Page 38 of Blood Vows

“I already told you. Fear keeps you alert,” he said.

“And what keeps you alert?” she asked.

“You.” The word came quickly, and Elena’s breath caught. Dante looked at her, and his jaw tightened. “I mean the situation.”

“Of course,” she whispered. He frowned, and she turned toward the door before he could see her smile.

Dante caught her arm. “Wait.” She looked back at him, and he leaned forward, scanning outside. Two Camorra vehicles were already parked nearby. Men spread out around the building. There were six guards, just like Luca ordered.

Dante finally nodded. “We’re good.” He got out first, and Elena followed. This time, she stayed behind him without arguing, and he noticed.

“You're learning,” he whispered.

“Don't ruin it,” she grumbled. They entered the building and her stomach tightened with every stair. Dante slowed slightly, but not enough to make it obvious. It was enough that she knew he was staying closer to her. When they reached her floor, the apartment door was still damaged, and one of the Camorra men stood outside.

“Clear,” he said. Dante went in first, and Elena followed. The smell hit her—cleaner, gunpowder, and something faintly metallic she tried not to identify. The body was gone—thank God- but the blood wasn’t completely gone. She looked away, and Dante shifted slightly, blocking her view. He didn’t mention it, and neither did she.

“Where’s the card?” he asked.

“Bedroom,” she breathed. They walked down the hall. The room still looked destroyed. Elena moved toward the closet.

Dante sighed. “Another hidden compartment?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Shocking.” She glared at him and then crouched near the baseboard.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trust me,” she said.

“Not my best skill,” he admitted.

“I've noticed.” She pressed against one section of the baseboard, and nothing happened. Her stomach dropped, and she tried again—still nothing.

“Elena?” he breathed.

“Wait.” She ran her fingers along the edge and found the tiny notch and pressed it. The trim popped loose, and Dante crouched beside her.

“You hide things in walls?” he asked.

“My father did.” She reached inside, and her fingers found the envelope that she had hidden. Relief rushed through her. “I have it.” She pulled out a small white envelope, and Dante stared.

“That's his handwriting?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, looking at her name written across the envelope.

“There is no return address,” he assessed.

“No.” She turned it over. The envelope had been mailed from Boston about six months ago. Dante held out his hand, and Elena frowned.

“Are you going to keep this too?” she asked.

“Just give it to me,” Dante ordered.

“It’s mine,” she said, holding it to her chest.

“Here we go again,” he mumbled.