Page 78 of Blood Vows

“Elena—” Her expression changed. She looked afraid, not for herself, but of him, and Dante hated that more than anything.

“What?” she whispered. He looked at the photograph again, at Antonio’s coat. It was dark wool with distinctive silver buttons. He remembered those buttons. Fuck. He remembered them.

“Elena.”

Her eyes filled. “What do you know?” Dante’s chest felt like it was being crushed. For the first time in years, he wanted to lie. He wanted it badly, but he had just promised her he wouldn’t do that to her. So he gave her the truth.

“I might have been there the night your father died,” he said.

The room went silent as Elena stared at him. “What do you mean by might?”

Dante forced himself to hold her gaze. “I was sent to kill a man.”

Her face drained of color. “You killed my father?”

“I didn't know his name,” he insisted.

“No,” she shouted.

“Elena—” He reached for her, but she backed away.

“You killed him?” she squeaked.

“I don't know,” he admitted. He had no idea what the truth was anymore.

“You just said⁠—”

“I said I was there,” he said.

“And you fired the gun that killed him?” she added.

“Yes.” Her hand flew to her mouth. Dante took one step forward, and she recoiled from him. He stopped immediately because that nearly destroyed him. “Elena.”

“Don’t come near me.” The words hit like a bullet to his chest, but he obeyed her wishes.

Her voice shook. “Was it him?”

Dante looked at the photograph and then at her. “I don’t know.”

“Look at me,” she spat. He did. “Was it my father?”

Dante’s throat tightened. “I need to see the file.”

“That’s not an answer,” she insisted.

“It’s the only one I can give you right now, Elena,” he whispered. She stared at him like she no longer knew him, and maybe she didn’t. Maybe he didn’t know himself either.

“I slept with you,” she breathed.

“Elena—”

“I trusted you,” she cried.

“I know,” he whispered.

“You promised me the truth,” she reminded.

“I’m giving it to you,” he promised.