Chapter 7 - NOT YOURS
I ran into the hallway.
Dante had not reached the elevator.
He turned at the sound of my bare feet.
“What happened?”
I held up the photograph.
His face changed instantly.
Then he saw the ring.
His hand went to his right hand.
Bare.
“When did you lose it?”
“I didn’t.”
“You weren’t wearing it?”
“I stopped wearing family rings years ago.”
“Then how did someone get this?”
“That one disappeared after my father died.”
My stomach turned.
Victor.
Of course.
Dante came back inside.
He checked every room before returning to the kitchen.
“No one is here.”
“They were.”
“Yes.”
“How did they know I’d choose this apartment?”
“They may have followed us from St. Agnes.”
Or someone inside had told them.
Again.
Dante stared at the photograph.
“Now choose which boss she costs you.”
Marco.
They wanted Dante and Marco fighting over me.
Again.
I suddenly felt exhausted.
“I’m not staying here.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
He caught himself.
“You shouldn’t stay here.”
“Agreed.”
His eyes met mine.
“Come back to my house.”
“Because it’s safe?”
“Because I can protect it.”
“Those are different things.”
“Yes.”
At least he understood.
I packed one bag.
In the car, neither of us spoke for several blocks.
Then Dante said, “Marco is right about one thing.”
“That is probably painful for you.”
“Extremely.”
I smiled despite myself.
“What?”
“My house may be compromised.”
“So where are we going?”
“My sister’s.”
I turned.
“You have a sister?”
“Alessia.”
“You’ve never mentioned her.”
“You’ve known me five days.”
“Apparently that is enough time to be kidnapped, uncover eighteen years of family corruption, and move into your sister’s house.”
“Chicago is efficient.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Dante looked at me.
The expression in his eyes made the laughter die slowly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“I hadn’t heard you laugh.”
My heart did something inconvenient.
I looked out the window.
“Drive.”
Alessia Moretti lived in Lincoln Park in a house that looked almost aggressively normal.
She opened the door wearing sweatpants and holding a wooden spoon.
She looked at Dante.
Then at me.
Then at my overnight bag.
“Well.”
Dante sighed.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re about to.”
Alessia smiled at me.
“I’m Alessia.”
“Emma.”
“I know.”
I looked at Dante.
He looked mildly betrayed.
“Everyone apparently knows my name.”
“My brother has called me six times in two days.”
Dante went still.
Alessia’s smile widened.
“Six?”
I asked.
“Seven if you count the one where he pretended to ask about Thanksgiving.”
Dante walked inside.
“I regret this already.”
For the first time, I saw him as a brother.
Not a boss.
Not a threat.
Just a man being annoyed by someone who had known him long enough not to be impressed.
It made him dangerous in an entirely different way.
That night, Alessia went upstairs early and left Dante and me in the kitchen.
Snow had started outside.
I held a mug of tea between my hands.
“Why didn’t you want anything to do with me at the hotel?”
He looked surprised.
“What?”
“When I delivered the envelope.”
“I didn’t know you.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
He leaned back.
“I avoid attachments connected to my work.”
“So I looked like trouble.”
“You looked terrified.”
“That’s romantic.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I smiled.
“What changed?”
His expression shifted.
“Marco took you.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
He stared at the table.
Then at me.
“I spent four days telling myself you were a witness I needed to find.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“On the fourth day, I stopped believing myself.”
Silence stretched.
“Why?”
His eyes dropped to the bruises that still marked my arms.
“When I saw what they had done to you, I wanted to make decisions that weren’t rational.”
“Like?”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“No.”
I should have been annoyed.
Instead I understood.
Some thoughts were better not spoken.
Especially by men accustomed to violence.
“I’m not yours,” I said quietly.
His gaze met mine.
“I know.”
“Marco doesn’t get to take me from you because I’m not something you own.”
“I know.”
“Victor doesn’t get to use me to make you react.”
“I know.”
I waited.
Then Dante said the thing I hadn’t expected.
“The problem is that knowing it doesn’t stop me from wanting you near me.”
My breath caught.
“That sounds suspiciously like jealousy.”
“It is.”
At least he didn’t lie.
I smiled faintly.
“You’re not very good at romance.”
“I have been told.”
“By many women?”
“By my sister.”
I laughed again.
Then his phone vibrated on the table.
He ignored it.
That surprised me.
“It could be important.”
“It can wait thirty seconds.”
“Why thirty?”
He stood.
My pulse accelerated.
Dante walked toward me.
Slowly.
Then stopped.
“Because I want to kiss you.”
My throat went dry.
“And after thirty seconds?”
“I intend to reconsider whether that is a terrible idea.”
“Very responsible.”
“I’m trying.”
I looked at his mouth.
Then back at his eyes.
“Ask.”
His expression softened.
“May I kiss you, Emma?”
“Yes.”
He touched my face as though the answer mattered.
Then kissed me.
Nothing about it was violent.
That surprised me.
Dante kissed with restraint.
Almost too much restraint.
Like a man holding something dangerous inside himself and refusing to make it my burden.
My fingers caught his shirt.
That restraint cracked.
Only slightly.
Enough to make my knees weak.
Then his phone vibrated again.
And again.
We separated.
“Thirty seconds?” I whispered.
“Approximately.”
“Your watch is terrible.”
“Probably.”
He picked up the phone.
His expression changed.
Not because of a mysterious caller.
A security alert filled the screen.
The St. Agnes building had been entered with Dante’s old family access code.
Only three living people knew it.
Dante.
Alessia.
Victor Salvi.
We reached St. Agnes twenty minutes later.
Marco was already there.
“You called him?” I asked.
“No.”
Marco held up his phone.
“Same alert.”
Victor wanted both bosses here.
Inside, the blue ledgers were gone.
In their place lay Carlo Moretti’s old black overcoat.
Dante froze.
“That was buried with my father.”
Marco stared.
“What?”
Dante walked toward it.
His face had gone pale.
Someone had cut open the lining.
Inside was a second pocket watch.
Carlo’s.
The hands were stopped at 1:17.
Dante opened the back.
Beneath the engraving was something none of us had seen before.
A thin piece of paper.
One sentence.
If I die tonight, it was not a Vitelli.
Marco inhaled sharply.
Dante turned it over.
A second sentence had been added in different handwriting.
Laura Chase knows who did it.
And beneath that was a date.
Tomorrow.
North Pier.
Midnight.
Marco looked toward me.
“He wants you there.”
Dante’s response came instantly.
“No.”
I looked at him.
His jaw clenched.
Then he closed his eyes.
Opened them.
And tried again.
“He wants you there. I don’t.”
“Better.”
Marco shook his head.
“This is touching.”
“Marco.”
He lifted his hands.
Then his expression became serious.
“Emma shouldn’t go.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Victor isn’t trying to recover a ledger anymore.”
“What is he trying to do?”
May you like
Marco looked at Dante.
“Finish the war he started.”
