Page 10 of Blood Vows

“Didn't say you couldn't,” he said.

Her gaze lifted to his. “Then why do you keep treating me like I can't?” Dante thought about the bodies at the warehouse. The precision of the cuts and the message carved into dead flesh. Four million dollars was moving under Elena's name, and someone was forging her signature. He thought about her dead father's warning, and the key hidden in an apartment someone might already be tearing apart.

“Because whoever is doing this isn't playing with you, Elena. I think that they want you dead.”

Her expression softened just a fraction. “Are you playing with me, Dante?” she asked.

“No.” He stepped closer to her. “I don't play.” Something passed between them—hot, sharp, and dangerous. Dante broke eye contact first, and that pissed him off too.

The guard appeared at the end of the hallway. “Car's ready.” Dante nodded. He reached for Elena's coat and held it out, and she took it from him. Their fingers brushed, just barely a touch. It shouldn't have meant anything, but it did.

Dante immediately released the coat. “Let's go.”

Elena slipped it on. “You know,” she said as they headed for the door, “for someone who thinks I'm guilty, you're working awfully hard to keep me alive.”

Dante stopped, and she nearly walked into him. He turned his head, looking down at her. “Don't confuse protection with affection.”

Her eyes held his. “I don't.”

“Good.” He opened the door, and cold night air swept into the house. Dante stepped outside first, automatically scanning the street before signaling for Elena to follow. The car waited at the curb, and everything looked normal—too normal. Dante hated normal because it usually meant trouble.

He placed his hand against Elena's lower back and guided her toward the vehicle. She stiffened beneath his touch, and he removed his hand. They were halfway to the car when headlights appeared at the end of the street. Dante watched them as the vehicle slowed. It was a black SUV, with tinted windows and no plates on the front. His instincts screamed at him.

“Elena.” She looked at him. “Get down.”

“What?” The passenger window of the SUV lowered, and Dante saw the barrel. He didn't think—he just grabbed Elena around the waist and threw both of them behind the parked car as the first shots ripped through the night. Glass exploded around them, and he heard one of his men shout. Dante covered Elena with his body and pulled his gun.

“Stay the fuck down,” he shouted.

Her hands gripped his jacket. “Dante⁠—”

“Down!” He rose just enough to fire over the hood and got off two shots. The SUV accelerated, and more gunfire erupted around him. One of the safehouse guards returned fire from the doorway, and then the vehicle disappeared around the corner. Silence crashed down almost as violently as the bullets had. Dante stayed exactly where he was—listening and waiting for another attack.

Elena was beneath him, breathing hard, but alive. He looked down at her. “Are you hit?” She shook her head. “Use words.”

“No.” He ran his hands over her arms, anyway, as though checking to make sure that she was okay.

“I said I'm fine,” she hissed.

“I heard you,” he said.

“Then stop—” His hand came away wet, and Dante froze when he saw her blood on his fingers.

“Elena,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He grabbed her arm and turned it. A thin line of blood ran from just below her shoulder. “Fuck.”

Her face went pale. “It's just a graze.”

“You don't know that,” he said.

“I'm pretty sure I'd know if I'd been shot,” she insisted.

“You've been shot before?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted.