Elena #3
“Yes, us.” She stared at him. Something about the word hit her strangely.
Us. There shouldn't be an us. There was Camorra, and there was Romano.
Somewhere between them, there was Elena—alone.
She had always been alone when it mattered—until tonight, when Dante had thrown himself over her while bullets flew.
Until she'd heard gunshots upstairs and realized the thought of him being hurt terrified her more than it should have.
“Open it,” Dante said. She looked down at the envelope.
Her father’s handwriting was across the front, with her name written in big, block letters.
Her chest tightened. She had never opened it.
She'd found the key inside a smaller envelope taped beneath his desk, along with his warning.
Later, while going through another box of his things, she discovered this envelope and hid them both together.
She'd been afraid of what she'd find once it was open, but now, she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't look inside.
Elena broke the seal. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Her hands began to shake, and Dante seemed to notice. “Want me to read it?”
“No.” She unfolded the paper and saw the three lines. That was all there was, but those three lines changed everything.
If you're reading this, they found the accounts.
Elena stopped breathing. “What does it say?” Dante asked.
She kept reading.
The money was never mine.
Then the final line made her knees weak.
Dante caught her elbow. “Elena?” She handed him the paper, and Dante read it. His expression changed, and she saw the moment the words registered. His jaw tightened, and his eyes became cold because the final line said:
The Camorra family has a traitor, and he knows who you are.
Dante read it again, and then a third time. “Your father wrote this?”
“Yes, that’s his handwriting,” she said.
“When did he write it?” Dante asked.
“I don't know,” she said.
He looked at her. “Elena, this changes everything.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“No.” Dante folded the note and shoved it into his jacket. “I don't think you do.”
“That belongs to me,” she said, holding her hand out to him.
“Not anymore,” Dante said.
Her anger flared. “You don't get to take my father's last words away from me.”
“I do when those words could get you killed,” Dante insisted.
“It doesn’t matter who’s holding the letter. I’m already dead!” The room went silent. Elena's breathing came too quickly, and Dante stared at her. His expression shifted to something softer—dangerously softer.
He stepped toward her. “Elena.”
She shook her head. “Don't.”
“Look at me,” he ordered.
“I said don't,” she shouted. He ignored her.
Dante placed both hands on her shoulders. “Look at me.” She did, but she wished she hadn't because there was something in his eyes that she didn't know what to do with—concern. It was real concern, not for the investigation, not for Luca, but for her. “We're going to figure this out.”
Her throat tightened. “You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do,” he insisted.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“Because I'm telling you we will figure this out, and I’m not a liar,” he said.
A broken laugh escaped her. “That's not how certainty works.”
“It’s how it works for me,” he said. She stared at him.
He was an arrogant bastard, but somehow, she believed him.
That scared her more than the bullets ever could.
Dante's thumb moved slightly against her shoulder.
It was a tiny motion, but comforting. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and this time, she knew she hadn't imagined it.
Heat curled low in her stomach. This was completely wrong.
She should move or tell him to move, but did neither.
“Dante,” she whispered. His gaze snapped back to hers, and for one suspended second, she wondered if he was going to kiss her, or worse—she wondered if she would let him.
The phone rang, and they jumped apart like they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't.
Dante swore and pulled it from his pocket.
“What?” Elena turned away, trying to get herself under control.
Whatever had almost happened hadn't happened, and that was good.
She heard Luca's voice faintly through the phone but couldn't make out the words, and then Dante went completely still.
“What do you mean, another one?” Dante asked. Elena turned and noticed that his expression had changed. The warmth was gone, and the killer had returned.
“When?” he asked. She stepped closer to him, trying to listen to the conversation. “Where?” Dante's gaze landed on Elena, and her stomach twisted.
“What happened?” she asked, but he ignored her. “I'll bring her.” Dante ended the call, and Elena waited for him to tell her what was happening, but he didn't speak.
“Dante,” she said.
“We need to go,” he ordered.
“What happened?” He picked up the safe-deposit key from where she placed it on the nightstand.
“Another body was found,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. “With Camorra carved into it?”
“No.” Something about the way he said it made her blood run cold.
“What was carved into it?” she asked.
Dante looked directly at her. “Romano.”
Elena stopped breathing, and Dante stepped closer. “And this one came with a message.”
“What message?” she asked. His jaw tightened, and her entire body went cold before he even answered.
Dante's voice was barely above a growl. “Bring us Elena.”