Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Came Back
Forty-one minutes later, Elena Reyes no longer recognized the woman in the mirror.
That frightened her more than Dante did.
She stood inside the master dressing room of the Meridian Grand’s presidential penthouse while a stylist made one final adjustment to the black silk gown Dante had somehow obtained in her exact size.
The dress was nothing like the inexpensive one Elena had arrived in.
It hugged her waist, fell softly over her hips, and left one shoulder bare. A pair of diamond earrings rested against her neck. Her hair, previously pinned together in a hurried knot, now fell in soft waves.
But the most dangerous thing was on her left hand.
A diamond ring.
Elena stared at it.
“How much?”
The jeweler standing nearby pretended not to hear.
Dante, leaning against the doorway, answered.
“Enough.”
“That is not a number.”
“You’ll sleep better without one.”
“I doubt I’m sleeping at all tonight.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
The stylist left.
So did the jeweler.
Suddenly Elena and Dante were alone.
For the first time since entering the penthouse, she had space to consider exactly what she had agreed to.
“You knew my name before I told you.”
Dante’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Elena turned from the mirror.
“You said, ‘I’m talking about revenge, Elena.’ I never introduced myself.”
“No.”
“So you knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Dante crossed the room and stopped several feet from her.
“I was invited to the wedding.”
“You were?”
“Vivien’s father has been trying to arrange a meeting with me for six months.”
“About what?”
“Business.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that becomes boring when explained.”
“That usually means illegal.”
Dante almost smiled.
“You’re learning.”
Elena folded her arms.
“Why did you know me?”
His gaze remained steady.
“Because three weeks ago, I was given a file containing information about the Aldridge wedding. Your photograph was in it.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody wanted to make sure you attended.”
The air changed.
Elena slowly lowered her arms.
“Vivien.”
“Possibly.”
“Who else?”
“That,” Dante said, “is what I intend to discover.”
Before Elena could ask more, there was a knock.
One of Dante’s men entered.
“Reception started seven minutes ago.”
Dante extended his hand toward Elena.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Good?”
“People who aren’t afraid usually don’t understand the danger.”
That was not reassuring.
Elena looked at his hand.
Then she placed hers in it.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm.
Strong.
Unexpectedly careful.
They rode the private elevator down in silence.
When the doors opened onto the ballroom level, Elena heard laughter and music.
Her courage almost disappeared.
Dante noticed.
“You can still leave.”
She looked at him.
“You’d let me?”
“I’m not Marcus.”
The simple sentence landed harder than it should have.
Dante offered his arm.
Elena took it.
They walked.
The first person to see them was a hotel manager.
He stopped mid-sentence.
His face drained of color.
“Mr. Salvatore.”
Dante nodded once.
The manager immediately stepped aside.
Two waiters noticed next.
Then a cluster of men near the ballroom entrance.
Conversation faltered.
A ripple moved through the corridor ahead of them.
Elena suddenly understood what Dante had meant.
People knew him.
More importantly, they feared him.
The ballroom doors were open.
Inside, Marcus and Vivien were greeting guests beneath the floral arch.
Patricia stood beside them.
Vivien saw Elena first.
Her smile disappeared.
Marcus followed her gaze.
His champagne glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
Then Patricia turned.
For the first time Elena had ever known her, Patricia Aldridge had absolutely nothing to say.
Dante continued walking.
He did not hurry.
He did not need to.
The ballroom seemed to grow quieter with every step.
By the time they reached the center of the room, even the string quartet had begun to falter.
Dante stopped.
His hand moved from Elena’s arm to her waist.
Not possessive.
Protective.
But from across the room, nobody could know the difference.
“Smile,” he murmured.
Elena did.
Vivien stared at the ring.
Her face went white.
“Elena?” Marcus finally managed.
Elena looked at the man who had broken her heart.
Something strange happened.
She felt almost nothing.
Dante extended his hand.
“Congratulations.”
Marcus stared at it before remembering himself.
“Dante Salvatore.”
“So you do recognize me.”
“Of course.”
Marcus shook his hand.
His confidence had vanished.
Vivien recovered faster.
“Elena,” she said brightly. “You came back.”
“I did.”
“And you brought…”
Her eyes moved toward Dante.
