Elena
He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t considered the possibility that the next bullet might hit him instead.
He’d simply covered her with his body. And now he was sitting beside her in the back seat, looking like he wanted to murder someone because she had a scratch on her arm.
It made no sense. Especially after he'd spent most of the night treating her like a criminal.
“You can stop trying to strangle my arm,” she said.
Dante didn’t look at her. “No.”
“I’m not bleeding anymore,” she insisted.
“You’re still bleeding,” he said, showing her the blood on his hand.
“Barely, but I’m fine,” she said.
His dark gaze finally shifted to hers. “You almost seem upset that the shooter wasn’t a better shot.”
Elena glared at him. “You’re an ass.”
“So I’ve been told,” he breathed.
“I’m guessing it happens frequently,” she said.
“Daily.” Despite everything, a laugh nearly escaped her, but she swallowed it. Dante seemed to notice anyway, and one dark eyebrow lifted.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“I was just wondering if anyone actually likes you,” she said.
“I don’t need anyone to like me,” he said.
“That’s a no, then.” His mouth twitched. It was so quick that she almost thought she imagined it. Elena stared at him. Dante Vitale had almost smiled.
“What?” he asked again.
“You almost smiled,” she pointed out.
“No, I didn’t,” he insisted. “You’re losing blood,” he said, changing the subject.
She looked pointedly at her arm. “I’ve already told you that I’m fine,” she said.
“You’re delirious,” he said.
“I’m not losing enough blood to be delirious,” she said.
“Debatable,” he mumbled. That time, she did laugh.
It came out before she could stop it. The sound felt completely inappropriate after someone had just fired bullets at her, but maybe that was why she couldn’t hold it back.
Fear did strange things to people. Apparently, hers made her argue with killers.
Dante stared at her. “Why are you looking at me like that? she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not looking at you,” he insisted. “It’s nothing.”
“That was definitely something,” she breathed.
His attention shifted back to the window, and she knew that the conversation was over.
Elena watched his profile for another moment, noticing his hard jaw, dark hair, and dimples.
His face would have been unfairly handsome if it didn’t constantly look like he was contemplating murder. Maybe he was—hers.
She looked away. She had bigger problems than Dante Vitale’s face—like staying alive. The car turned onto another street, and Elena recognized the neighborhood immediately.
Her stomach dropped. “No.”
Dante looked at her. “No what?”
“You said we were going to Luca’s,” she said.
“We are,” he said.
“This isn’t the way to Luca’s house,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know where Luca lives?”
“My cousin married him, remember?” she asked.
“Doesn’t mean you know where his house is,” Dante said.
“Elena Romano, criminal mastermind, apparently knows the addresses of every mob boss in the city,” she sassed.
Dante ignored the sarcasm. “Where do you think we’re going?”
She looked through the window again, and then realization hit. “My apartment.”
“Yes,” he said.
Her head snapped toward him. “You said we were getting the key before sunrise.”
“Changed my mind,” he said. “We’re getting the key now.”
“You changed your mind that quickly?” she asked.
“Someone just shot at you,” he reminded. “And technically, it’s before sunrise.”
“I was there,” she spat. Elena folded her arms, immediately regretting it when pain shot through the injured one.
Dante seemed to catch the way that she winced. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“Pretending that doesn’t hurt,” he said. She hated that he could read her so well.
“It barely hurts,” she lied
“You're a terrible liar,” he breathed.
“And you’re bossy,” she hissed.
“Yes, I am,” he said. At least he admitted it.
The car slowed down a block from her building. Dante leaned forward. “Kill the lights.” The driver immediately obeyed. Elena’s amusement disappeared when Dante pulled his gun. Every muscle in his body seemed to change at once. The man sitting beside her vanished, and a soldier took his place.
“Stay in the car,” he ordered.
She shook her head. “You don’t know where the key is.”
“You’ll tell me,” he said.
“No,” she whispered.
“Elena,” he warned.
“I’m coming with you,” she insisted.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s my apartment,” she said.
“And someone may be waiting inside it to kill you,” he reminded.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I have you to protect me,” she said.
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Dante went still—so did she.
Something passed between them. Something hot and uncomfortable that had absolutely no business existing while they were parked outside her apartment looking for people who wanted her dead.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, or maybe she imagined that too, and then his expression hardened.
