Elena #3
She hated that he was right, but hated it more that part of her was relieved. “Where am I supposed to go?”
His answer came immediately. “With me.”
Elena stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said.
“To Luca’s?” she asked.
“No, not to Luca’s,” he said.
Her pulse jumped. “Then where?”
Dante held her gaze. “My house.” Every instinct told her that was a horrible idea, not because she thought Dante would hurt her.
That was the problem. She was starting to believe he wouldn’t, and Elena had the terrible feeling that being alone with Dante Vitale might be more dangerous to her than any bullet.
“My house.” Two words—that was all Dante said. Two words that should have been simple. Instead, Elena stood in the middle of her destroyed bedroom, staring at him like he’d suggested they get married.
“Your house?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said.
“No, I can’t,” she insisted.
Dante’s expression didn’t change. “Wasn’t a question.”
“And my answer is still no,” she said. He stared at her and Elena stared right back at him. She was getting surprisingly good at that.
“I can stay with Luca and Isabella,” she said.
“No,” he breathed.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because whoever is doing this has already connected the Camorra and Romano families. Luca’s home is the first place they’ll expect you to go,” Dante said.
“You took me there last night,” she pointed out.
“Because I needed somewhere secure,” he explained.
“And now it suddenly isn’t safe?” she asked.
“It’s secure.” Dante’s jaw tightened. “It’s also where Isabella lives.”
Elena understood immediately. “You think I put her in danger.”
“I think whoever is hunting you puts everyone around you in danger.” That hurt, but she tried not to let it show. Dante seemed to see it anyway. “That came out wrong.”
“No, it didn’t,” she whispered.
“Elena.” He reached for her, and she pulled her arm away from him.
“It’s fine,” she spat.
“It’s not what I meant,” he said.
“You meant exactly what you said. People around me are in danger.” She looked at the ruined bedroom and her clothes scattered across the floor.
She looked at the broken furniture and at the place where a man had died while searching for something connected to her father.
Dante was right, and that was the worst part.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “So maybe I shouldn’t be around anyone.”
Dante went very still, and then he crossed the room. “No.”
She looked up. “No, what?”
“You don’t get to do that,” he said.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Turn this into your fault,” he said. His voice had softened, but somehow that made the words hit harder. “Someone spent years setting you up. They stole your identity. Opened accounts in your name. Put a target on your back. None of that happened because of something you did.”
Elena swallowed. “You don’t know that.”
“I know enough,” he said.
“You’ve known me for a day,” she reminded.
“And in that day, you’ve had someone shoot at you, another man tear apart your apartment looking for something your father left behind, and a picture show up with tomorrow’s date written on it.” His dark eyes held hers. “I'm starting to know plenty.”
Elena hated the sting behind her eyes. She looked away before he could see it, but knew that it was too late. Dante reached for her. She thought he might touch her face, but instead, his hand settled on her uninjured shoulder—warm, heavy, and steady.
“You’re coming with me.” For once, the command didn’t make her want to fight. That probably should have worried her, but it didn’t.
“Is your house safe?” she asked.
“Yes,” he assured.
“How safe?” she asked.
“No one knows where I live,” he said.
She frowned. “No one?”
“Just Luca,” he said.
“You do know that Luca counts as someone, right?” she asked.
“He’s the only one who knows where my house is,” he said.
That surprised her. “What about your family?”
Something shuttered behind his eyes. “I don’t have one.” The answer was flat and final. She knew that he had closed the door on answering any more of her questions. Elena wanted to ask, but she didn’t.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Dante frowned. “Okay?”
“I’ll go to your house,” she said.
He stared at her suspiciously. “What did you expect?”
“You agreed too easily,” he said. “I guess it just took me by surprise.”
She rolled her eyes. “You complain when I argue. Now you’re complaining because I agreed with you?”
“I don’t trust easily,” he admitted.
“You have serious issues,” she breathed.
“I’m aware.” She almost smiled before looking around her bedroom again.
“I need clothes,” she said.
“No,” he breathed.
She turned. “Excuse me?”
“Anything you need, we buy.”
“I’m not abandoning everything I own,” she insisted.
“Someone went through everything you own,” he reminded.
“So, it’s still my stuff,” she said.
“So I don’t know what they left behind. They might have put a tracker on your clothing, and we can’t risk that.”
Elena went still. “A tracker?”
“Maybe.” Her stomach turned, and Dante continued. “Could be a listening device. Could be something else. I’m not taking chances.”
