Dante #2
“I said no one could know that we’re here,” Dante said.
“I’m not no one,” Marco said.
Dante holstered his weapon. “Debatable.”
Marco looked at Elena. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said.
“No,” Dante answered simultaneously.
Elena glared at him. “I am perfectly fine.”
“You were just crouched behind a desk because we thought someone was coming to kill you,” he reminded.
“And now I'm standing here talking to you,” she said.
Marco looked between them. “Did something happen between you two?”
“No,” Dante said.
“Yes,” Elena said.
Dante slowly turned toward her, and Marco grinned. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll bury you in one of these units,” Dante said.
Marco held up both hands. “Let’s discuss business.”
“Good choice,” Dante growled.
His expression sobered. “I found something on Crimson Holdings.”
Elena stepped closer. “What was it?”
Marco pulled out his phone. “The company wasn't created by your father.”
“Who created it?” she asked.
“That’s where it gets weird,” Marco said.
“Everything about this is weird,” Elena said.
“That’s fair.” Marco looked at Dante. “It was established through a trust.”
Dante’s stomach tightened. “What trust?”
“Elena's,” Marco said.
Elena shook her head. “I don't have a trust.”
“You do,” Marco insisted.
“No, I would know,” she said.
“Apparently, you wouldn't.” Dante shot Marco a warning look, and he softened his tone. “It was created the day you were born. Your father was listed as administrator until you turned twenty-five.”
Elena looked sick. “And then?”
Marco hesitated. “Control transferred to you.”
“No, it didn't,” she said.
“Legally, it did,” Marco countered.
“I never signed anything,” Elena said.
“That’s the problem,” Marco pointed out.
Dante already knew. “Was it forged?”
Marco nodded. “Same signature pattern as the accounts.” Elena leaned against the desk, and Dante moved toward her automatically.
She held up a hand. “I’m okay.” He stopped before reaching her. “What does the trust own?” she asked.
Marco looked at Dante, and he didn't like that look. “Just say it.”
“Crimson Holdings is the umbrella.”
“For what?” Elena asked.
“Companies, properties, accounts, and investments,” Marco said.
“How much are we talking?” Dante asked.
Marco hesitated again. “Best estimate?”
“Yes.”
“North of eighty million,” Marco breathed.
Elena laughed, not because anything was funny. Dante knew that sound—she was in shock. “You're telling me I'm worth eighty million dollars?”
“On paper, yes,” Marco said.
“And in reality?” she asked.
Marco looked at her. “We don't know.” Dante knew—at least part of it. He knew enough to understand why someone wanted Elena alive, and why they might kill her once she gave them whatever they needed.
“We're leaving,” Dante said.
Elena looked at him. “We just got here.”
“And now we know what they took,” he said.
“We haven't searched anything else,” Elena argued.
“Marco can search the unit,” Dante insisted.
Marco frowned. “I can?”
“Yes,” Dante said.
“What will you be doing?” Marco challenged.
“Taking Elena somewhere secure,” Dante said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought your house was secure.”
“It is,” he breathed.
“Then why do we need to go somewhere else?” she asked.
He wanted to tell her that he needed a place to think, because his control was fraying.
He needed to figure out how eighty million dollars had just been attached to Elena’s name.
Or why somebody had been planning this since the day she was born.
But most of all, he needed to figure out what to do about the kiss that they shared, but that last part had no place in his reasoning. Nonetheless, it was there anyway.
“We’ll go back to my house,” he said. Elena studied him, and then nodded.
They barely spoke on the drive back. Dante preferred it that way because silence gave him room to think.
Unfortunately, all he thought about was her.
Elena sat beside him, staring out the window.
He knew that she was thinking about the eighty million dollars that sat in the trust for her.
Her dead father had hidden secrets in a missing ledger.
All that was enough to drive anyone over the edge.
Dante could practically feel her mind spinning.
He wanted to fix it for her, and that was the problem, because Dante didn't fix people—he eliminated problems. Elena made him want to do both.
When they reached his house, she went inside first. Dante secured the property and checked every room, every window, and every lock. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Elena was standing by the island.
“I’ve been waiting,” she said.
“For what?” he asked.
She stared at him. “For you.” That was a bad answer—a very fucking bad answer.
