Page 198 of Dante
"Dante."
He pauses at the door. Turns to look at me.
I don't know what to say. Everything feels inadequate.Be carefulis useless—he's walking into a trap on purpose.
So I say the only thing I can.
"Come back to me."
"Always," he says.
Then he opens the door and walks out.
The click of the lock engaging sounds like a gunshot in the silence.
I stand there for a long moment. Staring at the closed door. Counting my heartbeats. Waiting for the elevator to ding, for his footsteps to fade, for the reality of his absence to settle into my bones.
Fifteen minutes.
I have fifteen minutes before I can do anything.
I look at my phone. 12:03 a.m.
The screen blurs. I blink, and tears spill down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand—my right hand, the one that still shakes when I'm scared.
It's shaking now.
I sink back onto the bed. Pull my knees to my chest. Wrap my arms around them and hold on tight.
Fifteen minutes.
I can survive fifteen minutes.
I've survived worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dante
The Uber driver doesn't speak.
I'm not in the mood for conversation either way.
I watch the city slide past the window. Denver at night looks different from Chicago—cleaner somehow, newer, like it hasn't had time to accumulate the same layers of blood and history. The mountains are invisible in the darkness, but I know they're there. Watching. Waiting.
Like Alejandro.
I run through the facts again. The things I know for certain.
One: Alejandro Mendoza killed my family twenty-four years ago.
Two: Giuseppe lied to me. Used my pain to eliminate a rival.
Three: Alejandro has been watching. Waiting. Planning.
Four: He wants me.
That last part is the clearest thing in this whole mess. The surveillance photos, the elaborate trap with Webb, the threats against Marina's parents and the Sartori women—all of it points to one conclusion.
