Page 80 of Blood Vows

“Yes.” Elena looked like she might collapse. Dante moved toward her, and she backed away from him.

“Why?” she asked.

Luca heard her. “I don't know.”

Dante’s jaw clenched. “Find out.”

“I am,” Luca said.

“Find Hale,” Elena said.

“I will,” Luca promised.

“No.” Dante’s voice went cold. “I’ll find him.” He disconnected the call, and Elena stared at him. The truth sat between them now—ugly, bloody, and impossible to take back. Dante had spent years thinking blood washed off eventually, but he was wrong. It didn’t. He knew that from the first chapter of his life with the Camorras, and now he understood why. Sometimes blood didn’t stain your hands. Sometimes it stained everything you touched, and Elena Romano had just discovered that the man protecting her might also be the man who killed her father.

Elena

Elena had imagined finding out who killed her father a thousand different ways, but none of them looked like this. None of them sounded like Dante’s voice breaking around the truth. None of them ended with her standing in his house, barefoot and shaking, staring at the man she had trusted enough to let into her bed while Luca Camorra’s words echoed through the room.

We got bad intel.

Her father was dead because Vincenzo Hale had pointed the Camorras in his direction, and Dante had pulled the trigger—maybe. That word was the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe, not definitely—not yet. But it was close enough to make her stomach roll.

“Elena.” She looked at Dante. He hadn’t moved, and that was somehow worse. If he had tried to touch her, she could have shoved him away. If he had argued, she could have screamed. If he had lied, she could have hated him. Instead, he stood there looking like someone had hollowed him out from the inside. She hated that she noticed and hated even more that part of her wanted to comfort him. Her father was dead. Dante might have killed him, and she was worried about Dante. Something was wrong with her.

“I need to leave.”

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

She blinked up at him. “You’re not going to stop me?”

“I’m not letting you leave alone.”

Anger sparked. “That’s not your decision anymore,” she said.

“Elena,” Dante breathed.

“You don’t get to order me around right now,” she hissed.

“I’m not trying to,” he assured.

“You literally just told me what I’m not allowed to do.”

“Because someone is still trying to kill you,” Dante reminded.

“And maybe I’d rather take my chances,” she said. The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Dante’s face went completely blank—not angry or cold, but worse. He looked hurt.

“Elena,” he whispered.

She looked away. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” she insisted.

“You did for half a second.” He picked up his gun from the counter and holstered it. “That’s enough.”

She stared at him. “What are you doing?”