Chapter 4 The Devil's Bargain

The sound of Elena's heels against the marble floor echoed like warning shots as she stalked down the hallway of the Valmont Estate, her heart thudding with each step. Behind her, the massive double doors of the ballroom slammed shut-cutting off the stifling music, the glittering lies, and, most of all, Dante Callahan.

Damn him.

She gripped the edge of her silver mask, yanked it off, and tossed it onto a passing server's tray.

She should have known he'd come.

No one entered this city without Dante's knowledge. No one touched power without paying tribute to the king of it.

She had slipped away once-burning bridges, hiding behind names, and faking alliances-but Dante had found her. Again.

"Elena!"

His voice followed her like a curse, closer than she expected. She turned the corner-fast-and collided into a hard wall of muscle.

His hand wrapped around her arm before she could spin away.

"You don't get to walk away from me," he growled.

"You lost that right two years ago," she hissed, jerking free.

Dante's eyes darkened. "Two years ago, you disappeared and let me think you were dead."

"Better dead than a prisoner."

"I never caged you."

"No? Then why did I have to sneak out in the middle of the night like a fugitive in my own marriage?"

His jaw tightened. "You married me to save your mother. You stayed for the power. Don't rewrite history to make yourself the victim, Elena."

She stepped back, heart pounding. "I left because I couldn't breathe around you. Because every time you touched me, it felt like drowning."

A beat of silence.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper, rough as gravel. "Then why did you look at me like you wanted to drown all over again just now?"

Her throat tightened. "You're imagining things."

"I don't imagine," Dante said. "I calculate. I read. And I remember. You always looked at me like I was both your salvation and your destruction."

She swallowed hard.

He wasn't wrong.

And that terrified her.

"Let me go," she said finally.

Dante reached into his jacket and pulled out a flash drive. "You'll want to see this."

She didn't move.

He held it up. "I thought you came here tonight to play politics. But I think you're chasing ghosts. Maybe you're still looking for answers you never got. Like why your mother suddenly turned on you. Why was your fake assassination almost too clean?"

Elena blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"The footage on here shows the night you disappeared. The entire attack. Angles no one but the shooters should've had access to. And guess who's in one of the videos?"

She stared at the flash drive.

"Alessandro Romano," Dante said. "The same man whose daughter now wants a piece of your territory. The same man you supposedly brokered a truce with."

Elena's stomach dropped.

"I know you're still trying to hold this empire together," he added. "But you're in over your head. Let me in, Elena. Before someone buries you in it."

She watched the footage in silence from her suite that night.

The gunshots. The blood. Her own limp body was being dragged into the van.

It all looked so real.

But then, frame by frame, she saw the flicker. The tiny nod from the shooter to the man in the shadows. A signal. A command. Not an accident. Not a hit.

A setup.

She froze the frame where Alessandro stepped into the light.

Not just an accomplice.

The orchestrator.

Her mother had betrayed her.

But Alessandro had engineered it all.

And she'd unknowingly walked into his hands all over again.

"You're pale," said Rafi, her second-in-command, as he poured her a whiskey.

"Tell me something I don't know," she muttered, downing the shot in one go.

"You shouldn't have gone to that party. Or talked to Dante."

She looked up sharply. "He found me. I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Rafi said, voice low. "And if you keep letting him get close, he'll burn you again."

"He saved me."

"He owns you."

"Not anymore."

Rafi sat across from her, his gaze unwavering. "I don't trust him. He's too calm. Too calculated. Men like that don't chase women out of love. They chase them because losing isn't in their vocabulary."

Elena's fingers tightened around the glass. "You think I don't know that?"

"You still want him."

She didn't answer.

Silence was answer enough.

"Then be careful," Rafi warned. "Because the last time you let your heart lead, you almost didn't survive it."

Three days later, Dante sent a car.

Not a message.

Not an invitation.

