Dante
The problem was what had put that space between them.
One of the Camorras killed your father.
“What?” he growled.
“In my office,” he said.
“You alone?”
“No,” Luca admitted.
“Get alone.” There was another pause, followed by muffled voices and a door closing.
“You have thirty seconds before I decide I don’t like your tone,” Luca growled.
Dante ignored the threat that he heard in his boss’s voice. “Vincenzo Hale called Elena.”
“What?” Luca asked.
“He’s alive,” Dante said.
Luca swore. “What did he say?”
“He said that Elena opened the door her father spent twenty-seven years trying to keep closed,” Dante began.
“The Crimson Empire?” Luca asked.
“Yes.” Dante paced toward the window. “And he told her not to trust the Camorras.” Luca went quiet again, and Dante stopped. “He also said one of us killed her father.”
That landed like a punch. Dante could hear it in the silence. “Who did he say killed her father?” Luca asked.
“He didn’t say,” Dante said.
“That’s convenient,” Luca grumbled. “You believe him?”
Dante looked toward the stairs. “No.” The answer came immediately.
“But she does?” Luca asked.
“I don’t know,” Dante lied. He could see in her eyes that she believed Vincenzo.
“You don’t know?” Luca asked.
“She locked herself upstairs.” Luca made a low sound.
“What?” Dante asked.
“Nothing,” Luca mumbled.
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“It’s just interesting, is all,” Luca said.
Dante’s temper flared. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Luca ignored the warning. “You’re pissed because she doesn’t trust you.”
“I’m pissed because someone is manipulating her,” Dante shouted.
“Same difference,” Luca challenged.
“No, it isn’t,” Dante spat.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Dante gripped the phone tighter. “Do you know anything about Antonio Romano’s death?”
“Only what Isabella told me,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked,” Dante insisted. Luca went silent, and Dante’s instincts sharpened. “Luca.”
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Luca said. Dante closed his eyes because he knew that Luca’s word wasn’t enough to convince Elena.
“Did anyone in the family kill him?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Luca admitted. “My father handled things before I took control that I wasn’t always told about.”
“Your father?” Dante asked.
“Yes,” Luca breathed.
“So there’s a possibility that the family was involved,” Dante assessed.
“There’s always a possibility,” Luca said. Dante hated the answer, mostly because it was true.
“Find out for sure,” Dante ordered.
“I’ll look into it,” Luca assured.
“Not good enough.”
Luca’s voice changed. “Watch yourself.”
Dante didn’t care. “Her father is dead. Hale is alive. Vale died yesterday. Someone has been building financial accounts around Elena since she was born. Now Hale drops the Camorra name into the middle of it and disappears again.”
“I understand the problem,” Luca said.
“Do you?” Dante shouted.
“Yes.”
Dante exhaled hard. “Then tell me something useful.”
Luca went quiet for a moment. “My grandfather kept old ledgers.”
Dante stilled. “What kind of ledgers?”
“Alliance books,” Luca said.
His pulse ticked up. “Where are they?”
“In my family vault,” Luca said.
Dante’s mouth hung open. “Why am I just hearing about this?”
“Because half of them predate both of us,” Luca said.
“Get them,” Dante growled.
“I’m already on my way.” Dante nodded even though Luca couldn’t see him.
“Call me when you find anything.”
“I will,” Luca promised before quickly adding, “and Dante?”
“What?”
“Don’t let Hale separate you from her,” Luca said.
Dante looked toward the stairs. “He already tried.”
“Then don’t help him finish the job.” The line went dead, and Dante lowered the phone. For once, Luca had said something useful. He headed upstairs and stopped outside the bedroom. Dante knocked once, and there was no answer.
“Elena.” Still nothing, so he knocked again. “I’m not leaving until you answer.” Still nothing. His jaw tightened. “Open the door,” he shouted.
“No.” At least she answered—that was progress.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she shouted back.
“That’s unfortunate.” Dante leaned his forehead against the door. This was ridiculous. He negotiated with killers more easily than this. “Elena.”
“What?” she spat.
“Luca doesn’t know who killed your father,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“He told me.” The lock clicked, and the door opened. Elena stood there with her arms crossed.
“That’s your proof?” she asked.
“No, not all of it,” he insisted. She stared him down, and he shook his head. “Okay, yes, that’s my proof.”
“Then don’t call it proof.” Dante stared at her. She’d changed clothes again. His shirt was gone, and he hated that more than he should have.
“Luca said he didn’t kill him.”
“And you believe him?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“Because he’s Luca,” she finished for him.
“Because he’s never lied to me about blood,” Dante insisted.
Her expression tightened. “That’s convenient. You believe him just because you trust him.”
