Dante #2
Luca shut the door. “Start from the beginning,” he ordered.
Dante did. He told his boss about the forged account and signature, the safe-deposit key, the note from Elena’s father, the attack at the safehouse, the shooter in Elena’s apartment, and ended with the newest body. By the time he finished, no one spoke.
Marco was the first. “Let me see the note.” Dante pulled it from his jacket, and Elena immediately stepped forward.
“That’s mine,” she said. Marco looked at her, and Dante handed it over anyway. She shot him a furious look, but he ignored it. Marco read the note twice, and then looked at Luca.
“This was written a while ago,” Marco said.
“Can you prove that?” Luca asked.
“The paper is older stock.” Marco turned it over. “The ink too.”
Elena frowned. “How old do you think it is?”
“It has to be years old,” he said. “At least.” Her face changed, and Dante saw it. Her father hadn’t written that recently. He’d known for a long time what was going to happen, before any of this started.
Marco looked at her. “What did your father do exactly?”
Elena’s spine stiffened. “He handled finances.”
“For who?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Marco’s gaze sharpened. “You need to figure it out.”
Dante didn’t like his tone. He stepped in before he could think about it. “She’s told us what she knows.” Marco looked at him, along with Luca. Even Isabella looked at him as though he had lost his mind. Dante felt all their gazes. He’d just defended her in front of the entire room.
Marco’s brow lifted. “Interesting.” Dante gave him a look that promised violence, and Marco almost smiled.
Luca interrupted. “What about the key?” Dante pulled it from his pocket, and Elena’s eyes followed it. Luca held out his hand, and Dante hesitated just long enough for Luca to notice.
“Dante,” Luca warned. He handed it over, and Luca studied the number stamped into the metal. “I need you to look into this, Marco.”
Marco took a photo. “I’ll run it now.”
Elena stepped forward. “That belongs to me.”
Luca looked at her. “It belonged to your father.”
“And he left it to me,” she said.
“Which means he wanted you to find something,” Luca said.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And now people are trying to kill you for it.” Elena went silent, and Luca’s tone softened slightly.
“Let us figure out what it opens.” She looked at Isabella, and her cousin nodded at her.
Reluctantly, Elena backed down. Dante watched the exchange.
That was trust—family trust. It was something he understood, and something he rarely saw outside the Camorras.
Luca looked at Dante. “You stay with her.”
The room went quiet again, and Dante’s gaze narrowed. “For how long?”
“Until this is finished,” Luca said.
Elena’s head snapped toward Luca. “I can take care of myself.”
Luca ignored her, but Dante didn’t. He looked at her, and she looked furious. “You heard him,” Dante said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I heard him.” Marco coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Dante glared at him.
Elena folded her arms. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You’re right,” Dante agreed. She blinked at him, and he continued. “You need a bodyguard.”
“I don’t need either,” she hissed.
“You’ve been shot at twice,” he reminded.
“Once,” she countered.
“The apartment shooter counts,” he insisted.
“He shot at you,” she said.
“He was there for you,” he said.
“You don’t know that,” Elena spat.
Dante stepped closer to her. “I do.”
Her chin lifted. “How do you know?”
“Because if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”
Elena scoffed. “You’re an arrogant ass.”
“That’s accurate,” Dante said. Isabella’s lips twitched, and Luca looked tired already, but Dante didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving Elena alone—not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow. Not until he knew who was hunting her, and maybe not even then. That thought landed harder than it should have.
Elena looked at him. “What exactly does staying with me mean?”
Dante held her gaze. “It means where you go, I go.”
“No,” she said. “I need privacy.”
“You’ve had privacy, yet people keep trying to kill you.” Her mouth fell open, and Marco laughed outright. Luca looked away, probably hiding a smile. Dante didn’t smile because he meant every word.
Elena glared. “You’re impossible.” Her expression said she wanted to throw something at him. He almost hoped she did. It would mean she was comfortable enough to forget she was in danger.
Luca stepped between them before it got worse. “Enough.” Dante looked over, and Luca’s expression had changed to serious again. “Marco found something.”
Marco turned the laptop around, and a transfer screen filled the display. Dante stepped closer. “What the hell is that?”
Marco pointed to a routing number. “The fifty thousand found on the body came from one of Elena’s ghost accounts.” Elena went pale, and Dante’s stomach dropped.