A matte black Rolls-Royce with tinted windows and a man who said nothing but "Mr. Callahan requests your presence." Urgently."

And Elena-against every rational voice in her head-got in.

He was waiting at a private airstrip.

Leaning against a jet-black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to the forearm. His hair was windblown. His eyes locked on her the second she stepped out.

She hated that her pulse reacted before her mind did.

"What now?" she asked.

"We need to talk," he said.

"About?"

"Your father."

Elena froze.

"You told me he died years ago," she said.

"I thought he did," Dante replied. "Until someone tried to poison me yesterday using a formula only three people in the world know how to make. And one of them is him."

She stared at him. "You think my father is alive?"

"I think he never died. I think he went underground. And I think he's the one bankrolling the Romani syndicate from the shadows."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" he asked. "Because your mother knew. That's why she turned on you. Not for power. For survival. She tried to kill you to stop you from finding out."

Elena's legs felt like they might give.

"I'm taking the jet to find him," Dante said. "You're coming with me."

"Why would I?"

"Because if he's alive... everything you've built is a lie. And if he isn't-then you'll finally have peace."

She hesitated.

"Trust me," Dante said, holding out his hand.

It was stupid.

It was dangerous.

It was inevitable.

She took his hand.

They flew to Prague.

The city was cold, draped in clouds. Gray rooftops lined the skyline like watchful sentries. Dante had contacts in the underground there-people who owed him blood and coin.

But nothing prepared Elena for what they found.

The apartment was in the slums.

The door was unguarded.

Inside-scattered papers, blueprints, and a single photo of her as a child. She crossed the room in a daze, fingers trembling as she picked it up.

It was real.

The man who lived here had loved her.

And that man wasn't a stranger.

It was her father.

Still alive.

Still orchestrating.

Still watching.

And taped on the back of the photo was a handwritten note:

"To protect you, I had to disappear. But I never stopped watching. Don't trust the devil who wears your ring."

Dante stood silently behind her.

His eyes flicked to the note.

"The devil?" he asked. "That's me, isn't it?"

She turned to him, shattered and furious. "I don't know anymore."

Back at the hotel, she poured herself another drink-her fifth since they returned.

Dante stood by the window, hands in his pockets. "Say what you're thinking."

"You lied to me."

"I never lied."

"You didn't tell me my father might still be alive."

"I didn't know. Until now."

"And you dragged me here not to help me-but to make sure I didn't find him before you did."

He turned.

And this time, he didn't deny it.

"You're right."

She blinked.

"I brought you here because if he's alive, he's a threat. Not just to me. To everyone. He knows every weakness in our world. Every blind spot. If he's back, it's a war."

"Then why bring me?"

"Because despite everything, I still trust you."

She laughed bitterly. "You trust me? You're the reason I disappeared in the first place."

"No," he said softly. "You disappeared because you were scared. Of me. Of yourself. Of what we became when we were together."

The silence between them pulsed.

Raw.

Wounded.

Electric.

"Do you regret it?" she whispered.

He stepped closer. "Every day I didn't fight harder to keep you? Yes."

She looked away, tears stinging. "I'm not the same girl anymore."

"I know," he said. "You're stronger. Sharper. More dangerous."

He reached out, his hand brushing her cheek.

"And I love you more now than I ever did then."

She broke.

And he kissed her like he'd waited his whole life for it.

But while they were tangled in the sheets and in each other, a storm brewed outside.

Across the continent, in a dimly lit cathedral, Alessandro Romano knelt before a priest with a black robe and a golden dagger.

"She's close," he said. "Too close."

The priest nodded. "Then it's time we bring in the heir."

A side door opened.

And a man stepped in.

Tall. Handsome. Eyes like Elena's.

And a smile that could slice through bone.

Romano looked up.

"Welcome home, Adrian."

Elena's brother-her twin-whom she believed had died at birth-smiled like a devil reborn.

"It's time to burn them all."