Chapter 3 - Sit on My Lap
Dante’s safe house was not a warehouse filled with guns.
It was a penthouse overlooking Central Park.
That somehow made everything more disturbing.
Men in dark suits guarded the elevators.
Security cameras covered every entrance.
The woman who met us at the door wore silk pajamas and carried a tablet.
She looked at me.
Then Dante.
Then me again.
“This is Elena?”
“Yes.”
“I expected someone taller.”
I blinked.
Dante sighed.
“Elena, my sister, Sofia.”
Sofia extended her hand.
“Sorry about the armed kidnapping.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped.”
Dante glanced at me.
“Technically.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“Technicalities.”
Sofia smiled.
“Oh, I like her.”
For the next hour, Dante’s people reconstructed Wednesday night.
The nervous man I remembered was Daniel Keene, an accountant for a shipping company secretly controlled by Dante.
He had disappeared Thursday morning.
The second man was probably Volkov.
“And Friday?” I asked.
Dante looked toward his security chief, Marco.
“Tomorrow.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“A charity auction at the Metropolitan Crown Hotel.”
“You’re still going?”
“Yes.”
“Someone literally said you won’t survive it.”
“That’s generally why I’m interested.”
I stared at him.
“Do mafia bosses receive lessons in terrible decision-making?”
Sofia coughed to hide a laugh.
Dante ignored her.
“We need to know how they plan to do it.”
“And I need to go home.”
“No.”
“You don’t own me.”
His gaze settled on mine.
“No. But until this ends, I’m responsible for you.”
“I never asked you to be.”
“I know.”
The answer was quiet.
That stopped me.
At four thirty, Sofia showed me a guest bedroom.
I didn’t sleep.
At seven, Dante was still awake.
I found him alone in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, drinking coffee.
“You never sleep?”
“When people want me dead? Rarely.”
“Is that often?”
He considered.
“Enough that I have good coffee.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
His eyes caught it.
I immediately stopped.
That made him smile.
I hated that his smile changed his entire face.
Before either of us could speak, Marco entered.
“Problem.”
Dante’s expression sharpened.
“What?”
“NYPD.”
I nearly dropped my mug.
“Here?”
“Lobby. Search warrant.”
“For what?”
“Weapons trafficking.”
Dante muttered something in Italian.
Marco continued. “Someone tipped them off.”
Dante looked at me.
I understood immediately.
“They’re looking for me too.”
“Possibly.”
“What do we do?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing turned out to mean twenty officers entering the penthouse six minutes later.
Dante’s lawyer met them.
The search was controlled, tense, legal.
Then I recognized someone.
Detective Hall.
The tired-eyed detective from Vespers.
His gaze moved through the room.
Then landed on me.
“Elena?”
My stomach fell.
Dante was sitting in a leather chair behind me.
Hall started toward us.
“Ms. Voss, what are you doing here?”
I panicked.
Every explanation sounded insane.
Kidnapped?
Protected?
Hiding?
Then Sofia, standing behind Hall, made a tiny gesture.
Closer.
Hide your face.
I understood.
Unfortunately, my solution was madness.
I turned.
Walked directly toward Dante.
His eyebrows rose.
Then I sat on his lap.
Every muscle in his body locked.
So did mine.
I put one arm around his neck and buried my face against his shoulder.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Dante’s hand slowly settled at my waist.
“Don’t react,” I whispered.
His mouth was near my ear.
“I’m trying very hard.”
Detective Hall stopped.
Dante looked at him with the expression of an irritated man whose private moment had been interrupted.
“Problem, Detective?”
Hall looked uncomfortable.
“I thought she was someone else.”
“Clearly.”
Heat rushed into my face.
Hall turned away.
Dante’s fingers tightened slightly at my waist.
“Still watching,” he murmured.
“I hate you.”
“You climbed onto me.”
“Be quiet.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
I pinched his shoulder.
He almost laughed.
Then Hall suddenly turned back.
“Actually, sir—”
I reacted without thinking.
I kissed Dante.
It was supposed to last one second.
A performance.
Instead, Dante froze.
Then his hand moved gently to the back of my neck.
Not forcing.
Waiting.
I should have stopped.
I didn’t.
For one reckless heartbeat, the police, Volkov, and the destroyed bar disappeared.
Then Hall cleared his throat.
I pulled away so quickly I nearly fell.
Dante caught me.
Hall muttered an apology and walked away.
I stared at Dante.
His gray eyes had gone darker.
“That,” he said softly, “was unnecessarily convincing.”
“Never mention it.”
“Impossible.”
The police left forty minutes later.
They found nothing.
Hall remained suspicious but apparently hadn’t recognized me clearly.
I escaped to the hallway.
Dante followed.
“Elena.”
I turned.
“If this is about the kiss—”
“It isn’t.”
His face had changed.
He held out his phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
My parents’ house in Connecticut.
Taken ten minutes earlier.
Someone was standing outside.
My blood went cold.
“No.”
“They’re safe,” Dante said immediately. “My men got there first.”
“You had people watching them?”
“Since last night.”
Anger and relief collided inside me.
“You had no right.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Volkov threatened something that belongs to you.”
“They’re not things.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“And neither are you.”
That silenced me.
Dante stepped closer.
“I promise you something.”
“What?”
“No one touches your family. No one touches you. Not while I’m breathing.”
I stared at him.
Men made promises every day.
Usually because words were cheaper than action.
But Dante said it like a contract written in blood.
Then Marco appeared at the end of the hall.
“Dante.”
Something in his face made us both turn.
“They found Daniel Keene.”
“Alive?”
Marco hesitated.
“Yes.”
Relief barely formed before he continued.
“But he says Elena wasn’t an accidental witness.”
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
Marco looked directly at me.
“He says the meeting at Vespers happened because of her.”
