Chapter 6
DANTE
I hear the sound of the lock clicking while I’m in the bathroom running warm water over a cloth.
The sound cuts through the running water, too loud in the quiet intimacy we just shared, and something about it feels wrong.
I pause for a second to listen, and when I don’t hear anything, I turn off the water immediately because my instincts never lie.
“Hey, what’s—”
The words die in my throat the instant I step out of the bathroom. The room is empty. She’s gone.
The bed where she was lying just seconds ago shows nothing but rumpled sheets and the mark of where her body was pressed against mine. Her clothes and mask are gone too. The window across the room is cracked open, cold air spilling in, enough for someone her size to slip through.
The warm cloth is still in my hand and I stand there staring at it like an idiot, trying to process what just happened.
She ran.
I cross to where my jacket landed on the floor earlier and that’s when understanding hits me hard.
The sleeve is pulled back and twisted in a way that would have left my shoulder completely exposed when I turned toward the bathroom.
The scar would have been right there in the light spilling from the doorway, vivid for her to see.
My father’s saint medallion burned into my skin when I was twelve years old.
He held my shoulder over a candle flame while three of his men watched, teaching me what happens when you show weakness in this family.
I’ve carried that mark for sixteen years and never bothered hiding it because most people have no idea what it means.
But she knows. She must have seen it earlier tonight when I took off my jacket in Antonio’s room. And now she’s seen it again and put the pieces together.
She knows exactly who I am.
I heard her moving around while I was in the bathroom. The rustle of fabric, footsteps moving across the floor. I thought she was just getting dressed, maybe getting ready to use the bathroom after me.
Then I heard that lock click—she must have unlocked the door as a decoy, and by the time I shut off the water and came out, she was already gone through the window.
She’s smart enough to unlock the door first to distract me then escape the way I wouldn’t expect.
I move to the window and look down at the fire escape. It’s empty. The alley below is dark and deserted. She’s already gone, probably running barefoot through the streets, putting as much distance between us as possible.
Fuck, I don’t even know what to think.
I pull out my phone and dial Marco before I can second-guess myself.
He answers on the second ring. “Boss?”
“I need a location. A girl. Early twenties, dark hair, green eyes, about five-four. She was at the Marchetti mansion tonight. Merchandise. Find her. Now.”
“On it.”
The line goes dead. No questions or hesitation. Just immediate compliance the way it should be.
I drop the cloth and grab my shirt off the floor, yanking it on with movements that are rougher than necessary. I button it wrong the first time and have to start over because my hands won’t cooperate the way they should.
The room still smells like her. That perfume she was wearing mixed with sweat and sex and something uniquely her that I can’t name.
The sheets are still warm where she was pressed against me just minutes ago.
I can still feel her hands on my chest, her nails raking down my back, the way she said “please” like it was the only word in the world that mattered.
I force the memories down and focus on what needs to happen next.
She’s a witness. She saw my face. She watched me kill Antonio. She knows who I am and what I’ve done. In my world, there’s only one way this ends.
I should have killed her in Antonio’s office. Should have put a bullet in her the second I confirmed Antonio was dead. Clean. Simple. The way it’s supposed to be done.
But I didn’t.
And then I compounded that mistake by following her to that club. By letting her pull me onto the dance floor. By taking her to that room and crossing a line I never should have crossed. Now it’s dawned on me that I could never kill her. Not even if I wanted to.
My phone rings fifteen minutes later.
“Talk to me.”
“Nothing yet, boss. She didn’t go home—checked her last known address and the roommate hasn’t seen her. No hospital admissions under her name. No police reports filed. Still searching.”
“Expand the radius. Check shelters, hotels, bus stations. She’s on foot and barefoot. She can’t have gone far.”
“Understood.”
I hang up and leave the room, heading back down into the club. The music is still pounding, people still dancing and drinking like the world outside doesn’t exist. I push through the crowd and out into the night air that hits cold and sharp against my skin.
I start walking with no real destination in mind. Just moving because standing still means thinking and thinking means acknowledging the magnitude of what I just did.
Hours pass.
Marco calls with updates that lead nowhere. She’s vanished, just like that. No credit card usage. No phone activity. No sightings. It’s like she disappeared into thin air the moment she hit that alley.
“Boss, I’m telling you, she’s a ghost. Either she’s dead in a ditch somewhere or she ran. Left the city entirely.”
“Keep looking.”
But hours turn into days, and there’s still nothing. No trace. No trail. No evidence she even existed except for the memory of green eyes and the taste of her still lingering on my tongue.
I throw resources at the search that should be going elsewhere. Pull in favors. Lean on contacts. Check every lead, every rumor, every possible sighting that comes through while still remaining discreet because my father can’t find out.
