Dante
Bring us Elena
“Get your coat,” he said.
Elena blinked up at him. “What?”
“Get your coat,” he repeated.
“I heard you,” she said.
“Then move,” he ordered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, some of the shock burning off. “Where are we going?”
“To Luca’s,” he said.
“You said that before,” she reminded.
“This time, we’re actually going there.” She folded her arms, then winced when the motion pulled at the graze on her shoulder. Dante noticed. He noticed every fucking thing about her now, and that was becoming a problem.
“You need that looked at,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she lied. It had to hurt like hell, but there was no way that she’d admit that to him. She was so fucking stubborn.
“It’s bleeding through,” he said.
“It’s barely bleeding,” she countered.
“Elena,” he growled. Her mouth tightened, and she defiantly stared him down. She was too fucking brave for someone who had just been explicitly requested by people carving messages into corpses.
Dante stepped closer. “You can argue with me in the car.”
“I can argue with you right here,” she insisted.
“Yeah. I figured that out.” Something almost like amusement flickered in her eyes, but it disappeared quickly. That worked for him because this wasn’t funny. Nothing about this was.
He reached past her and grabbed the coat off the floor where it had landed earlier, and held it out.
She took it, and their fingers brushed again.
Too much awareness sparked from too little contact.
Dante pulled his hand back. That was another thing he hated, because he didn’t do distractions.
He didn’t do confusion, and he definitely didn’t do this—whatever the hell this was.
Elena slid into her coat slowly. “You’re worried.”
Dante stared at her. “No, I’m not,” he lied.
“You are,” she said as though she could read his mind.
“I’m assessing risk,” he insisted.
“That’s a fancy way of saying worried.”
“It’s a more accurate way.” Her lips twitched, but Dante ignored it. He checked the hallway, then motioned for her to follow. “Stay behind me.”
“I remember,” she spat.
“That would be a first.” She muttered something under her breath, and he almost smiled. Fuck. He needed distance. He also needed her where he could see her. Those two things were becoming incompatible.
They made it downstairs without incident. His men had cleared the building. The shooter upstairs was dead. He had no identification, no wallet, and no phone. He was exactly the kind of man Dante hated dealing with—the kind who didn’t exist long enough to interrogate.
Outside, the street was still—too still. Dante opened the rear door of the SUV and waited, and Elena looked at him. “What?” she asked.
“Get in,” he ordered.
“You first,” she insisted.
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because someone has already shot at me once tonight, and I really don’t need another hole in my body,” she said.
Dante paused. He didn’t like that she had a point.
He scanned the vehicle, then climbed in, and Elena followed.
The second the door shut, Dante pulled out his phone.
He had three missed calls from Luca and one text with three simple words.
GET OUT NOW!
Dante called him, and Luca answered on the first ring. “Tell me you have her.”
“I have her,” Dante said. Elena looked at him, but Dante ignored her.
“Bring her straight here,” Luca said.
“We’re moving now,” Dante said, following orders.
“Anyone follow you?” Luca asked.
“Not that I can see,” Dante said.
“Not good enough,” Luca said. “Be sure that you’re not being followed before you head this way.”
“I know how to lose a tail,” Dante said. Luca exhaled sharply. Dante could hear voices in the background—Marco and possibly Isabella. The family was gathering, and that meant Luca understood exactly how serious this had become.
“What do we know about the body?” Dante asked.
“Male, mid-thirties, and no ID,” Luca said.
“Do we have a cause of death?” Dante asked.
“His throat was cut,” Luca said.
“Did it look like a professional hit?” Dante asked.
“Close enough,” Luca grumbled. Dante’s jaw tightened.
“And the message?”
“Carved into his chest,” Luca said. Elena looked away. She seemed to have heard enough.
Dante continued. “Anything else?”
There was a pause, and he knew that he wasn’t going to like what Luca was about to say. “Yes.”
Dante didn’t like the pause. “What?”
“His pockets were full of cash,” Luca said.
“How much cash are we talking about?” Dante asked.
“Fifty grand,” Luca said.
Dante frowned. “Why would he have that much cash on his person?”
“No idea,” Luca said.
“Were the bills marked?” Dante asked.
“Marco is checking,” Luca said. Dante looked out the window.
Fifty grand, a body with the word Romano carved into its flesh, and Elena’s name as a demand.
