Page 61 of Blood Vows

“Elena.” Dante’s voice came from somewhere beside her, but she couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look away from the photograph either.

“Send it to me,” she breathed.

“What?” he asked.

“The pictures,” she said. “Send them to my phone.” He was quiet for a second, and then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Elena picked it up and opened the message from Dante. There it was again—four men, a red ledger, and her as a baby with her name in bold letters underneath.

She enlarged the image until the baby filled the screen. There was a tiny pink blanket tucked around her. She recognized it, and her heart stopped. “No.”

Dante moved closer. “What?”

“The blanket,” she said, pointing to the photo on her phone screen.

“What about it?” he asked. Elena zoomed in farther. There was a small embroidered rose near the edge of the blanket. She knew that rose because she’d seen it in photographs her entire life.

“My mother made it,” she said.

Dante sat beside her. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She looked at him. “My mother embroidered roses on everything when she was pregnant with me. Blankets, clothes, and even the curtains in my nursery.” Her throat tightened. “She said her doctor said that I was going to be a boy, but she was convinced I was a girl, so she refused to buy anything blue until I came. Then, she went crazy with buying pink stuff and embroidering roses on everything.”

A memory surfaced of her mother laughing while telling the story and her father rolling his eyes from across the dinner table because he’d heard it a thousand times. Their lives had seemed so fucking normal, except apparently none of it had been.

“That’s me,” Elena whispered.

Dante didn’t insult her by telling her it might not be. Instead, he took the phone from her when she held it out to him. “Who would've had access to you when you were that young?”

“My parents,” she said.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

“The family,” she whispered.

“The Romano family?” he questioned. She nodded. “Anyone else?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know. I was just a baby.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “I know.” Elena pulled the sheet tighter around herself. Only minutes ago, she’d been lying against him, listening to the sound of his heartbeat—warm and safe. For the first time since this nightmare began, she'd forgotten everything. She'd let herself want something—someone.

Then that photograph had dragged her right back into a life she no longer recognized. She looked toward the clothes scattered near the bed. “I need to get dressed.”

“Elena,” Dante said.

“I need to put my clothes on,” she insisted.

He caught her wrist before she could get up. “Slow down.”

“I don't want to slow down,” she spat.

“You're shaking,” he pointed out. “You’re scared.”

“I’m angry,” she said.

“You can be both.”

She yanked her wrist free from his grip. “I’m not falling apart.”

“I didn't say you were,” he countered.