But still nothing.
She’s gone. Truly gone. She must have been really scared that night.
And she didn’t even know that the movement I let her touch me, I knew I wasn’t going to kill her.
The meeting happens a week after the hit on Antonio’s mansion. My father sits behind his desk in the study that smells like cigars and old money, his eyes cold as he listens to my report.
“So Antonio Marchetti is dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the mansion?”
“Burned to the ground. My men torched it after we cleared out. Nothing left but ashes.”
“Good.” He leans back in his chair, satisfaction crossing his features. “And witnesses?”
The lie comes easily. “None. We eliminated everyone in the building. Anyone who saw anything is dead.”
He nods slowly. “The other families will know we did this. Antonio did not have so many enemies for them not to suspect us.”
“Let them suspect. They can’t prove shit.”
“And the ledger? Did you find Antonio’s famous insurance policy?”
“If it existed, it burned with everything else. We tore that place apart before we torched it. There was nothing.”
Another lie. But this one is easier because my men did torch the building. Whatever Antonio hid in that mansion is ash now, including any evidence that might have led to the ledger.
“Pity.” My father’s expression doesn’t change. “That ledger would have been useful. But Antonio’s death sends a message to the other families regardless. We’re not to be messed with.”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral even though relief floods through me.
“You did well, Dante. This was a clean operation. No witnesses. No evidence. No loose ends.”
If only he knew.
“However.” He crosses his fingers. “I’m hearing rumors that you’re planning something. Building your own operation separate from the family business.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “I am.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. Most men would be terrified to tell their father they’re breaking away. Especially a father like mine. But I’m not most men, and we both know it.
“I’ve served the family for sixteen years. Done every job you’ve asked without question. But I’m done being your enforcer. I’m building my own empire.”
“And you think I’ll just let you walk away?”
“I think you’re smart enough to know that trying to stop me would cost you more than it’s worth. I’m not taking anything that belongs to the family. I’m not moving into your territories. I’m building something separate. Something mine.”
My father studies me for a long moment. Calculating and weighing options. Deciding whether I’m worth the fight.
“Fine.” His tone is irritated but he knows better than to stop me. “But understand this. The moment you become a liability to this family, the moment your empire threatens ours, all bets are off.”
“Understood.”
“Then we’re done here.”
I leave his office with the weight of that conversation sitting heavy on my chest. I’ve just declared my independence from the family that raised me, trained me, made me into what I am.
And all I can think about is a girl with green eyes who disappeared into the night.
Weeks become months. The search for her continues in the background while I build my empire from the ground up. New territory. New soldiers. New operations that have nothing to do with my father’s business.
I’m ruthless in my expansion. Every lesson my father taught me, I use to carve out my own space in New York’s underworld. Within six months, I’ve established myself as a power separate from the family. Within a year, I’m someone the other families have to respect.
But through it all, she’s there. In the back of my mind. In every dark-haired woman I see in a crowd. In every set of green eyes that makes my pulse spike for half a second before I realize it’s not her.
Two years pass. Then three.
My empire grows. My reputation solidifies. I become the man everyone fears and no one crosses. The enforcer turned boss who built something from nothing. But I’m still looking for her.
Four years. Five.
Because I can’t let it go. Can’t stop searching. Can’t accept that she’s just gone.
I tell myself it’s because she’s unfinished business. Because she’s a witness who could expose everything with a single conversation to the right people. Because loose ends are dangerous in this life and she’s the loosest end I’ve ever left.
But that’s a big lie.
Because somewhere in those years of searching, the mission changed. It stopped being about eliminating a threat and became something else entirely. An obsession. A need that I can’t name and don’t want to own up to.
I need to find her. Need to see those green eyes again. Need to know if she’s real or if I imagined the whole thing in some fever dream of blood and violence.
Years of building an empire with her ghost haunting every step. Years of dead ends and false leads. Years of searching for a woman whose name I don’t even know.
My men think I’ve forgotten. Think the search is just routine surveillance at this point, something to keep junior soldiers busy.
They’re wrong. I still remember. Matter of fact, Dante Moretti never forgets.
Not a debt. Not an enemy. Not a face.
And especially not the one woman he wants more than his next breath.
She thinks she’s safe. Thinks each added year is long enough. Thinks I’ve moved on to bigger problems, more important targets. She’s wrong about all of that.
Because when I finally find her—and I will find her—she’s going to learn something that everyone in this world eventually learns.
You can run from Dante Moretti. You can hide. You can disappear for a lifetime. But eventually, I always collect what’s mine.
And that green-eyed girl? She’s been mine since the moment I decided not to pull the trigger.
She just doesn’t know it yet.