Elena #2
He sighed. “I hate being in love with you.”
Elena blinked at him, and Marco burst out laughing. Even Luca smiled, and Elena’s anger disappeared. “You what?”
Dante looked irritated with himself. “That came out wrong.”
“No, it didn’t.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “You know what I meant.”
“I absolutely do not,” she insisted.
“Yes, you do,” he grumbled. She smiled because he was an idiot, and she loved him too. Which meant if Hale wanted to use Dante against her, he was going to learn something important—Dante wasn’t her weakness; he was her choice. There was a difference.
At eleven forty-seven, Elena stood inside St. Vincent’s Church—alone.
Technically, Dante would argue otherwise.
He was somewhere behind the walls with Luca’s men.
Marco had cameras set up everywhere, and Luca had shooters positioned outside.
Isabella was safely back at the estate. Every exit was covered, but Elena still felt alone.
The church had been abandoned for years.
Dust coated the pews, moonlight filtered through broken stained glass, and the altar was cracked.
Everything about the place felt dead, which seemed appropriate.
Her father’s letter rested inside her coat.
Not the original, but a copy. Dante had insisted, and for once, she hadn’t argued.
It was eleven fifty-two, and there was no sign of Hale.
He checked his watch minutes later and noted that it was eleven fifty-six, and still, nothing.
At eleven fifty-nine, the side door creaked, and Elena’s heart stopped.
A man stepped inside. He was older, with gray hair, and he wore a dark coat.
She knew right away that it was Vincenzo Hale.
Seeing him hurt more than she expected. He looked almost exactly as she remembered.
He was older, but still the man who had attended birthdays, Christmas dinners, and her father’s funeral.
No, he hadn’t attended the funeral. She realized that now.
He had sent flowers because he was a coward.
“Elena,” Hale said.
She stood straighter. “Vincenzo.”
His eyes swept the church. “You came alone?”
“Yes,” she breathed. It was a lie.
He smiled faintly. “You were always bad at lying.”
Damn. “Maybe I’ve improved.”
“No.” He walked closer. “Your father was terrible at it too.”
Anger flared inside her. “Don’t talk about him.”
“I loved Antonio,” he insisted.
“You had him killed.”
Hale stopped. “Is that what Vitale told you?”
“No.” Elena held his gaze. “You did.”
He sighed. “Your father became a problem.”
“He was your friend,” she shouted.
“He became weak,” Hale said.
Her stomach turned. “He wanted out.”
“He wanted to destroy everything we built,” he insisted.
“Everything you stole,” she countered.
Hale’s eyes sharpened. “So you found the records.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“They are somewhere safe,” she said.
“Give them to me,” he ordered.
“No.” His expression changed, and she saw the real Vincenzo—not her uncle, or her father’s friend, but the monster he’d become. He was a man who wanted control. Hell, he expected it.
“Elena,” he said.
“You built accounts in my name,” she said.
“For you,” he lied.
“You tried to kill me,” she accused.
“For the empire.”
Her stomach twisted. “You really believe that makes sense?”
“You don’t understand what your father created,” he said.
“My father told me to destroy it,” she warned.
Hale went still. “You saw the video.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
His face hardened. “Antonio was a sentimental fool.”
“And you were a greedy bastard.”
He smiled coldly. “You sound like him.”
“Good.” Hale reached inside his coat, and Elena’s heart jumped. Dante had told her exactly what to do. He told her not to wait for the weapon, but to move. She stepped back. “Hale.”
His hand emerged from his jacket without a gun, but holding a phone. He held it up. “Before you decide how brave you are, you should see this.” He turned the screen toward her, and Elena stopped breathing. He was showing her a live video of Luca’s estate. It was in flames.
“Oh, my God.”
Hale smiled. “I told you that they’d be looking in the wrong place.”
Her stomach dropped. “You set the house on fire?”
“Not all of it,” Hale said.
Isabella. Elena’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Where’s Isabella?”
“Hopefully somewhere safe,” Hale said.
Rage tore through her. “You son of a bitch.”
“Now give me the documents,” he ordered. Elena looked toward the shadows, searching for Dante, but she couldn’t see him, and she couldn't signal without exposing him.
