Page 33 of Blood Vows

“Why?” she asked. He looked toward the bed. Elena lay on her side, facing him, her hair loose and hanging around her face now. She seemed softer in the dim light—more vulnerable, too.

He forced his attention back to the door. “Because dead men don’t send birthday cards.”

“What if Hale isn’t dead?” she asked.

Dante had already thought about that. “Then someone wanted the world to think he was dead.”

“And if he is dead?” she asked.

“Then someone wanted you to think he wasn’t,” Dante said.

Elena frowned. “Either way, I’m being manipulated.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

She sighed. “Great.”

Dante almost smiled as silence returned. “Dante?”

He looked over and saw that her eyes were closed now. “What?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He frowned. “For what?”

“For not letting them kill me,” she said.

Something tightened in his chest. He should have answered with something sarcastic or dismissive. Instead, the truth came out. “I won’t let them touch you, Elena.” Her eyes opened, and Dante held her gaze. “No one is killing you.” He meant it, too. He saw that she understood by the way her expression changed.

Then she whispered, “You can’t keep that promise.”

Dante leaned back in the chair with his gun resting across his leg. His eyes already returned to the door. “Watch me.” And for the first time all night, Elena smiled without fear. Dante knew then that Luca had been right about one thing—control only worked until something mattered enough to break it, and Elena Romano was getting dangerously close.

Elena

Elena didn’t sleep. She tried, she really did, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw headlights at the end of the street. A dark SUV with a lowered window and the flash of a gun filled her dreams. Then, when Dante’s body slammed into hers as he took her to the ground, her eyes opened again.

The room was dark except for the faint glow coming through the curtains. Dante was still in the chair by the window, exactly where he’d been when she’d finally laid down. One ankle rested over the opposite knee, gun loose in his hand, his head tipped back against the chair. He looked like he was asleep, but Elena knew better, because men like Dante Vitale probably didn’t sleep. They waited, watched, listened, and she turned onto her side and studied him. That was dangerous, and she knew it. Looking too long at him made it easier to forget what he was—a Camorra. He was Luca’s second-in-command. He was a man who had threatened her less than twenty-four hours ago, a man who probably had more blood on his hands than she could ever imagine.

And yet—he had protected her, not because he liked her, or trusted her, or because Luca ordered him to. That distinction should have mattered more, but it didn’t. Not after hearing him say no one was going to kill her. Not after hearing the certainty in his voice. And not after the way he looked at her when he said it.

Elena sighed softly, and Dante’s eyes opened. She froze. “Can’t sleep?” he asked. His voice was rougher than before. Apparently, he had been dozing, and that made his voice sound gruff and sexy.

“It’s a little creepy that you wake up every time I sigh,” she mumbled.

“Hey, I think that it’s one of my better qualities,” he defended.

“Well, that’s depressing.” His mouth twitched, and she smiled despite herself. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty,” he said.

Elena groaned. “So I’ve been lying here pretending to sleep for three hours.”

“Yeah, I thought that you were having trouble sleeping,” he admitted.

“You knew?” she asked.

“I know everything,” he insisted.