Danny:
Crazy, huh? That someone used your name to write that story. We need to talk. It's been too long since I've seen you. I'm worried about you, Isa.
I read it twice.
My brother never says he's worried.
Guilt curls through me. I've been hiding from them all for weeks, choosing a war that doesn't even belong to me.
Me:
Okay. I'll meet you at my apartment.
I hesitate, staring at the last message Dante sent—the picture, Sofia's smile—and something inside me twists.
But Danny needs me. And I owe him at least the truth.
The guard at the elevator straightened instantly when he saw me, his posture shifting from relaxed vigilance to sharp professionalalert. It was a subtle thing, barely a movement, but after weeks in Dante's orbit, I saw the tension clearly.
"Ms. DeLaurentis—"
"Dante called," I said quickly, keeping my voice utterly calm and confident, though my pulse was a frantic bird against my ribs. I made sure to use his name, using his authority as a shield. "He said security at the school is perfect and that I should come watch Sofia's play. He knows how much it means that I'm there."
I didn't let my eyes leave his, projecting a confidence that was entirely manufactured.My brother needs me. Danny's worried.The urgency of his message was like a live wire under my skin.
The man hesitated, "We were told specifically to keep the floor secure, Ms. DeLaurentis."
"I'll meet them there," I countered, stepping closer so my words were firm, undeniable. "Someone needs to keep the house secure while the rest of you escort me. That's what he said. He trusts me to make the call, and he needs eyes on the perimeter. Is that clear?"
The tone of delegated authority was just enough to make him hesitate, then nod. He clearly weighed the risk of questioning Dante's implied orders against the risk of keeping me locked away. Dante's mood was a known variable; disobeying hispresumedinstructions was not.
He spoke rapidly into his radio, his voice a low, clipped murmur I couldn't distinguish, then gestured toward the elevator. "Two men will escort you, Ms. DeLaurentis. One ahead, one behind."
"Thank you," I said, managing a tight smile that felt more like a grimace.
The descent was agonizing. Every floor the elevator passed was a step closer to freedom—or to being caught. I felt the weight of the two men —silent, tailored muscles —surrounding me.
When the doors opened into the private garage, the cool, stale air hit me. The space was a massive, concrete tomb lined with luxury cars. My escort led me toward the sleek black SUV.
"I'll drive you—"
"That's all right," I interrupted quickly, cutting him off before he could reach the door handle. I had already booked the car, timed to the minute. "There's a car already waiting. Dante arranged for a driver with the required security clearance to avoid a full motorcade at the school. It's supposed to look discreet."
I spotted it instantly: the nondescript, dark-colored sedan idling discreetly near the far exit.
The head guard frowned, his professionalism warring with the instruction. "I don't recognize that vehicle, ma'am."
"It's new," I lied, stepping past him quickly, before he could raise the issue over the radio. I moved with a focused pace—not running, but not dawdling—and pulled open the rear door of the sedan myself.
I didn't look back. I didn't breathe.
I slid into the backseat. My heart was hammering so violently that I was afraid the Uber driver would hear it.
"Drive," I whispered to the driver, keeping my gaze locked on the guards standing beside Dante's SUV. They were still there, watching, trying to reconcile the conflicting orders.
The door closed with a muffledthunk. The car pulled away smoothly, blending immediately into the flow of evening traffic, and I finally allowed myself a long, shuddering breath. I didn't relax. I knew, with cold certainty, that Dante would know I was gone the second he checked his phone.
But by then, I'd be with Danny. And I was already committed.
