Chapter 4 - The Woman Before Clare
Her name had been Sofia Romano.
Dante told me everything.
Not because he wanted to.
Because I packed my bag.
“Clare.”
“No.”
I shoved a sweater into my backpack.
“You cannot leave.”
“Watch me.”
“Matteo knows your address.”
“Then I'll call police.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
I spun around.
“Don't you dare laugh at me.”
“I am not laughing at you.”
“It sounded pretty similar.”
He ran a hand across his face.
“Sofia believed exactly what you're saying now.”
I stopped.
He stood near the bedroom door.
“She left security behind after an argument.”
His voice became distant.
“The bomb was meant for me.”
My anger changed shape.
“Were you with her?”
“No.”
“So you've blamed yourself ever since.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother?”
“She blames me too.”
That explained more than I wanted it to.
I sat slowly.
“How long ago?”
“Five years.”
“And you haven't been with anyone since?”
“No.”
My eyes lifted.
“Until the waitress with bad shoes.”
A sad smile.
“Yes.”
I hated how much that mattered.
But fear mattered more.
“I can't live under guard.”
“I know.”
“I can't look over my shoulder forever.”
“I know.”
“I won't become another woman you hide in an apartment because some man wants revenge.”
Dante crossed the room.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Change it.”
“How?”
“Stop asking how.”
He frowned.
“You told me you're trying to move your family businesses away from crime.”
“I am.”
“Then finish.”
“People will die.”
“People are already dying.”
That hit him.
“I have men who depend on me.”
“Give them legitimate jobs.”
“It is not that simple.”
“There it is again.”
He looked frustrated.
I moved closer.
“You own trucking companies.”
“Yes.”
“Construction.”
“Yes.”
“Restaurants.”
“Yes.”
“Warehouses?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop pretending every man working for you has to collect gambling debts to survive.”
He stared at me.
“You really believe people can just walk away.”
“I did.”
“From what?”
“My mother left me medical debt.”
His face softened.
“I worked two jobs. I lost my apartment. I lived on Tommy's couch for three months. I could have stolen. I could have lied. I could have found someone to pay my bills.”
My voice shook.
“I didn't.”
“This isn't the same.”
“No.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“You have more choices than I did.”
He said nothing.
That evening, Dante called a meeting.
I didn't know until later.
Twenty-three men gathered inside a private club.
Captains.
Managers.
Old family soldiers.
Dante stood at the head of the table.
“We're done.”
Nobody understood.
He explained.
Collections would end.
Illegal gambling rooms would close.
Cash businesses would become audited companies.
Weapons trafficking, which Dante said he had already ended years earlier, would never return.
One man laughed.
“What happened to you?”
Dante thought of a waitress standing in worn sneakers.
“Nothing.”
Another man leaned forward.
“Bellini will take everything.”
“Let him try.”
The room became angry.
One older captain named Salvatore Greco slammed his fist down.
“Your father built this.”
Dante's voice dropped.
“My father built a prison and called it an empire.”
Silence.
By midnight, six men had walked out.
Three swore loyalty.
Four remained undecided.
Salvatore called Matteo Bellini before sunrise.
By the next afternoon, someone tried to kill Dante.
I was at the penthouse when his bodyguards brought him in.
Blood covered his shirt.
My entire body went cold.
“Where?”
“Shoulder,” Luca said.
I went into nurse mode despite having no nursing training whatsoever.
Actually, I went into panicked waitress mode.
“Hospital.”
“No,” Dante said.
“You're bleeding.”
“Superficial.”
“You're an idiot.”
“That diagnosis feels personal.”
I pressed a towel against the wound.
He winced.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You deserve that.”
He almost smiled.
A doctor arrived twenty minutes later.
The bullet had grazed him.
No major damage.
When everyone finally left the room, I sat beside him.
Dante looked exhausted.
“I started changing things.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Luca told me.”
“Traitor.”
“He likes me.”
“Everyone does.”
“Your mother doesn't.”
His mouth curved.
“She might eventually.”
I stared at the bandage.
“Was it Bellini?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“One of my own.”
I looked up.
“Because you tried to go legitimate?”
“Yes.”
The consequences of my advice suddenly felt very real.
“I told you to do this.”
“You did not pull the trigger.”
“But—”
Dante took my hand.
“Clare.”
I froze.
It was the first time he'd touched me deliberately.
“Do not carry my choices for me.”
His thumb moved once over my fingers.
“I should have made these changes years ago.”
The space between us narrowed.
I didn't know who moved first.
Maybe both of us.
His mouth touched mine.
Softly.
Nothing like the man everyone feared.
The kiss lasted only seconds.
When I pulled away, Dante's forehead rested against mine.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“I should leave.”
“Yes.”
“You're supposed to argue.”
“I have learned.”
I laughed.
Then Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed instantly.
“What?”
He stood despite the injury.
Luca's voice was loud enough that I heard it.
“We found Salvatore.”
A pause.
“And?”
“Dead.”
Dante's eyes darkened.
“Bellini?”
“No.”
Another pause.
Then Luca said:
“Your mother.”
Dante went completely still.
And for the first time, I realized Elena Caruso wasn't warning me away merely because she feared history repeating itself.
She was still playing by the old rules.
May you like
And if Dante truly wanted out, his greatest enemy might not be Matteo Bellini.
It might be his own family.