“Why would they do that to my clothes?” she asked. “Can I take my laptop?”
“No, that definitely stays here,” he said.
“What about my toothbrush?”
Dante looked at her. “Seriously?”
“It’s a perfectly good toothbrush,” she challenged.
“I’ll buy you another fucking toothbrush.”
“You’re very wasteful,” she chided.
“And you’re arguing about dental hygiene while someone is trying to murder you.”
“When you put it that way—”
“I am,” he said.
She sighed. “Fine.”
Dante motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.
” Elena took one last look around. Her gaze landed on the photograph of her father.
The frame was broken, but the picture itself was intact.
She walked over and pulled it free. Dante didn’t tell her to leave it.
He simply watched as she slipped it into her coat pocket.
“Nonnegotiable,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to argue,” he said.
“That might be a first,” she murmured.
“Don’t get used to it.” She smiled as she followed him out of the room. Arguing with Dante was quickly becoming her favorite pastime.
Dante’s house was not what Elena expected.
She wasn’t sure what she’d imagined. Something dark, maybe, or cold.
Maybe she expected a fortress filled with guns and absolutely no personality.
There were definitely guns. She spotted three before she made it through the front door, but the rest surprised her.
The house sat far enough outside the city to feel private without being isolated.
Stone and dark wood covered the exterior, with trees surrounding most of the property.
Inside, everything was clean and masculine, but not sterile.
A leather couch faced a large fireplace.
Books filled shelves along one wall—actual books. They weren’t decorative ones, either.
Elena stopped, and Dante nearly walked into her. “What’s wrong?”
“You read?”
His expression went blank. “No, I buy books because I like paying someone to dust them.”
She smiled. “You don’t look like a reader.”
“What does a reader look like?” he asked.
“Less homicidal,” she teased.
“That’s disappointing because I was going for approachable,” he said. She laughed, and Dante stared at her. That seemed to happen every time she laughed, like the sound surprised him.
Elena cleared her throat. “Nice house.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“It’s very—” She looked around. “Normal.”
His brow lifted. “You sound disappointed.”
“I expected a dungeon,” she admitted.
“I keep that downstairs,” he said. Elena’s eyes widened, and Dante stared at her for two seconds before his mouth curved.
“You’re joking,” she said.
“Maybe,” he drawled.
“Oh, my God.” He actually chuckled, and the sound stopped her cold.
Dante Vitale laughed. It was low and rough and completely unfair because it made him look less like the man who killed people for Luca Camorra and more like a man she might have noticed across a crowded room.
He looked like a man she might have wanted to know, and that was a dangerous thought, but she pushed it away.
“The guest room is upstairs,” he said.
“Am I allowed to know where?” she asked.
“End of the hall.”
“And where is your room?” she questioned.
“Across from yours.” Of course he was.
“Is there a bathroom?” she asked.
“It’s attached to your room,” he said.
“The kitchen is through there,” he said, pointing. “I think I can find that one.”
“Good, then we’re making progress,” he teased. She followed him upstairs. The guest room was large—too large for someone who claimed no one knew where he lived. A queen-sized bed sat against one wall. There was a dresser, a chair near the window, and another small bookshelf.
Elena walked inside. “It’s nice.”
“You sound surprised again,” he said.
“I’m adjusting my expectations,” she teased.
“Try lowering them.” She turned and found Dante leaning against the doorframe. He looked tired—really tired. She hadn’t noticed before, probably because he carried exhaustion the same way he carried everything else—like it wasn’t allowed to affect him.
“When did you last sleep?” she asked.
“Last night,” he lied.
“In a chair,” she said.
“I slept,” he said.
“For what? Twenty minutes?” she asked.
“That was enough.”
She frowned. “You should sleep.” His expression changed. Not much, but enough.
“I’m not leaving you unprotected,” he said.
“We’re in your secret house that only Luca knows about,” she reminded.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We are.”
“So lock the doors and go to bed,” she said.
“No, it’s not safe,” he said.
“Dante.” She let out the breath that she was holding. “You’re impossible.”
“So I've heard.”
She sighed. “Do you have coffee?”
“In the kitchen,” he said.
“Good,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because apparently neither of us is sleeping.”
He watched her walk past him. “Elena.”
She stopped. “What?”
“Stay inside the house,” he ordered.
She looked around dramatically. “I was planning on taking a walk through the woods alone.”
“Not funny,” he grumbled.
“It was a little funny.” His stare said otherwise. “Fine, I’ll stay inside.”