Dante #3
She held up a hand. “Don’t.” He stopped. That single word hit harder than it should have. Luca glanced between them, but Dante ignored him. Elena took a breath, and then another. When she turned back, her composure had returned—mostly.
“What do you need from me?” she asked Marco. Dante watched her—strong, stubborn, and still standing. He respected that—probably too much.
Marco turned the laptop toward her. “I need to know every person your father trusted.”
“That could be dozens of people,” she said.
“Start with people who had access to your home, his office, his passwords, his financial records.”
Elena frowned. “He kept everything private.”
“Someone got in,” Marco said. Her face went still. Dante saw the realization hit. It wasn’t someone outside. It was someone close. That was always where betrayal started.
“I can make a list,” she said.
“Do it,” Luca ordered.
Dante pushed away from the wall. “I’ll sit with her.”
Marco’s brows lifted. “You volunteering for paperwork?”
“Don’t get used to it,” Dante said. Marco smirked, but Dante ignored him.
Luca didn’t. “Dante.”
He looked over at his boss. “Kitchen, now.” That tone meant that they were about to have a private conversation. Dante already knew what it would be about, too. He followed Luca out, and the second the study door shut behind them, Luca turned.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Luca spat.
Dante leaned against the kitchen island. “I’m helping.”
“No.” Luca crossed his arms. “You’re getting attached.”
Dante’s expression went cold. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’ve known you too long for you to lie to me,” Luca said.
“She’s under my protection,” Dante said.
“She’s under Camorra protection,” Luca countered.
“Same thing,” Dante mumbled.
Luca stared at him. “No. It isn’t.” Dante’s jaw tightened, and Luca stepped closer.
“You want to protect her because I told you to, fine.” Dante said nothing. “You want to fuck her; that’s your business.” Dante’s eyes narrowed. “But if you start making decisions for this family based on how you feel about her, then we have a problem.”
“I don’t make decisions based on feelings,” Dante insisted.
Luca almost laughed. “You told me no earlier.”
“That was a tactical move,” Dante lied.
“Still calling it that?” Luca asked.
“Yes.” Luca studied him for a long moment, and then his expression shifted. He became less of a boss and more of a brother, and that was somehow worse.
“Dante, I’m not telling you to stay away from her.”
“Good,” Dante breathed. Because he was pretty sure that was something that he couldn’t do.
“I’m telling you to be careful,” Luca said.
“I’m always careful,” Dante said.
“No, you’re controlled.” There was a difference, and Dante knew it, even though he didn’t like hearing it.
Luca continued. “Control works until something matters enough to break it.” Dante’s mind immediately supplied Elena beneath him while bullets ripped through the safehouse.
He remembered her blood on his hands, her fingers gripping his jacket, and her voice shouting his name when shots went off upstairs.
He shoved all of it aside. “She’s a job.” Luca’s expression said he didn’t believe him, but Dante didn’t care. He barely believed himself.
“Fine,” Luca said. “Then do your job.”
“I plan to,” Dante hissed.
“Start by getting some sleep,” Luca ordered.
Dante frowned. “What?”
“You look like shit,” Luca said.
“Thanks,” Dante grumbled, rubbing his hand over his face. He knew that Luca was right, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep while Elena was in danger.
“I mean it,” Luca said.
“I’m fine,” Dante lied.
“Bullshit.” Luca walked toward the refrigerator. “You’ve been awake almost twenty-four hours.”
“I’ve done longer,” Dante said.
“Not while emotionally compromised.”
Dante’s head snapped toward him. “Say that again.”
Luca opened the refrigerator like Dante hadn’t just threatened him. “Go ahead. Hit me.”
Dante glared at him as Luca grabbed a bottle of water. “Then Isabella will kill you.”
Dante snorted. “She’d try.”
“She’d succeed,” Luca said. That was probably true. Luca twisted off the cap. “Take Elena upstairs.”
Dante’s expression hardened. “Where?”
“Guest room,” Luca said.
“No.” Luca froze and then slowly looked at him. Dante swore under his breath.
“No?” Luca asked.
“She shouldn’t be alone,” Dante said, trying to cover his tracks.
“Then sit outside the door,” Luca said.
“I’ll stay in the room,” Dante said. Luca stared at him for a second, and then laughed—actually laughed, and for a second, Dante hated him.
“This isn’t funny,” Dante said.
“It’s fucking hilarious,” Luca countered.
“I’m protecting her,” Dante insisted.
“Sure.” Dante shoved away from the island.
“You know what? Fuck you,” Dante spat.
“Love you too,” Luca said. Dante flipped him off and headed back toward the study. Luca’s voice followed. “Try not to marry her before breakfast.”