“My husband,” Elena said.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Somewhere behind them, a woman gasped.
Marcus looked as though Elena had slapped him.
“Your what?”
Dante’s thumb moved once against Elena’s waist.
“My husband.”
Vivien laughed.
Too quickly.
“That’s impossible.”
Dante looked at her.
The laugh died.
“Is it?”
Vivien swallowed.
“No, I only meant Elena was engaged to Marcus three months ago.”
Dante’s gaze shifted to Marcus.
“I’m aware.”
That was worse.
Elena almost enjoyed it.
Almost.
Then Patricia approached.
“Elena, surely this is some sort of joke.”
Dante turned his head.
Patricia stopped.
“You must be Mrs. Aldridge.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard about you.”
Patricia’s expression changed.
Elena had no idea whether Dante actually had.
Apparently, neither did Patricia.
Dante glanced toward the last row of tables.
“Elena tells me you made certain she had an appropriate seat.”
Patricia’s lips parted.
“She was—”
“My wife does not sit in the back.”
The room went still again.
Elena looked at him.
Dante did not raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
The wedding planner rushed forward.
“Mr. Salvatore, we can arrange a table immediately.”
“No.”
Dante looked toward the head table.
Two empty chairs stood near Marcus’s business partners.
“We’ll sit there.”
Nobody argued.
Not Marcus.
Not Vivien.
Not even Patricia.
Twenty minutes later, Elena sat beside Dante while people who had ignored her earlier suddenly remembered how interesting she was.
Women introduced themselves.
Men offered business cards.
People who had watched Patricia humiliate her now complimented her dress.
Elena hated every second of it.
Not because it was unpleasant.
Because it proved Dante right.
Nothing about Elena had changed except the man beside her.
And suddenly she was worthy of respect.
Dante leaned toward her.
“You look angry.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“They’re treating me differently.”
“Yes.”
“Because of you.”
“Yes.”
“I hate that.”
His eyes met hers.
“Good.”
She stared at him.
“Stop saying that.”
His mouth twitched.
Then Marcus approached.
“Elena. Can we talk?”
“No,” Dante said.
Marcus looked at him.
“I was asking Elena.”
“And she can answer.”
Elena placed her napkin down.
“What do you want?”
“Privately.”
Dante looked at her.
He would stop it if she asked.
Instead Elena stood.
“Two minutes.”
Marcus led her toward the terrace.
The instant the doors closed, he turned.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Elena laughed softly.
It surprised both of them.
“You married my best friend twenty minutes ago, Marcus.”
“This isn’t about Vivien.”
“It literally is your wedding.”
“You don’t know Salvatore.”
“Neither did you know Vivien, apparently.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re trying to punish me.”
“No.”
She realized it was true.
“If I wanted to punish you, I’d care whether this hurt.”
Marcus looked wounded.
Good.
“Elena, that man is dangerous.”
“So was the woman you married.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I think your concern arrived approximately a year late.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“I made mistakes.”
“You made choices.”
“Elena—”
The terrace door opened.
Vivien stood there.
Her expression was no longer triumphant.
It was furious.
“Marcus.”
He stepped away from Elena.
Vivien’s gaze went directly to the diamond.
“Beautiful ring.”
Elena looked down at it.
“Yes.”
“May I?”
Before Elena could answer, Vivien grabbed her hand.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
Elena pulled back.
Vivien looked toward the ballroom.
At Dante.
Then at the ring again.
“Where did he get this?”
“I don’t know.”
Vivien whispered something Elena barely heard.
“No.”
“What?”
Vivien released her.
“Nothing.”
But she was pale.
Terrified, almost.
And Elena knew that expression.
Vivien recognized the ring.
Later, as Dante led Elena from the reception, she waited until the elevator doors closed.
“The ring.”
Dante looked at her.
“Vivien recognized it.”
Silence.
“Tell me why.”
Dante watched the numbers rise.
Finally he said, “Because it belonged to someone she knew.”
“Who?”
The elevator opened onto the penthouse.
Dante stepped out.
Elena did not.
He turned.
“Dante.”
His face hardened.
“Seven years ago, it belonged to my sister.”
Elena’s anger vanished.
“Where is she?”
May you like
Dante’s eyes became colder than she had ever seen them.
“Dead.”
