Chapter 3 - DANTE’S HOUSE HAD NO UNLOCKED DOORS
Dante didn’t take me to a house.
He took me to a fortress pretending to be one.
Stone walls.
Iron gates.
Security cameras everywhere.
Armed men pretending they weren’t armed.
The Moretti estate sat north of the city, hidden behind trees and enough security to make the White House look casual.
“I’m staying one night,” I said.
Dante didn’t respond.
“One.”
Still nothing.
“Are you deaf when women disagree with you?”
He finally looked at me.
“No. I’m just familiar with people changing their minds.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll see.”
I hated those two words.
Matteo came running down the stairs before we had even reached the living room.
“Elena!”
He crashed into my legs.
Pain shot through my back.
I hid it.
Dante saw anyway.
“Careful, Matteo.”
His son immediately stepped back.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
He noticed the bandages beneath my shirt.
“Did they fix you?”
I smiled.
“They patched me up.”
“Like a tire?”
“Exactly like a tire.”
Matteo giggled.
And damn it, I liked the sound.
A woman in her sixties entered from the hallway.
Gray hair.
Warm eyes.
Sharp posture.
“This is Rosa.”
Dante said it like that explained everything.
Rosa hugged me before I could react.
“Thank God.”
I stiffened.
She released me.
“Sorry. Matteo told me what happened.”
“You’re his nanny?”
Her expression became deeply offended.
“I raised his father.”
I looked at Dante.
“That explains a lot.”
Rosa laughed.
Dante did not.
“I like her,” Rosa announced.
“I noticed,” Dante said.
Dinner was strange.
Matteo talked enough for five people.
Rosa kept putting food on my plate.
Dante barely spoke.
His men came and went quietly.
Every few minutes someone whispered something into his ear.
Finally, I put down my fork.
“Is somebody going to tell me what’s happening?”
Dante looked at Matteo.
“Finish dinner upstairs with Rosa.”
Matteo frowned.
“But—”
“Matteo.”
He knew that tone.
He left.
I waited until he was gone.
“What?”
Dante folded his hands.
“Caruso knows where you worked, where you lived, and what hospital treated you.”
“So basically privacy is dead.”
“He also knows your mother’s name.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“My mother lives in Arizona.”
“I know.”
“Do not bring her into this.”
“I didn’t.”
“Your enemy did.”
My chair scraped backward.
“If he touches her—”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice stunned me.
“How?”
“Because two of my men are already outside her house.”
I stared at him.
“You sent armed men to my mother?”
“I sent protection.”
“She’s going to think they’re Jehovah’s Witnesses with neck tattoos.”
Dante almost smiled.
I wasn’t amused.
“You don’t get to invade my life.”
“Someone else already did.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to.
He leaned back.
“Tell me about Michael.”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“Your ex-fiancé owed money.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because his name appeared in Caruso’s records.”
The room suddenly seemed colder.
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Michael.
The man who had emptied our bank account.
Pawned my ring.
Disappeared.
The man who had brought strangers to our door.
“What kind of records?”
“Debt records.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I almost laughed.
“He told me it was twenty.”
“He lied.”
Of course he did.
Dante pushed a folder across the table.
I didn’t touch it.
“What is that?”
“Everything we found tonight.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You need it.”
“No. I needed Michael out of my life three years ago. I got that.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Maybe you didn’t.”
My eyes lifted.
“What does that mean?”
He opened the folder.
There was a photograph.
Michael walking into a building.
Recent timestamp.
Three weeks ago.
Chicago.
My heartbeat stumbled.
“No.”
“He came back.”
I stared at the picture.
Michael looked older.
Thinner.
But it was him.
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I shook my head.
“This has nothing to do with me.”
Then Dante turned over the next photograph.
May you like
Michael was standing beside Vincent Caruso.
And in his hand was a picture of me.