“Elena,” he growled in warning.
“You've been avoiding me since we kissed,” she assessed.
“I've been busy keeping you alive,” he said.
“I’m sure that you can do both, Dante,” she insisted.
His jaw tightened. “Both what?”
“Protect me and admit that the kiss happened,” she said.
“I know it happened,” he said.
“Do you regret it?” she asked. There it was—the question he'd been avoiding.
“No.” Her expression shifted, and Dante continued before he lost his nerve. “I regret the timing.”
“That's not the same thing,” she insisted.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed.
“Then why did you tell me it shouldn't have happened?” she asked.
“Because you're under my protection.”
“So, what does that have to do with anything?” she asked.
“So I'm responsible for you,” he said.
Her eyes flashed. “I'm not a child.”
“I fucking know that,” he growled. The words came out harder than he intended, and her breath caught. Dante dragged his hand over his face.
“You're scared. Your life has been ripped apart in less than twenty-four hours. I'm supposed to protect you, not take advantage of you.”
Elena stared at him. “Do I look like I don't know what I want?”
“No,” he said.
“Then stop deciding things for me,” she insisted.
“Elena.” She crossed the room, and Dante didn't move. That was his first mistake. She stopped directly in front of him.
“Tell me you don't want me,” she said. His entire body tightened. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“That's not the issue,” Dante breathed. Wanting her had become as easy as breathing since that kiss, but there was no way that he’d tell her that.
“Tell me what the issue is then,” she insisted.
“No,” he whispered.
“Why not?” she asked. “I mean, if you want me, then what’s the hang-up? Why not just give in to what we both want?” she asked.
“Because it would be a lie.” Her lips parted. That was the closest to the truth that he could get without telling her everything. Because if he was being honest, he’d tell her that he should have stopped himself from kissing her, but he hadn’t, and now he was going to make the same mistake again.
His hand went to her waist. “Elena, if we cross this line, I don't know how to uncross it.”
“Maybe I don't want to uncross it, Dante,” she breathed, looking up at him. That destroyed what was left of his restraint. He kissed her and Elena met him without hesitation. There was no surprise this time, and no uncertainty.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as Dante pulled her against him.
The kiss turned hungry almost immediately.
Everything he'd held back in the kitchen earlier came roaring to the surface—want, fear, and even possession.
He also felt something dangerously close to need, and he never needed anyone before.
He had wanted women, but never needed them, as he did with Elena.
She pulled back just enough to breathe. “Still think this is a mistake?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly.
She smiled against his mouth. “Good.” Dante laughed and kissed her again.
He lifted her, and she wrapped herself around him as naturally as if she'd done it a hundred times.
He carried her upstairs, not to the guest room, but to his room.
He stopped beside the bed, giving her one last chance to turn him away.
He was holding on loosely to one last piece of control.
Dante looked at her. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered.
Elena reached for him instead. “I don't want you to stop.” That was all he needed. He had given her the chance to change her mind, and she didn’t. He kissed her again, slower this time, giving her every chance to change her mind as they undressed each other between kisses and whispered curses.
There was nothing gentle about the need between them, but Dante refused to rush her.
Not after everything she had endured. Not when this was the first decision in days that belonged completely to her.
He watched her face, listened when she pulled him closer, and stopped when she needed him to give her a few seconds to catch her breath.
And when Elena finally whispered his name and dragged him back to her, Dante stopped fighting what he wanted.
All the tension that had been building since the moment she'd challenged him—messy, desperate, intimate in a way Dante hadn't expected had slipped away, leaving just the two of them.
That was what nearly undid him. Not the desire or the thought of having her beneath him, but the way that she looked at him with so much trust in her eyes.
Elena trusted him even after the threats, the suspicion, and the orders that he had barked at her.
She trusted him after seeing exactly what kind of man he was.
She trusted him enough to be vulnerable with him, and Dante had no fucking idea what to do with that.
Raw need consumed him as he kissed his way down her bare body. “This is going to be fast, honey,” he said. “I need you too much. I promise to make it better for you next time.”
“I want you too, Dante,” she whispered. “I just want you to make me yours,” she said. That was all he needed to hear from her. He pulled her up against his body, loving the way that she straddled his cock, just before he sank into her hot pussy.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said, as she moaned out his name.