Dante
“I don’t brood,” he insisted.
“You absolutely brood,” she said.
“No, I think,” he said.
“Men like you call it thinking because brooding sounds dramatic,” she assessed. He almost smiled—almost.
“Men like me?” he asked.
She walked toward him. “Bossy, armed, and emotionally constipated.”
“That last one feels unnecessary,” he grumbled.
“It’s accurate.” He looked at her, and she smiled. Just like that, something in his chest loosened. He was alive and so was she, and for now, that was enough. No, it was everything.
He reached for her hand. This time, he didn’t hesitate, and Elena let him take it. “Is Isabella okay?” she asked.
“She’s fine,” Dante assured her.
“Is Luca all right?” she asked.
“He’s angry, but he’s fine,” Dante said.
“So everything is normal,” she teased.
“Pretty much.”
She exhaled. “What about the house?”
“Damage was contained to the east wing,” Dante said.
“And no one was hurt?” she asked.
“No, no one was hurt,” Dante said. Relief softened her face, and Dante watched it happen. He was starting to memorize those little shifts. Maybe he already had.
“How’s Marco?” she asked.
“Insufferable,” Dante grumbled.
“So also normal,” she teased.
“Yes.” She leaned against him, and Dante wrapped an arm around her.
For a while, neither spoke. The city was waking around them—cars were passing, garbage trucks had begun their round, and people were going to work.
Life went on as normal around them, and it felt strange standing at the edge of it after everything that had happened.
“Elena,” he breathed.
“Hmm?” she hummed.
“What do you want to do with Crimson Holdings?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “End it.”
“Still?” he asked.
“More than ever.”
He nodded. “And the money?”
She sighed. “That’s harder.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
She gave him a look. “You’ve gotten very reasonable all of a sudden.”
“It’s a temporary condition, I assure you,” he teased.
“I figured.” Dante kissed her forehead.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She was quiet for a moment. “Some of it should go back to the families it came from.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Some of it should go to people hurt by Hale’s organization,” she said.
He nodded. “And the rest?”
She looked at him. “I want to start something in my father’s name.”
Dante went still. “What kind of something?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She shrugged.
“Maybe legal aid. Financial help. Something for families who get trapped in this world and don’t know how to get out.” Dante’s throat tightened. Antonio Romano would have liked that. He couldn’t say it out loud, though—not yet.
Elena squeezed his hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“You hesitated,” she challenged.
“I’m allowed to hesitate,” he said. “It’s been a long day.” She smiled because he was a smartass—a smartass who loved her. That realization no longer scared him.
Three weeks later, the Crimson Accord officially died. Marco handled the corporate nightmare. Luca handled the families, and Elena handled everyone else. Dante mostly handled staying out of her way when she was angry—mostly. He failed often.
The meeting took place at Luca’s estate.
All four original family interests had representatives present—the Romano, Camorra, and Vale families were there.
The Hale seat remained empty, which felt appropriate.
Elena sat at the head of the table, and Dante stayed against the wall behind her.
She hated that. He knew because she had told him at least six times.
“You look like security,” she’d whispered before everyone arrived.
“I am security,” he reminded.
“You should also sit with me,” she ordered.
“No,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Better sightline here.”
She’d narrowed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet—” he started.
“And yet what?” she asked.
He’d leaned down. “You love me.” She glared at him, and he smiled down at her.
As soon as Elena signed the final document, Marco took it from her. “That’s it.” Silence fell across the room.
Elena looked around the table. “The Crimson Accord is dissolved,” she said. There was no celebration, no applause, just finality. For Dante, that felt right. Some things ended quietly.
Luca stood. “The family interests transfer according to the new agreement. No blood heirs. No inherited claims. No bond clauses.”
One of the older Romano men frowned. “This weakens us.”
Elena’s gaze hardened. “No. It makes sure no child is ever used as collateral again.” The man opened his mouth, and Dante shifted against the wall. The guy was smart enough to shut his mouth again. Elena glanced back at Dante, and he gave her a look. She looked amused.
The meeting ended twenty minutes later, and once the room cleared, Marco dropped into a chair. “I never want to see another trust agreement.”