“Was it the same account?” Dante asked.
“No.” Marco pulled up another. “A second one.”
Dante stared at the screen. “How many are there?”
Marco’s face was grim. “Seven.” Elena swayed slightly, and Dante moved automatically. His hand went to her waist, and she grabbed his arm. This time, neither of them moved away. There were seven accounts, seven trails, and seven chances to frame her.
Marco kept talking. “And they all opened after her father died.” Dante’s grip tightened around her. That changed everything.
Luca’s voice went cold. “Someone built her identity into the network.”
“Exactly,” Marco said.
Elena looked at Dante. “What does that mean?”
He hated the answer, but she deserved the truth. “It means this didn’t start recently.”
Her face drained of color. “How long has it been going on?”
Marco answered. “Long enough that whoever did this planned everything years ago.” Dante felt Elena’s fingers tighten around his sleeve, and he looked down at her.
He saw fear looking back at him—real fear, and something inside him snapped into place.
It was a decision he made—not Luca, and not the Camorra family.
It was his alone. Whoever had spent years building a trap around Elena Romano had made one mistake.
They had waited too long to close it, because now Dante was standing inside it with her, and he was not the kind of man who let anyone take what he was protecting. Not ever.
Dante had spent most of his life trusting instincts over evidence. Evidence could be planted, numbers could be manipulated, and witnesses could lie, but instinct was harder to fake. And every instinct he had was telling him Elena Romano was in more danger than any of them understood.
He stood at the far end of Luca’s study, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the seven accounts Marco had pulled up on the laptop.
There were seven accounts, all opened after Elena’s father died, all carrying her name, her information, her forged signature, and at least one tied directly to the money found on a dead man.
Someone hadn’t just framed her. They had built her into the foundation of whatever operation they were running.
They had years of planning, and years of patience that made Dante uneasy in a way bullets never did.
Bullets were simple. You saw the gun, you found the shooter, and you ended the threat.
But this was a fucking maze, and Elena was standing right in the middle of it.
Dante’s gaze shifted to her. She sat beside Isabella now, pale but composed, hands clasped tightly in her lap—too tightly. Her knuckles had gone white, and Dante noticed that too. He noticed everything about her, but that was a problem for another day.
Marco clicked through another file. “These aren’t random accounts,” he said.
Luca stood behind him. “What are they?”
“Layers,” Marco said. Dante’s brow furrowed, and Marco pointed toward the screen. “Money comes in here, gets broken apart, moves through these three accounts, then merges again overseas.”
“Laundering,” Isabella said quietly.
Marco nodded. “Professional laundering.”
Elena looked at him. “My father used to do that?” Marco hesitated, and Dante immediately caught it—so did Elena. “What?” she asked.
Marco leaned back. “I’m not saying he did.”
“What are you saying then?” she asked.
“Whoever built this system knew how financial investigations work,” Marco said.
Elena’s face tightened. “My father did.” Dante watched her closely. She wasn’t defending him blindly now. She was thinking, and that was good. Painful, maybe, but good.
Marco continued. “They knew what would trigger scrutiny and what wouldn’t. They knew how much money could move without drawing attention. They knew which jurisdictions wouldn’t cooperate.”
Luca’s expression darkened. “You’re saying whoever set this up had inside knowledge.”
“I’m saying they either worked in finance, law enforcement, banking—or had access to someone who did.”
Dante looked at Elena. “Did your father ever work with anyone like that?”
She shook her head. “No one that I knew of.”
“That phrase is getting old,” Dante said.
Her eyes flashed. “Sorry, my father didn’t provide me with a criminal directory before he died.” Isabella winced, and Luca looked at Dante, but he didn’t look away from Elena. He should have backed off, but he didn’t.
“You want answers or comfort?” Dante asked.
Her jaw tightened. “Answers.”
“Then stop getting defensive every time we ask the ugly questions,” Dante insisted.
Elena stood. “So what do you want me to say? That maybe my father was a criminal? Fine. Maybe he was. Maybe he lied to me my entire life. Maybe everything I thought I knew about him was bullshit.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Dante immediately regretted pushing.
He hated that too. He had spent years saying things meant to hurt other people, and never once cared afterward.
Now, one break in Elena’s voice had him wanting to take the words back. Fuck.
She turned away, and Isabella started to stand. Dante moved first. “Elena.”