Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WASN'T SUPPOSED TO KNOW
The black SUV waiting outside looked less like transportation and more like a warning.
I stopped beside it.
Dante opened the rear door.
“Get in.”
“I can take a taxi.”
“No.”
“I can call Monica.”
“No.”
“I can—”
“Eleanor.”
He looked at me.
“You can argue with me after we get you somewhere safe.”
Something about his tone made me stop.
I climbed inside.
Dante sat beside me.
One bodyguard occupied the front passenger seat. Another followed in a second vehicle.
The city moved past the tinted windows.
I folded my hands in my lap.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
My head snapped toward him.
“Absolutely not.”
For the first time, amusement appeared in his eyes.
“You just saved my life.”
“I didn't agree to move into your house.”
“You won't.”
“Good.”
“You'll stay there until I know who targeted me.”
I stared at him.
“And then?”
“Then I'll take you home.”
I nodded.
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It isn't.”
“What?”
“I don't know how long it'll take.”
Twenty minutes later, the gates of the Russo estate opened.
The house was enormous.
Not flashy.
Worse.
It was old, quiet, and surrounded by stone walls.
I followed Dante inside.
A woman in her sixties approached.
“Mr. Russo.”
“Mrs. Bell.”
His housekeeper looked at me.
Then at him.
Then back at me.
Dante noticed.
“She is under my protection.”
Mrs. Bell's expression changed.
“Of course.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently, I had been promoted from waitress to protected witness in less than an hour.
Dante led me toward a guest room.
“You'll sleep here.”
“I don't think I'll sleep.”
“You will eventually.”
He turned to leave.
“Dante?”
He stopped.
“Why did you have a ring?”
His shoulders stiffened.
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he removed the velvet box from his pocket.
“Because I was supposed to propose tonight.”
My heart sank unexpectedly.
“To someone?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
His expression became unreadable.
“Don't be.”
He walked away.
I closed the door.
For the first time since leaving the restaurant, I allowed myself to breathe.
The next morning, I woke to voices downstairs.
I opened the door.
A woman stood in the foyer.
She was beautiful.
Elegant.
Dark-haired.
Perfectly dressed.
She looked at me.
Then at Dante.
Her expression hardened.
“Who is she?”
Dante didn't answer immediately.
“Eleanor saved my life last night.”
The woman smiled.
It wasn't a friendly smile.
“How heroic.”
“My name is Celia,” she said to me.
I nodded.
“Eleanor.”
“I know.”
Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.
Dante stepped between us.
“Celia, you need to leave.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You can't be serious.”
“I'm very serious.”
She looked at me again.
Then whispered, “You have no idea what you've walked into.”
I didn't answer.
She left.
I turned toward Dante.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Fiancée?”
“No.”
“Former fiancée?”
His jaw tightened.
“Complicated.”
I almost smiled.
Apparently, that word was popular among dangerous men.
That afternoon, Dante's security chief arrived.
His name was Gabriel Moretti.
He was older than Dante and had the exhausted expression of someone who had spent years cleaning up other people's disasters.
He placed a folder on the table.
“Marco won't talk.”
Dante opened it.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
I looked up.
“Nothing?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“No digital trail. No payment records. No contact with anyone outside the restaurant.”
Dante frowned.
“That isn't possible.”
“I agree.”
Then Gabriel looked at me.
“Did you notice anything else?”
I thought.
Marco.
The tray.
His hand.
The smell.
I closed my eyes.
“There was something.”
Dante leaned forward.
“What?”
“His cologne.”
Gabriel frowned.
“What about it?”
“It wasn't his usual scent.”
“How do you know his usual scent?”
“I worked with him.”
“What did it smell like?”
I searched my memory.
“Bleach.”
Silence.
Dante's eyes sharpened.
“Bleach?”
“Not exactly. Something medical. Clean. Sharp.”
Gabriel exchanged a glance with Dante.
Then Dante asked, “What was on the tray?”
“Bruschetta. Oysters. Bread.”
“Did you see him touch anything?”
“No.”
I paused.
“Actually…”
“What?”
“He wiped the wine bottle.”
Dante went still.
“When?”
“Before he reached the table.”
Gabriel stood immediately.
“That's enough.”
He grabbed his phone.
Dante looked at him.
“Why?”
Gabriel's face had gone pale.
“Because the bottle may have been the delivery system.”
My stomach dropped.
Dante looked at me.
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“The sommelier.”
Gabriel was already calling the restaurant.
Suddenly, I understood.
The syringe hadn't necessarily been the attack.
It might have been a distraction.
Dante stood.
“Get everyone from La Stella isolated.”
Gabriel nodded.
Dante turned to me.
“You didn't save me from one assassin.”
He looked toward the window.
“You may have saved everyone in that restaurant.”
That evening, Dante found me sitting alone in the library.
“You should be frightened,” he said.
“I am.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“But I'm more curious.”
He smiled faintly.
“That's dangerous.”
“So is keeping me uninformed.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Dante sat opposite me.
“I don't trust easily.”
“I noticed.”
“I don't allow people near me.”
“I also noticed.”
His eyes lowered.
“But you walked toward danger without knowing who I was.”
I shrugged.
“You looked like someone was trying to kill you.”
“And?”
“And I couldn't just watch.”
Something softened in his face.
“Why?”
I looked down.
“My father taught me something.”
“What?”
“That being scared doesn't excuse you from doing the right thing.”
Dante remained silent.
Then he quietly said:
“Your father sounds like a good man.”
“He was.”
Dante nodded.
“My father wasn't.”
May you like
It was the first crack I saw in him.
And I realized the ruthless man everyone feared might have been carrying a wound nobody had ever been allowed to see.