Luca laughed. “That’s literally your job.”
“I’m changing careers,” Marco grumbled.
“To what?” Dante asked.
“Something peaceful,” Marco said.
“You’d last three days,” he said.
“Two,” Elena teased.
Marco looked offended. “Very little faith in me.”
“I have the correct amount of faith in you,” Dante said.
Isabella entered carrying champagne, and Elena looked at the bottle. “What are we celebrating?”
“Freedom,” Isabella said. That shut everyone up. Dante watched Elena, and her expression changed. She was finally free, and she deserved to feel the peace that it brought her.
Isabella poured the champagne, and they raised glasses. Luca looked at Elena. “To your father.”
Her eyes filled, but she smiled. “To my father.”
Dante lifted his glass. “To Elena.”
She turned toward him, and Marco groaned. “Oh, here we go.”
Dante ignored him, but Luca didn’t. “What does that mean?”
“She’s terrifying enough already. Stop encouraging her,” Marco grumbled.
Elena laughed, and Dante wrapped an arm around her waist. “I like to be terrifying.”
“I noticed.” He kissed her. Marco made gagging noises, and Isabella threw a napkin at him. For a few seconds, the room felt like family, not blood, but something better. They were her family by choice, and that meant so much more to her.
Hale took a deal two months later. Dante hated it, but Elena expected him to. “You wanted him dead,” she reminded.
They were in Dante’s kitchen, which was her kitchen now too, although neither of them had officially said that yet.
Her clothes filled half his closet, her coffee replaced his, and her books had begun invading his shelves.
Apparently, that was how cohabitation happened—quietly, and then, all at once.
“I still want him dead,” Dante insisted.
Elena stirred her coffee. “He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“It’s not the same,” he said.
“No.” She looked at him. “But he lost.”
Dante leaned against the counter. “Yeah, but he’s breathing.”
“He lost the empire, his money, and he lost me.” Dante went quiet, and Elena set down her mug. “That was what he wanted most, Dante.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Control.” She stepped closer. “He wanted to decide who I was. Where I belonged. What happened to me.” Her hands settled on his chest. “He doesn’t get to anymore.”
Dante looked down at her. “No, he doesn’t.”
“And neither does anyone else.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like it’s directed at me.”
“It is,” she said.
He sighed. “Thought so.”
She smiled, but then grew serious. “I chose you.” His chest tightened. He still wasn’t used to hearing that; maybe he never would be. Elena lifted onto her toes. “So stop acting like you stole me.”
Dante touched her waist. “I didn’t?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Could've fooled me,” he said.
“I walked into your house willingly,” she insisted.
“Eventually,” he teased.
“I slept in your bed willingly.”
His mouth curved. “Repeatedly.”
“Don’t ruin the moment,” she chided.
“Sorry.”
She blinked up at him. “That was almost sincere.” He gasped, and Elena laughed, and then kissed him.
Dante wrapped his arms around her. He finally understood what the word home meant.
It wasn’t a house or a family name. It wasn’t about loyalty that had been purchased with blood. It was her—Elena was his home now.
Six months later, Dante stood in a cemetery with Elena’s hand in his. Antonio Romano’s grave had fresh flowers on it. Elena placed another bouquet beside them. For a long time, she said nothing, and Dante stayed silent. This was for her, and he’d give her as much time as she needed.
Finally, she crouched. “Crimson Holdings is gone,” she said to her father’s headstone. Dante looked away because the conversation felt too private to watch. Elena continued. “The foundation is approved.” She paused. “We named it after you.”
Dante’s throat tightened. The Antonio Romano Foundation would help families escape organized crime, provide financial assistance, and fund legal representation. Elena had turned eighty million dollars of blood money into something useful. Dante thought Antonio would have appreciated the irony.
“She’s driving me crazy, by the way,” Elena said.
Dante looked at her. “Who is?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Isabella.” He almost laughed. “She says my dad would want to know.” Elena looked back toward the grave. “And Dante is worse.”
“Hey,” he grumbled.
