Chapter 2 - The Car Across the Gate
Dante’s eyes moved toward the front windows.
“A gray sedan has been parked beyond the east gate three nights this week.”
Elena stared at him.
“And you decided now was the appropriate time to tell me?”
“I didn’t want to frighten you.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“You were protecting me from a parked car while sleeping with your adviser?”
One of the guards lowered his eyes.
Dante’s jaw tightened, but he did not defend himself.
“I wasn’t sleeping with Vanessa.”
Elena’s hand froze on the suitcase handle.
She looked at him slowly.
“I saw you kissing her.”
“Yes.”
“She said five weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re going to explain that technically—”
“No.” Dante’s voice dropped. “I’m not going to insult you with technicalities. What I did was betrayal. I kissed her. More than once. I lied to you. There’s no version of that where I’m innocent.”
That answer hurt more than an excuse would have.
Elena turned toward the door.
Dante stepped aside.
That surprised her.
“You’re letting me go?”
“I don’t have the right to stop you.”
“Good.”
“But you’re not taking a bus.”
She glared at him.
He nodded toward a woman standing near the security room.
“Maria will drive. No Moretti insignia. No escort visible. She’ll take you wherever you choose.”
Elena knew Maria Alvarez. Former Philadelphia police officer. Quiet, forty-something, married, two sons.
More importantly, Maria had never treated Elena like an extension of Dante.
“Fine.”
Dante exhaled.
Elena hated that she noticed.
She walked outside without looking back.
Twenty minutes later, Maria’s dark SUV moved through the gates.
Elena sat in the rear seat, one hand beneath her stomach.
The estate disappeared behind falling snow.
For the first time in four years, she was leaving Dante without knowing when she would return.
Maybe never.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Elena’s breath stopped.
It showed her leaving the community clinic that afternoon.
Another followed.
Elena at the grocery store.
Another.
Elena standing beside her obstetrician’s building.
The final photograph had been taken through the estate gates less than ten minutes earlier.
Elena climbing into Maria’s SUV.
Underneath it were six words.
You should have stayed with him.
“Maria.”
The driver immediately looked into the mirror.
“What?”
Elena held up the phone.
Maria’s expression changed.
“Don’t respond.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Maria reached for her radio, then stopped herself.
“No radio. Whoever’s watching may have frequencies.”
The SUV turned onto a broader road.
Headlights appeared behind them.
Gray sedan.
Elena’s heart began hammering.
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
Maria accelerated.
The sedan accelerated too.
Elena grabbed the door handle as Maria took a hard right.
“Seat belt tight.”
“It is.”
“Call Dante.”
Elena stared at her.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
The sedan closed the distance.
Maria swore.
Then the gray car surged alongside them.
Its passenger window descended.
Maria slammed the brakes.
The sedan overshot them.
Something metallic appeared through the open window.
A gun.
Maria threw the SUV into reverse.
The first shot shattered a streetlamp.
The second struck the hood.
Elena covered her stomach instinctively.
Maria spun the wheel, reversed into an alley, shifted into drive, and accelerated between two brick warehouses.
Elena’s phone was already in her hand.
She hated herself for knowing the number without looking.
Dante answered before the first ring finished.
“Elena?”
“Someone is shooting at us.”
Silence.
Not fear.
Something colder.
“Where?”
She told him.
“Put Maria on speaker.”
Maria shouted the intersection.
Dante began issuing instructions.
“South end of the alley. Blue warehouse. Service road behind it. My people will meet you in four minutes.”
“We don’t have four minutes,” Maria said.
The sedan appeared behind them.
“Then give me two.”
Elena heard doors opening through Dante’s phone.
Men shouting.
Engines starting.
Dante was moving.
For her.
And she hated that some part of her still felt safer hearing his voice.
“Stay with me,” he said.
“You lost the right to say that.”
“I know.”
Another gunshot cracked behind them.
The rear window exploded.
Elena screamed as safety glass scattered across the seat.
Then pain tightened across her abdomen.
She bent forward.
“Elena?” Dante’s voice sharpened. “What happened?”
She couldn’t answer.
Another contraction seized her.
Too early.
Too strong.
Maria saw her in the mirror.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” Dante demanded.
“Elena’s contracting.”
Everything changed.
The furious man on the phone disappeared.
The husband appeared.
“Elena, listen to me.”
She closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“Please. Tell me how far apart.”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there bleeding?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“No.”
Maria made another turn.
Two black SUVs appeared ahead.
For half a second Elena thought they had been trapped.
Then the vehicles separated.
Moretti men.
They swept past Maria’s SUV toward the pursuing sedan.
Maria continued driving.
Dante’s voice remained in Elena’s ear.
“I’m meeting you at St. Catherine’s.”
“I don’t want you there.”
A pause.
“All right.”
She opened her eyes.
He sounded destroyed.
“But I’ll make sure nobody gets near you.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Elena was inside a private examination room.
The contractions had slowed.
Her daughter’s heartbeat remained strong.
The obstetrician believed stress had triggered false labor, but Elena would remain overnight for observation.
Maria stood outside.
Dante did not enter.
He stayed at the far end of the hospital corridor.
Elena knew because she saw him once when a nurse opened the door.
Black coat.
Snow melting on his shoulders.
Hands covered with someone else’s blood.
He looked toward her room.
But he did not approach.
At 2:18 a.m., Maria brought Elena an envelope recovered from the gray sedan after Dante’s men forced it off the road.
Inside was another photograph.
This one was old.
Four years old.
Elena recognized the emergency room immediately.
She was wearing blue scrubs.
Dante lay unconscious on a gurney after the shooting that had brought them together.
Someone had photographed her pressing both hands against his wound.
On the back, written in black ink, were nine words.
You saved the wrong Moretti that night.
Elena read it twice.
Then she looked through the hospital-room window toward Dante.
For the first time that night, her heartbreak had competition.
May you like
Fear.
Because somebody had been waiting four years to punish them both.
