Elena #2
“Is he—” She couldn’t finish what she wanted to ask him.
“Dead?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
Dante didn’t blink. “He is.”
“What was he looking for?” she asked.
His eyes met hers. “We both know the answer to your question.” The key—her father’s key.
Elena wrapped her arms around herself. “Did he find it?”
“I don't know. You haven't told me where it is,” Dante reminded. She looked toward the stairs, and Dante stepped into her path.
“No,” he growled.
“You need me,” she insisted.
“I need you alive,” he said.
“And I need that key,” she said.
“Tell me where it is,” he ordered. She hesitated. “Elena.”
“It’s in my bedroom,” she said.
“Where?” he asked.
She looked at the guard and then back at Dante. “I’ll tell you, but we need to be alone.”
Dante’s expression hardened. “Elena—”
“I’ll tell you. But not in front of everyone.”
His eyes narrowed, and then he glanced at his men. “Clear the rest of the building.” They immediately moved, and Dante gestured toward the stairs. “After you,” he said.
She stared at him. “What happened to staying behind you?”
“The threat is dead,” he reminded.
“How comforting,” she drawled. He almost smiled again—damn him.
They climbed the stairs together. The door to her apartment stood open.
Her stomach sank the moment she saw inside.
The place had been destroyed. Drawers were dumped onto the floor, couch cushions were ripped open, books were scattered everywhere, and cabinet doors hung open.
Everything she’d kept carefully organized had been torn apart.
Her life and her privacy had been violated.
Elena stepped inside slowly. “Oh, my God.”
Dante remained close behind her. “Don’t touch anything.” She barely heard him. Her eyes moved over the wreckage. Someone had been here, going through her things, looking for something her father had hidden two years ago. Something she hadn’t even understood.
Her gaze landed on the broken picture frame near the wall of her father.
The only photograph she’d kept out. The glass had shattered across his face.
Elena crouched to pick it up. “Don't.” She ignored Dante and picked up the frame. Her thumb brushed over her father’s image, and for one terrible second, she wasn't a Romano.
She wasn't a mafia daughter, or a woman trying to outsmart men who wanted her dead.
She was just a daughter who missed her father.
“He knew,” she whispered.
Dante crouched beside her. “Knew what?”
“That something was coming.” She looked at him. “That’s why he left the key.”
Dante’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Probably.”
“And I ignored it,” she said.
“You didn’t know,” Dante insisted.
“I should have known,” she breathed.
“Elena.” Her name sounded like a warning on his lips.
“If I'd figured it out sooner—” she said.
“You'd probably be dead,” he cut her off. The bluntness startled her. Dante took the frame from her hand and placed it carefully on the table. “You said your father hid the key.”
She shook her head. “No, I hid it,” she said.
“Where did you hide it?” Dante asked. She stood, and Dante followed her into the bedroom. Her mattress had been sliced open, and clothes covered the floor. Her jewelry box had been smashed. “They were thorough,” Dante muttered.
“They didn't find it,” she whispered.
“You don’t know that,” he insisted.
“Yes, I do.” She crossed to the closet. The doors had been ripped open. Shoes and clothing had been thrown everywhere. Elena crouched and reached beneath a built-in shelf.
Dante watched her. “What are you doing?”
“Getting the key.” She pressed her fingers into a tiny indentation underneath the wood and released a hidden latch.
Dante crouched beside her. “You have a false compartment in your closet?”
“My father had it installed when I moved in,” she said. Her father was always overly proactive when it came to keeping things safe. She just wished that he had felt that way about her too, but apparently, people weren’t as precious to her dad.
“Well, that seems like a thing that a normal family would do,” he grumbled.
She shot him a look. “Because yours is so much better?”
“Fair point,” he breathed. Elena reached into the narrow space. Her fingers touched paper that she had hidden there, and relief flooded her.
“It’s still here.” She pulled out a small envelope and Dante immediately reached for it. Elena jerked it against her chest. “No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
“It’s mine,” she spat. It was probably the only thing still keeping her alive. Without the key, Luca would find her useless and order Dante to get rid of her.
“And it might tell us who's trying to kill you,” Dante reminded.
“Us?” she questioned.