Someone wasn’t just starting a war. They were buying one.
Dante’s gaze shifted to Elena. She was staring out the opposite window; her shoulders were stiff.
He ended the call, and the silence settled between them again.
This time, Elena broke it. “Do they think I’m worth fifty thousand?”
Dante’s head turned, and he looked her over. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not joking,” she said, finally looking at him. “What else am I supposed to think?”
He held her gaze. “That someone wants us looking in the wrong direction.”
Her brow furrowed. “How?”
“Bodies with Camorra carved into them.” He ticked it off coldly. “Then the name Romano.” Her face tightened. “A message asking for you.” He leaned back. “That’s too much.”
“Too much?” she asked.
“It’s too obvious,” he said.
Elena looked toward the front seat. “So you think I’m bait.”
“Yes.” The word landed hard. He watched her absorb it.
She swallowed. “For whom?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” he said.
She gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “You keep saying we.”
Dante looked at her. “I keep saying what?” he asked.
“You keep saying we.” He hadn’t noticed, and that annoyed him. “Like you think that we’re in this mess together.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” he insisted.
“No, it isn’t,” she said. He stared at her, and she stared back. Dante looked away first. Fuck.
Elena shifted slightly in the seat. “You know what’s strange?”
“Um, everything tonight has been strange. You’re going to need to be more specific, Elena,” he grumbled.
He waited her out as she glanced down at her hands. “My father used to tell me to never ignore patterns.”
Dante’s attention sharpened. “What do you mean?”
“He said patterns were useful because people wanted you to notice them.”
That got his full attention. “Your father said that?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“When?” he asked.
“All the time,” she said.
“About what?” he asked.
She shrugged carefully. “Money, business, and people.”
Dante leaned forward slightly. “Tell me exactly what he used to say.”
Elena frowned. “What?”
“What did he say?”
She thought about it for a second. “He used to say that patterns are invitations.”
Dante went still. “Invitations to what?”
“He never explained any of that to me,” she admitted.
“Try to remember,” he ordered.
She exhaled. “He said if someone wanted you to follow a trail badly enough, you should ask why they bothered leaving one.” Dante sat back. That was not a casual saying; it was professional paranoia. It was the kind developed by men who moved dirty money for dangerous people.
Elena watched him. “That means something to you.”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“What?” she asked.
Dante looked at her. “It means your father may have known exactly what kind of people he was dealing with.”
Her expression hardened. “He wasn’t a criminal.”
Dante said nothing, but that seemed to be answer enough. “Elena—”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “My father handled money. That doesn’t make him a killer.”
“I didn’t say it did,” he agreed.
“You didn’t have to.”
Dante rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Being involved in this world doesn’t always mean pulling a trigger.”
Her eyes flashed. “Easy for you to say.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. That surprised her, and he could see it. Dante didn’t defend himself because there was no point. He was exactly what she thought he was—maybe worse.
The SUV turned onto Luca’s street. Dante immediately scanned the surroundings. There were no parked cars he didn’t recognize, no movement, and no obvious surveillance. His shoulders loosened only slightly as the gates opened and they drove through.
Elena looked out at the property. “I’ve never been here.”
Dante glanced at her. “I thought you knew where Luca lived.”
“I knew the neighborhood,” she said. The SUV stopped in the driveway, and Dante got out first. This time, Elena didn’t argue with him.
He considered that progress. He opened her door, and she stepped out.
The front door opened before they reached it, and Luca stood in the doorway with Isabella beside him.
Elena froze. For the first time all night, real emotion broke through completely. “Isabella.”
Her cousin moved straight toward her, and Dante stepped aside. Isabella wrapped Elena in a hug, and she winced. Dante saw it, and so did Isabella. “What happened to your arm?”
“It’s nothing,” Elena lied.
Dante cut in. “She was shot.”
Both women turned toward him, and Elena glared. “I was grazed.”
“You were hit by a bullet,” he reminded.
“Barely.” Isabella looked horrified, and Luca looked murderous. Dante could practically see the questions forming.
“I’ll answer all your questions inside,” Dante said.
Luca nodded, and they moved into the house.
Marco was waiting in the study with his laptop open and files spread across the desk.
Dante followed Elena in and noticed that she stayed near Isabella.
He didn’t like the distance, and that realization irritated him more than it should have.