She ignored him. “He thinks I need an armed escort to go grocery shopping.”
“You do,” he insisted.
She smiled. “I’m working on him.”
“Not successfully,” he said.
Elena stood, and her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying—not like before.
The grief was still there, and probably always would be, but it no longer owned her.
She touched the top of the headstone. “I miss you.” Dante’s chest tightened.
Then she whispered, “But I’m okay.” That nearly broke him.
She stepped back, and Dante held out his hand. Elena took it.
They started toward the car, and halfway there, she stopped. “What?”
She looked at him. “You never asked.”
“Asked what?” he said.
“What happens next,” she breathed.
Dante frowned. “With what?”
“With us.” His heart thudded in his chest as he thought about it. Elena had spent her entire life with other people deciding her future. Dante refused to become another man who did that to her.
“I figured you’d tell me what happens next,” he said.
Her expression softened. “How very evolved of you.”
“Don’t spread it around,” he said. “I still have a reputation to keep.”
“I won't.” They started walking again. “I want to stay.”
Dante stopped, and she did too. “With me?” he asked.
“No. With Marco,” she joked. He glared at her, and she laughed. “Yes, with you.”
“For how long?” he asked.
Elena’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of question is that?”
“A specific one,” he said.
She stepped closer. “How about forever?” Dante forgot how to breathe, and Elena smiled. For once, he had nothing to say. No sarcastic answer, no smart comment—nothing. “Dante?”
He reached into his coat, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God,” she breathed as he pulled out the small velvet box he had been carrying for nine days.
“You already had a ring?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said.
“You were waiting to give it to me?” she asked.
“I was waiting for the right time,” he countered.
“You are unbelievable.” He opened the box, and Elena stared at the diamond.
Dante stared at her. “I had a speech planned.”
“What happened to it?” she asked.
“You ruined it by beating me to the punch line,” he said.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” He took the ring from the box and then stopped. For once, he wanted to ask correctly—not give orders or make decisions for her.
“Elena Romano.” Her smile trembled. “I love you.”
“I know,” she breathed.
“You're difficult,” he said.
“So are you,” she countered.
“You argue about everything,” he went on.
“Mostly with you,” she said.
“You never listen,” he insisted.
“I listen. I just don't obey,” she said.
He smiled. “Exactly.” Then his expression softened. “You walked into my life as a suspect.” Her eyes filled. “You became my responsibility.” Her smile widened. “And somehow turned into my everything.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and Dante wiped it away. “I don't want your money.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“I don't want your empire,” he said.
“Good, because I got rid of it,” she teased.
“I just want you.” She drew in a shaky breath. “So I'm asking.” He lowered himself onto one knee, and Elena covered her mouth. Dante looked up at her. “Will you marry me?”
She laughed through tears. “Yes.”
His chest felt like a weight had lifted from it. “Yeah?”
“Yes, Dante.” He slid the ring onto her finger, and it was a perfect fit. Of course it was, because Marco had helped with the size. Dante would deny that until death, though.
Elena pulled him up and kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her. When they finally separated, she looked down at the ring. “My father would have hated how smug you look right now.” Dante glanced toward Antonio’s grave.
“Probably.”
Elena smiled. “No.” Her voice softened. “I think he would've liked you.”
Dante swallowed. “Maybe.”
“He trusted you with me.” That would never stop meaning something to either of them.
Dante kissed her forehead. “He shouldn't have.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I'm keeping you,” he said.
Her expression turned amused. “You really learned nothing about the ownership issue.”
“Absolutely nothing,” he breathed. She laughed, and Dante thought that might be the best sound he had ever heard. They walked toward the car together with no war waiting, no blood debt to pay, and no empire deciding their future. It was just them.
Dante had spent his life believing blood was the strongest vow a person could make.
He’d been wrong. Blood could force loyalty.
Fear could force obedience. Power could force almost anything.
But love only mattered when it was chosen.
Elena had chosen him, and Dante would spend the rest of his life making sure she never regretted it.
The End
What’s coming next from K.L.? You won’t want to miss Sealed in Blood (Crimson Empire Mafia Book 3) coming this November!