“No. He earned his trust with me,” Dante said. “And that means something. Elena looked away, and Dante stepped closer. “But he also said something else.”
That got her attention. “What?”
“He doesn’t know whether another Camorra killed your father.” Her face changed, and he could see her fear and doubt again—all at once, and Dante hated every bit of it.
“Who could have done it?” she almost whispered.
“We don’t know.”
“Do you think that his father could have done it?” she asked.
“Maybe, but we don’t know for sure,” Dante said.
“Maybe it was someone working for them?” she said.
“Maybe, but his father’s dead, so we can’t ask him, and if someone was ordered to kill your father, no one would say. It’s not how things work in the family,” he said.
She laughed bitterly. “That’s a lot of maybes.”
“I know,” he breathed.
“No, you don’t.” Her voice sharpened. “You still have your family.” Dante went still, and regret crossed her face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine,” he lied.
“No.” She dropped her arms. “I know you said you don’t have a family.” He looked away. Discussing his family had always been dangerous territory for anyone who brought them up. And now was the wrong time to talk about them because he had no intention of opening that door.
“Elena,” he warned.
“What happened to them?” she asked, ignoring his tone.
“Not relevant,” he insisted.
“To you, maybe,” she said.
“They are not part of this,” he spat.
“It’s part of why you trust Luca so much, right?” she guessed.
Dante’s eyes narrowed at her. “You’re good.”
“At what?”
“Finding the wound and digging your fingers into it,” he growled. She flinched, and he immediately regretted saying it. Goddamn her—he was getting tired of regret. Dante stepped inside and shut the door behind him, but didn’t lock it, not wanting to trap her—just giving them privacy.
“My father drank.” Elena went still. Dante hadn’t planned to say it. He hadn’t planned to say any of it, but the words were already there. “He hit my mother.” Her expression softened.
“Dante—” She reached for him, and he pulled his arms back from her.
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “You asked, so now you listen.” She nodded, and he continued. “When I was fifteen, I tried to stop him.” His jaw tightened at the memory. “He broke two of my ribs.” Elena’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and Dante looked away. “I left that night.”
“What happened to your mother?” she asked.
“She wouldn’t come with me.” That still burned, even all these years later. “I slept in cars, alleys, wherever I could safely close my eyes for a few hours.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Then Luca found me.”
Elena frowned. “How did he find you?”
“I tried to steal his wallet.”
That seemed to surprise her. “He caught you?”
“Yeah,” Dante breathed.
“What did he do?”
Dante almost smiled. “He broke my nose.”
Elena stared. “That’s how you became friends?”
“Basically,” he said with a shrug. She laughed despite herself, and he didn’t know how badly he needed to hear her laugh. “He fed me,” Dante continued. “Found me work. Gave me a place to sleep. Later, when his family needed someone who could handle things—"
“You became that someone,” she filled in.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Elena studied him. “So Luca is your family.”
“Yes,” he said, simply, because it was true. That was exactly why Hale’s accusation mattered so much to him.
Elena stepped closer. “And if the Camorras did kill my father?”
Dante knew this question was coming, but he still hated it. “I’ll find out why.” Her expression closed, and he knew that he had given the wrong answer—again. He swore under his breath. “That doesn’t mean I’ll excuse it.”
She looked at him. “Then what does it mean?”
“It means I won’t lie to you,” he promised.
“Even if the truth hurts Luca?” she asked.
Dante held her gaze. “Yes.”
Her face softened a fraction. “Even if it hurts you?” That was harder for him to answer, but he answered anyway.
“Yes.” Elena looked down. Dante crossed the last bit of space between them. “I’m not asking you to trust the Camorra family.” Her eyes lifted to his. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
“That’s not easy,” she whispered.
“I know,” he admitted.
“You defended Luca before you even knew the facts.”
“He earned that much from me, Elena,” Dante said.
“And I haven’t?” she asked.
Dante’s chest tightened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what it sounded like.” He reached for her and stopped himself. Elena seemed to notice. Then, she closed the distance between them and took his hand—just his hand. That simple touch hit him harder than the sex had. “I’m trying,” she said.
Dante looked down at their joined hands. “So am I.”
Her mouth curved faintly. “You’re not very good at it.”
“No,” he breathed, “I’m not.”
“Me either,” she admitted with a smile.
“Good,” he said.
She frowned. “Good?”
“I’d hate to be the only one screwing this up,” he teased. That earned him a real smile, and relief hit him harder than expected.
His phone buzzed, and Elena groaned. Dante pulled it out of his pocket. “Luca.”
“Of course it is,” she drawled.
He answered. “What?”