Her chin lifted. “Am I being taken prisoner?” He studied her, noting the steady rise of her chest and the absence of panic.
“No,” he said. “You’re under my protection.” She laughed, and it sounded short and bitter. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be,” he said. “Now, get your coat.”
She slipped her phone into her pocket. “If I refuse?”
Dante stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the threat rolling off him. “You won’t like what happens if you refuse.” Something flickered in her eyes—not fear, but understanding.
“You think I did something,” she said.
Dante met her gaze, unyielding. “I think you know more than you’re willing to say.”
Her voice dropped. “And if I don’t know anything?”
“Then you’ll stay alive long enough for us to find out the truth,” he threatened. Silence fell between them—tight, electric, and dangerous.
Elena reached for her coat. “Fine,” she said. “But understand this.” Dante paused. “I’m not your enemy,” she continued. “And whoever set me up is going to come for me next.”
Dante opened the door, ushering her into the night. “Then it’s a good thing,” he said coldly, “they’ll have to go through me first.”
And for reasons he refused to examine too closely, Dante Vitale knew the truth the moment he crossed the threshold of her apartment. Elena Romano wasn’t his problem--she was his weakness. And in his world, that made her deadly.
Elena
Elena Romano didn’t trust silence, and right now, silence was all she had. The car ride had been too quiet. Dante had insisted on no radio and no conversation—which worked just fine for her. All she had to keep her company was the low hum of the engine and the weight of Dante Vitale’s presence beside her—steady, controlled, and suffocating in a way she couldn’t explain.
He hadn’t looked at her once, not really. Oh, his eyes had flicked her way a few times. Each look was measured and calculated, like she was something to be assessed, not understood. But he hadn’t spoken and hadn’t asked questions. That bothered her more than threats would have, because men like him didn’t stay quiet unless they were waiting for something.
The car slowed, and Elena’s gaze shifted to the window, taking in the unfamiliar street. It was a quiet residential street. Too clean to be random and too empty to be safe. She was guessing that Dante had taken her to a safehouse. Of course, he did.
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap, the only outward sign of the tension coiling tighter in her chest. She wasn’t naïve. Sheknew what this was—protection, Camorra style. Which meant she wasn’t leaving unless they let her.
The car came to a stop, and Dante got out first. “Stay put,” he ordered. He didn’t open her door immediately. Instead, he scanned the street first, always assessing, and always calculating. Then, he opened her door and didn’t offer her a hand.
“Out,” he growled. Elena stepped out without hesitation, lifting her chin as the cool night air hit her skin. The house in front of them looked ordinary. It was a brick, two-story home with the lights on inside. To anyone not paying close attention, it looked completely normal. Which she knew meant that nothing about it was.
She glanced at Dante. “You bring all your guests here?”
His gaze slid to her briefly. “You’re not a guest.” Her lips pressed together so she didn’t say what she was thinking. No, she wasn’t just a guest.
Inside, the house was quiet—too quiet. It was clean in a way that reminded her of her apartment—controlled, and stripped of anything personal. Two men stood in the living room. They were armed, alert, and watching her. Elena felt their attention like a weight, but didn’t react. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
Dante moved past them, expecting her to follow, so she did. Because right now, cooperation was survival. He led her down a short hallway and into a room that was clearly meant for containment without looking like it. There was a couch, a chair, and one window. There were no obvious weapons in the room and no obvious exits.
Elena stopped just inside the doorway. “This is where I’m staying?” she asked.
Dante leaned against the wall across from her, his arms crossing over his chest. “For now,” he said.
“For how long?” she asked.
His expression didn’t change. “Until I decide that you’re not a threat.”
She looked him over and smirked. “That could take a while.”
“Then I hope you’re comfortable,” he said. She could tell by his tone that he didn’t give a fuck if she was comfortable or not. Silence stretched between them. Elena studied him now—really studied him. He had broad shoulders and a controlled posture. He wasted no movement as though that would cost him something. Everything about Dante Vitale screamed discipline. He was violence held on a leash. Men like him didn’t lose control. They chose when to let it go.
“You don’t believe me,” she said finally, “and you never will.”