“You stay behind me,” he ordered.
Elena blinked. “That means I can come?”
“That means I know you’ll get out of the fucking car the second my back is turned, anyway. This way, I’ll know where you are at all times,” he said.
She smiled sweetly. “You’re learning.”
“I liked you better when I thought you were guilty.”
“You still think I’m guilty,” she reminded.
“Exactly.” He got out, and Elena followed.
Dante immediately caught her wrist. “What did I just say?”
“That I stay behind you,” she said.
“Then why are you standing beside me?” he asked.
“We haven't even started walking yet,” she said. His jaw clenched, and she had a feeling she was going to make that happen a lot.
“Behind me,” he repeated.
“Fine.” Dante released her, and Elena noticed that his hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary. She wondered if he noticed too. Nothing seemed to escape the man.
They moved toward her building. Two of Dante’s men followed several feet behind them while another remained with the car.
The street looked exactly as it had when she’d left earlier—quiet, normal.
But it didn’t feel normal anymore—nothing did.
Every shadow looked deeper, every parked car looked suspicious, and every sound made her heart jump.
She hated that. Fear had never controlled her before. Her father had made sure of it.
Never let them see you afraid, Elena.
She could hear his voice as clearly as if he were walking beside her.
Fear is information. Don't give your enemies anything for free.
She straightened, and Dante glanced back at her. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“You hesitated,” he pointed out.
“I’m allowed to hesitate,” she insisted.
“Not when I ask if you’re okay.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you interrogate all women like this?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Must make dating fun.” He stopped walking, and Elena nearly ran into him again.
Dante slowly turned his head. “Are you asking about my dating life?”
“No,” she said.
“Sounded like it,” he said.
“I’d rather get shot again,” she sassed. His expression went completely blank, and Elena immediately regretted the joke. Something cold entered his eyes.
“Don’t say that,” he breathed. The words were quiet—too quiet.
She swallowed. “It was a joke.”
“I know,” he said.
“Then why do you seem so upset about it?” she asked.
“Because I don’t find you getting shot funny,” he said.
There was no sarcasm in his voice, no teasing—nothing except a seriousness that made her chest tighten.
Elena didn't know what to say to that. Thankfully, Dante turned away before she had to.
They reached the entrance to her building, and the front door was locked.
Dante looked at her, and she pulled her keys from her coat pocket. “See? Useful.”
He took them from her. “I could've done that.”
“But you didn't,” she said.
“Are you always this irritating?” he asked.
“Only when I’m being kidnapped,” she sassed.
“You’re not kidnapped,” he grumbled.
“Right. Protected,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“Against my will,” she added.
“Those are just details,” he insisted. She almost smiled again until Dante opened the door and everything changed. His body went rigid, and he raised his gun.
Elena froze. “What’s wrong?” He lifted one finger to his lips, silently telling her to be quiet. At first, there was nothing, but then a faint thud sounded from upstairs.
Dante pushed her backward. “Outside,” he ordered.
“But—” she started to protest.
“Now,” he barked. She hated his tone and hated being ordered around, but something in his eyes stopped her from arguing.
One of his men grabbed the door behind her.
“Stay with her,” Dante ordered before he disappeared into the stairwell.
Elena's heart slammed against her ribs as she listened to his footsteps fade.
“What’s happening?” she whispered. The guard beside her didn’t answer. Apparently, silence was part of the Camorra job description. Another thud sounded upstairs, and then she heard a gunshot.
Elena jumped. “Dante.” The guard caught her around the waist when she lunged toward the stairs.
“Let me go!” she hissed.
“Can’t do that.” There was another shot, and her stomach twisted.
“Dante!” There was no answer, and she fought harder to break free.
The guard swore. “Lady, stop.”
“Get your hands off me!” she spat.
“Dante said—” he began.
“I don’t give a damn what Dante said!” she shouted, cutting him off.
The words had barely left her mouth when footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Elena froze.
Dante appeared at the bottom of the steps, and her knees nearly gave out.
He was breathing harder than before, with his gun still in his hand and a smear of blood that marked his cheek.
Her stomach dropped. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not mine,” he said. Relief hit so hard it made her angry.
She shoved the guard’s arms away and stormed toward Dante. “What happened?”
“There was a man upstairs,” Dante said.
“In my apartment?” she asked.
“Yes,” he breathed.