Page 17 of Blood Vows

“Elena.” Her name sounded like a warning on his lips.

“If I'd figured it out sooner—” she said.

“You'd probably be dead,” he cut her off. The bluntness startled her. Dante took the frame from her hand and placed it carefully on the table. “You said your father hid the key.”

She shook her head. “No, I hid it,” she said.

“Where did you hide it?” Dante asked. She stood, and Dante followed her into the bedroom. Her mattress had been sliced open, and clothes covered the floor. Her jewelry box had been smashed. “They were thorough,” Dante muttered.

“They didn't find it,” she whispered.

“You don’t know that,” he insisted.

“Yes, I do.” She crossed to the closet. The doors had been ripped open. Shoes and clothing had been thrown everywhere. Elena crouched and reached beneath a built-in shelf.

Dante watched her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the key.” She pressed her fingers into a tiny indentation underneath the wood and released a hidden latch.

Dante crouched beside her. “You have a false compartment in your closet?”

“My father had it installed when I moved in,” she said. Her father was always overly proactive when it came to keeping things safe. She just wished that he had felt that way about her too, but apparently, people weren’t as precious to her dad.

“Well, that seems like a thing that a normal family would do,” he grumbled.

She shot him a look. “Because yours is so much better?”

“Fair point,” he breathed. Elena reached into the narrow space. Her fingers touched paper that she had hidden there, and relief flooded her.

“It’s still here.” She pulled out a small envelope and Dante immediately reached for it. Elena jerked it against her chest. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“It’s mine,” she spat. It was probably the only thing still keeping her alive. Without the key, Luca would find her useless and order Dante to get rid of her.

“And it might tell us who's trying to kill you,” Dante reminded.

“Us?” she questioned.

“Yes, us.” She stared at him. Something about the word hit her strangely. Us. There shouldn't be an us. There was Camorra, and there was Romano. Somewhere between them, there was Elena—alone. She had always been alone when it mattered—until tonight, when Dante had thrown himself over her while bullets flew. Until she'd heard gunshots upstairs and realized the thought of him being hurt terrified her more than it should have.

“Open it,” Dante said. She looked down at the envelope. Her father’s handwriting was across the front, with her name written in big, block letters. Her chest tightened. She had never opened it. She'd found the key inside a smaller envelope taped beneath his desk, along with his warning. Later, while going through another box of his things, she discovered this envelope and hid them both together. She'd been afraid of what she'd find once it was open, but now, she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't look inside.

Elena broke the seal. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Her hands began to shake, and Dante seemed to notice. “Want me to read it?”

“No.” She unfolded the paper and saw the three lines. That was all there was, but those three lines changed everything.

If you're reading this, they found the accounts.

Elena stopped breathing. “What does it say?” Dante asked.

She kept reading.

The money was never mine.

Then the final line made her knees weak.

Dante caught her elbow. “Elena?” She handed him the paper, and Dante read it. His expression changed, and she saw the moment the words registered. His jaw tightened, and his eyes became cold because the final line said: