Page 7 of Blood Vows

“I don’t lie,” he insisted.

“Everyone lies,” she said.

“Not about things that matter.” Something in her expression changed, and the teasing disappeared.

“Then tell me what he found,” she said. Dante considered refusing. Hell, he should have refused, but instead, he unlocked his phone.

“Recognize this?” He held the screen toward her. Elena took the phone and her face drained of color. There—that was a real reaction. It wasn’t calculated or controlled. He could see real fucking fear in her eyes.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered.

“Answer the question,” he growled. “Do you recognize it?”

She stared at the account statement. “That’s my name, my information—" Her eyes moved over the screen, and Dante watched every reaction. The way her eyes widened and her mouth tightened. He saw the way her hand began to tremble.

When she reached the balance in the account, she looked up at him. “Four million dollars?”

“You didn't know about it?” he asked.

“No,” she breathed.

“Four million dollars was sitting in an account with your name on it, and you expect me to believe you had no idea?” he asked.

“I don't give a damn what you believe. I've never seen this account before,” she insisted.

“The signature is yours.”

She looked down again and frowned. “No, it isn’t,” she said.

Dante stepped closer. “What do you mean?”

“That isn't my signature,” she insisted.

“It looks exactly like the one on your driver's license,” he accused.

“That's because whoever did it copied the way I sign my name.” She shoved the phone toward him and pointed. “But they got this wrong.” Dante looked where she indicated. At first, he saw nothing, but then Elena zoomed in. “Look at the R.”

“What about it?” he asked.

“I don't close my R,” she said.

Dante looked from the signature to her. “What?”

“When I sign Romano, the top of the R stays open—always. I've written it that way since I was a teenager.” The R on the bank document was closed. It was a tiny detail, meaningless to almost anyone, but maybe not to her.

“Prove it,” he said.

She looked around. “Give me something to write with.” Dante grabbed a pen from the counter and slid a pad of paper toward her. Elena wrote her name. Elena Romano. The R remained open.

“Again,” he ordered. She did it again, and it looked exactly the same.

“Again,” he demanded.

Her eyes flashed. “Are we going to do this all night?”

“If that's what it takes.” She muttered something under her breath and signed five more times. Every R was identical—open at the top. Dante picked up the paper and studied her signature. It didn’t prove she wasn’t involved, but it proved someone had made an effort to imitate her signature and had missed a detail.

“Believe me now?” she asked.