Dante #3
“Good.” He opened the door, and cold night air swept into the house. Dante stepped outside first, automatically scanning the street before signaling for Elena to follow. The car waited at the curb, and everything looked normal—too normal. Dante hated normal because it usually meant trouble.
He placed his hand against Elena's lower back and guided her toward the vehicle.
She stiffened beneath his touch, and he removed his hand.
They were halfway to the car when headlights appeared at the end of the street.
Dante watched them as the vehicle slowed.
It was a black SUV, with tinted windows and no plates on the front. His instincts screamed at him.
“Elena.” She looked at him. “Get down.”
“What?” The passenger window of the SUV lowered, and Dante saw the barrel.
He didn't think—he just grabbed Elena around the waist and threw both of them behind the parked car as the first shots ripped through the night.
Glass exploded around them, and he heard one of his men shout.
Dante covered Elena with his body and pulled his gun.
“Stay the fuck down,” he shouted.
Her hands gripped his jacket. “Dante—”
“Down!” He rose just enough to fire over the hood and got off two shots.
The SUV accelerated, and more gunfire erupted around him.
One of the safehouse guards returned fire from the doorway, and then the vehicle disappeared around the corner.
Silence crashed down almost as violently as the bullets had.
Dante stayed exactly where he was—listening and waiting for another attack.
Elena was beneath him, breathing hard, but alive. He looked down at her. “Are you hit?” She shook her head. “Use words.”
“No.” He ran his hands over her arms, anyway, as though checking to make sure that she was okay.
“I said I'm fine,” she hissed.
“I heard you,” he said.
“Then stop—” His hand came away wet, and Dante froze when he saw her blood on his fingers.
“Elena,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He grabbed her arm and turned it. A thin line of blood ran from just below her shoulder. “Fuck.”
Her face went pale. “It's just a graze.”
“You don't know that,” he said.
“I'm pretty sure I'd know if I'd been shot,” she insisted.
“You've been shot before?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted.
“Then shut up.” She stared at him. Even now, she looked offended. Dante ripped open the car door and pushed her into the back seat.
“Safehouse is burned,” he shouted to his men. “Call Luca. Nobody goes inside until we sweep it.” He climbed in beside Elena. The driver slammed the car into gear and sped off.
“Where are we going?” Elena asked. Dante pressed a handkerchief against her arm, and she winced.
His jaw tightened. They had known. Someone knew exactly where Elena was and exactly when they were moving her.
That meant one of two things: they'd followed Dante from her apartment, or someone had given them the safehouse location.
Neither option was good. But the second could tear the Camorra family apart.
“Dante.” He looked at her. “Where are you taking me?”
He pressed harder against the wound. “To Luca.”
Her eyes widened. “You said moving me there was dangerous.”
“It was,” he said.
“What’s changed?” she asked. “Why take me there now?”
Dante looked through the rear window at the empty street behind them. “Because now, nowhere else is safe.”
Elena stared at him. “And my father's key?”
Dante's gaze returned to hers. “We're getting it.”
“When?” she asked. He thought about the men who had just tried to kill her and about the four million dollars. He remembered the message her father had left behind. Trust no one with our blood.
“Before sunrise,” he said.
Her face went pale again. “Why?” Because someone had just risked attacking a Camorra safehouse to kill her.
Because whatever her father had hidden was worth millions—maybe more.
And because Dante was starting to understand that Elena Romano wasn't a loose thread in this mess—she was the center of it.
He leaned closer. “Because whoever just shot at us knows about that key.”
Elena's breath caught. “You don't know that.”
“No.” Dante looked at the blood staining the white cloth beneath his hand. “But I'm willing to bet your life on it.”
Her eyes hardened. “My life is already on the line.”
Dante held her gaze. Something dark and possessive tightened inside his chest before he could stop it.
He'd been ordered to protect her. That was all this was—an order, a job, another responsibility.
So why had seeing her blood on his hands made him want to hunt down every man in that SUV and tear them apart?
Dante didn't have an answer, and right now, he didn't fucking want one.
“No,” he said quietly.
Elena frowned. “No, what?”
Dante looked out the window as the car sped through the darkened streets.
“From now on, anyone who wants your life has to come through me first.” He felt her watching him, but he didn't look back because Dante had already made one mistake tonight—he started believing her.
And he had a feeling Elena Romano was about to become his second.