Hale stepped closer. “The documents,” he shouted again.
“No.” He reached beneath his coat again, and this time, he pulled out a gun. Elena froze. Hale aimed it at her chest.
“Your father made the same mistake,” he said. “He thought I wouldn't kill family.” Elena’s fear disappeared—enough, but not completely.
“You’re not my family,” she spat.
His expression hardened. “Give me the papers.”
“I don't have them.”
Hale stared at her. “What?”
“You really thought I’d bring the originals with me?” she asked.
“You stupid—” A gunshot exploded. Hale’s weapon flew from his hand, and he screamed. Elena dropped instinctively to the ground as Dante emerged from the shadows with his gun raised. He looked cold, lethal, and terrifying.
“Step away from her,” Dante shouted.
Hale clutched his bleeding hand. “You.”
Dante moved closer. “I’ve been waiting a long fucking time for this.”
Hale laughed through the pain. “I made you who you are today,” Hale said.
Dante’s expression didn't change. “No.”
“You pulled the trigger on Antonio because I told you where to point the gun,” Hale reminded. Elena saw the pain hit him, but he didn't let it control him. She had asked him not to. Dante kept his weapon steady.
“You used me,” Dante spat.
“Yes,” Hale admitted.
“You murdered her father,” Dante said.
Hale smiled. “No, you murdered him.”
Dante’s jaw clenched, and Elena stood. “No.” Both men looked at her, and she stepped beside Dante. “He pulled the trigger.” Her voice shook. “But you loaded the lie that sent him after my father.” Hale’s expression changed, but Elena kept going. “You framed my father. You used Dante. You used me.”
She reached into her coat, and Dante immediately said, “Elena.” She pulled out the copied letter, and Hale stared at it.
“My father knew,” she spat.
“Knew what?” Hale asked.
“He knew what you were,” she said. Hale’s face went pale. “He left everything.” Elena smiled. “Accounts, names, payments, and numerous murders.”
Hale shook his head. “No, you're lying.”
“Marco has all of it,” she said. The color drained from Hale’s face. Elena wanted him to feel the power slipping away from him. She wanted to watch him as everything he'd murdered people for disappeared.
“The Accord is finished,” she said.
“You can’t dissolve it,” he insisted.
“I can. I’m the bondholder.” Hale stared at her and then his gaze shifted toward Dante. Something ugly entered his expression.
“If I kill you, it transfers to me,” he said. Dante fired, just one shot, and Hale collapsed. Elena stared at him. The bullet had hit his leg. It wasn’t fatal, and she could tell that Dante had done that deliberately.
Dante walked toward him. “Try saying that again.” Hale groaned as Dante stood over him with his gun pointed down.
This was it—the moment Elena had known was coming.
Dante wanted to kill him. She could see it.
She could feel it. Part of her wanted it too, God forgive her, but her father’s last request hadn't been revenge. It had been freedom.
“Dante.” He didn’t look at her. “Hale needs to answer for everything.”
“He will,” Dante growled.
“I mean alive.”
His jaw tightened. “Elena.”
“Please, Dante,” she begged. That got him. Dante looked at her, and for one long moment, she saw the war inside him.
He lowered the gun, and Hale laughed weakly. “You’ve become soft.”
Dante kicked the weapon away. “No.” He looked at Elena. “I’m not soft. I’m in love.”
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Hale’s smile disappeared.
Elena frowned. “You called the police?”
Dante nodded. “There was an anonymous evidence dump twenty minutes ago.”
“Let me guess—Marco?” she asked.
“Yep, Marco,” Dante said.
Hale struggled to sit up. “You can't do this.”
Elena walked toward him, and for the first time, she wasn’t afraid. “Yes, I can.”
“You’re destroying your inheritance,” he warned.
“No.” She crouched. “I’m destroying yours.
” Hale stared at her, and Elena stood. Dante came to her side, and she reached for his hand.
He took it. Behind them, footsteps thundered into the church.
The Crimson Empire had been built in blood, but tonight, Elena decided it would end with truth instead.
And for the first time in twenty-seven years, Vincenzo Hale no longer controlled what happened next—she did.