Chapter 5: A Debt In Blood
The air in the study turned frigid. Elena stared at the photos—at her own smiles from a life that felt a century away—and then at the man who had stolen them.
"You set him up," she breathed, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. "My father. You didn't just wait for him to fail; you engineered it."
Dante didn't flinch. He didn't offer a lie to soften the blow. "I gave him enough rope to hang himself, Elena. He was the one who put the noose around his neck. I just pulled the stool."
He stepped closer, closing the distance until the heat radiating from him felt like a brand. "I gave you a choice at the office. You chose his life over your freedom."
"That wasn't a choice! That was blackmail!" She shoved against his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain.
Dante caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them against his chest. His heart beat slow and steady beneath her knuckles. "In this world, Elena, we don't wait for things to happen. We make them happen. I wanted you. I took you."
"I hate you," she hissed, her eyes bright with tears of fury.
Dante's gaze darkened, his thumb tracing the pulse in her captured wrists. "Hate is a strong emotion, tesoro. It's almost as consuming as love. I can work with hate."
The moment was shattered by the heavy vibration of his phone. Dante didn't let go of her wrists as he checked the screen. His expression shifted instantly—the predator was back.
"Marco!" he barked.
The scarred guard appeared at the door in seconds. "Yes, Don De Luca?"
The Moretti family just hit the warehouse on 5th. They're moving faster than I anticipated. Get the cars ready." Dante looked back at Elena, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he released her. "Lock this door. She stays in her room until I return. If she breathes a word to anyone outside these walls, it's your head."
"Wait!" Elena cried as he turned to leave. "You can't just leave me here after... after telling me you've been stalking me for years!"
Dante paused at the threshold, his silhouette cold and sharp. "I'm going to go kill the men who thought they could touch what belongs to me. When I get back, we will discuss our wedding date."
He slammed the door, and the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place echoed like a gunshot.
Elena collapsed against the desk, her eyes falling on a specific photo in the scattered pile. It was her at eighteen, sitting on a park bench. In the background, barely visible, was a black car. She remembered that day. She had felt like she was being watched. She had thought it was just her imagination.
Now she knew the truth. She wasn't just a wife; she was a trophy in a war she didn't understand.
She crawled toward the desk, her fingers trembling as she reached for a heavy letter opener. If Dante was going to go to war, she wasn't going to sit around and wait to be the spoils. She needed a way out, and she needed to know if her father was a victim—or a willing participant in her sale.