stepped closer. “What do you mean?”
“That isn't my signature,” she insisted.
“It looks exactly like the one on your driver's license,” he accused.
“That's because whoever did it copied the way I sign my name.” She shoved the phone toward him and pointed. “But they got this wrong.” Dante looked where she indicated. At first, he saw nothing, but then Elena zoomed in. “Look at the R.”
“What about it?” he asked.
“I don't close my R,” she said.
Dante looked from the signature to her. “What?”