He was reminding me he was still out there. Still watching. Still waiting.
I stared at the card and felt rage build in my chest.
Not fear. Not the terror I'd have felt a year ago. Not the helpless panic of someone trapped.
Just pure, white-hot anger.
I was done being scared. Done being a victim. Done letting men like Dante think they could intimidate me.
I'd destroyed my father's empire. I'd exposed Winston to his enemies. I'd influenced national media coverage of the FBI. I'd escaped an arranged marriage and built a new life on my own terms.
I wasn't that scared sixteen-year-old anymore.
Dante wanted to play games? Fine. He could watch all he wanted. But he'd see me thriving. See me fighting. See me refusing to be the victim he'd tried to create.
I pocketed the card and went to find Elio.
He needed to know what had happened. All of it. The articles. The exposure. The card.
And he was going to be furious.
I found Elio in his office at Inferno, staring at his computer screen with an expression like murder.
He looked up when I entered. His eyes were hard. Cold.
"You," he said, voice deadly quiet. "You've been writing articles. Attacking the FBI. Planting stories. All without telling me."
My stomach dropped. He already knew.
"Elio—"
"When were you planning to mention this? Before or after your identity got exposed and you became a public target?" He stood. Moved around the desk toward me. "I just spent the last hour dealing with calls from Sandro asking why Winston Bianchi's son is publicly connected to us. Why journalists are calling the club asking for comments about our 'whistleblower.' Why your name and face are all over the news."
"I was trying to help—"
"Help? You exposed yourself. Made yourself a target. Confirmed publicly that you're working with us." His voice rose. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Yes. I shifted public opinion against the FBI. I made their investigation politically untenable. I helped protect Inferno—"
"By putting yourself in danger!" He was shouting now. Actually shouting. I'd never seen him this angry. "You went behind my back. Took risks you weren't qualified to assess. Made yourself visible to every enemy your father has. To Dante. To—"
"About that." I pulled out the card. Handed it to him.
Elio read it. Went very still.
"When did this arrive?"
"Twenty minutes ago. Courier delivery to Inferno."
"He knows where you are. He's making sure you know he's watching." Elio's jaw clenched. "This is exactly what I wasafraid of. You've made yourself a target. Given people like Dante permission to come after you."
"I'm not afraid of Dante."
"You should be. He's dangerous. Connected. And you just reminded him you exist and where to find you."
"Good. Let him know where I am. Let him know I'm not hiding. I'm done being scared, Elio. Done being the victim. Done letting people like him or my father or anyone else make me feel weak." I met his eyes. "I wrote those articles because you wouldn't let me help any other way. Because I was tired of watching you destroy yourself trying to protect everyone while refusing to accept support."
"So you decided to risk your safety without telling me? Without consulting anyone?"
