Page 12 of Blood Vows

His dark gaze finally shifted to hers. “You almost seem upset that the shooter wasn’t a better shot.”

Elena glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

“So I’ve been told,” he breathed.

“I’m guessing it happens frequently,” she said.

“Daily.” Despite everything, a laugh nearly escaped her, but she swallowed it. Dante seemed to notice anyway, and one dark eyebrow lifted.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I was just wondering if anyone actually likes you,” she said.

“I don’t need anyone to like me,” he said.

“That’s a no, then.” His mouth twitched. It was so quick that she almost thought she imagined it. Elena stared at him. Dante Vitale had almost smiled.

“What?” he asked again.

“You almost smiled,” she pointed out.

“No, I didn’t,” he insisted. “You’re losing blood,” he said, changing the subject.

She looked pointedly at her arm. “I’ve already told you that I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re delirious,” he said.

“I’m not losing enough blood to be delirious,” she said.

“Debatable,” he mumbled. That time, she did laugh. It came out before she could stop it. The sound felt completely inappropriate after someone had just fired bullets at her, but maybe that was why she couldn’t hold it back. Fear did strange things to people. Apparently, hers made her argue with killers.

Dante stared at her. “Why are you looking at me like that? she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not looking at you,” he insisted. “It’s nothing.”

“That was definitely something,” she breathed. His attention shifted back to the window, and she knew that the conversation was over. Elena watched his profile for another moment, noticing his hard jaw, dark hair, and dimples. His face would have been unfairly handsome if it didn’t constantly look like he was contemplating murder. Maybe he was—hers.

She looked away. She had bigger problems than Dante Vitale’s face—like staying alive. The car turned onto another street, and Elena recognized the neighborhood immediately.

Her stomach dropped. “No.”

Dante looked at her. “No what?”

“You said we were going to Luca’s,” she said.

“We are,” he said.

“This isn’t the way to Luca’s house,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know where Luca lives?”

“My cousin married him, remember?” she asked.

“Doesn’t mean you know where his house is,” Dante said.

“Elena Romano, criminal mastermind, apparently knows the addresses of every mob boss in the city,” she sassed.

Dante ignored the sarcasm. “Where do you think we’re going?”