Dante stopped, turned, and found Luca grinning back at him. Dante pointed at him. “One more word.”
Luca held up both hands. “I said nothing.” Dante muttered several things under his breath and left.
When he walked back into the study, Elena looked up, and her eyes narrowed immediately. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Dante lied.
“You look angry,” Elena challenged.
“I’m always angry,” Dante admitted.
Marco slid a legal pad toward him. “She started the list.” Dante glanced down at the names on the paper. There were twenty-three so far, mostly family friends, employees, accountants, attorneys, drivers, and housekeepers. One name caught his attention.
Vincenzo Hale
Dante tapped the page. “Who’s this?” Elena went still. It was just a tiny reaction, but he caught it. Dante looked at her. “Elena.”
“He worked with my father,” she said.
“Doing what?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know.”
Dante’s patience thinned. “ Want to try that again?”
She glared at him as Marco typed the name into his laptop. “What kind of relationship did he have with your father?”
Elena hesitated. “They were close.”
“How close?” Dante asked.
“My father trusted him,” she said.
“That’s not what I asked,” Dante said.
She looked at him, and Dante waited her out. “He was like an uncle to me.”
“Is he still alive?” Dante asked.
“I think so,” she said.
“You think so?” he asked.
“He disappeared after my father died,” she admitted. Dante exchanged a look with Marco. Hale was a loose thread.
“What do you mean disappeared?” Marco asked.
“There was no funeral, no forwarding address, no calls—nothing,” Elena said.
Dante’s instincts lit up. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“The night before my father died.”
The room went silent, and Dante leaned forward. “What happened?”
Elena looked uncomfortable now. “They argued.”
“About what?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know.” Dante stared at her, and she sighed. “I was upstairs. I heard shouting.”
“What did you hear?” he asked.
“Bits and pieces,” she said. Elena was only giving him the bare minimum answers, and it was starting to piss him off.
“Give me the pieces,” he growled.
She looked down at the paper. “My father said something about getting out.”
Dante’s pulse ticked up. “Out of what?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What else do you remember?” Dante asked.
“He said my name,” she whispered. Dante froze. She closed her eyes, searching her memory. “He said, ‘She doesn’t belong in this.’” Dante felt something cold settle in his gut. Marco stopped typing, and Luca reappeared in the doorway. Apparently, he’d been listening from the hallway.
“What did Hale say?” Dante asked.
Elena shook her head. “I couldn’t hear everything.”
“Try to remember,” he said.
She opened her eyes. “He said it was already too late.” Dante looked at Luca, and Marco immediately started typing.
Dante sat back in the chair. Vincenzo Hale was close enough to be family, and was gone the day Elena’s father died.
They had been arguing about her dad getting out, and about Elena.
That wasn’t a thread; it was a fucking rope.
Marco suddenly stopped. “I found him.”
Everyone looked over, and Dante stood. “Where?”
Marco frowned at the screen. “According to public records, nowhere.”
“That’s not finding him,” Luca said.
“Wait.” He clicked through something else, and his expression changed.
“What?” Dante asked.
Marco looked up. “Vincenzo Hale died eighteen months ago.”
Elena’s face went pale. “That’s impossible.”
“Why?” Luca asked.
“Because I got a birthday card from him last year,” she said.
Dante went very still. “When?”
“Six months ago,” she breathed.
Luca moved closer. “You’re sure it was him?”
“I recognized his handwriting.”
Dante looked at Marco. “Dead men don’t send cards,” Dante said.
Marco’s fingers moved quickly. “Where’s the card?”
Elena looked toward Dante. “At my apartment.” Of course it was at the apartment they’d just left—the one someone had torn apart.
Dante felt irritation flare. “Did you keep it?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Where?” Her expression changed. Dante knew that look now. She had another secret.
“Elena,” he said.
“It’s hidden,” she said.
“Where?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’ve already given you everything you asked for.”
Dante stared at her. “Are we seriously doing this again?”
“I learned from you taking the key,” she said.
“So did I. How about you just tell me where the card is, and we can stop wasting time?” he asked.
She stood. “I’ll show you.”
“No,” he almost shouted.
Her eyes narrowed. “You said you need it.”
“I do,” he said.
“Then we go back to my apartment,” she said.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“We have to,” she said.
“No, we don’t,” Dante mumbled.
“How else are you going to get it?” Dante opened his mouth, but nothing came out because she was right. He hated when she was right.
Luca sighed. “I’ll send men to get it.”
Elena shook her head. “They won’t find it.”
Luca looked at her. “Why?”
“Because my father taught me where to hide things.” That sentence landed strangely.
“What does that mean?” he asked.