Chapter 5 The Blade Beneath the Vow

The villa was ablaze.

Not literally, not yet, but in Dante's mind, it might as well have been. Every wall, every painting, every silent servant brushing past him held a recollection of Elena. Her laughter reverberated off the marble. Her bare feet were on the cold tile flooring at midnight. The way she used to sit on the edge of the bed, back straight, like a queen ready to be crowned.

And now?

Now she strolled these halls like a ghost who had returned to haunt him.

She was alive.

And every part of him- his pride, his rage, his grief-was at battle with the desire that had never completely gone.

"She's staying in the west wing, Luca stated as they entered the surveillance room, his voice low. "Just like you ordered. Guards on every exit. Windows contain motion sensors.

"Good, Dante mumbled. His jaw clenched as he surveyed the screens. Her picture flickered into view, Elena standing by the window of the guest suite, arms crossed across her chest, her face unreadable.

"I don't want her to leave until we know who helped fake her death. Who financed her? Who leaked our safehouse location?

"You sure she wasn't a pawn in someone else's game?

"She's too smart to be anyone's pawn," Dante replied bitterly. "And too dangerous to underestimate.

Luca paused. "You don't think she still loves you.

Dante's stare never left the screen. "I think love stopped mattering the day she left a bullet casing where her wedding ring used to be.

Elena couldn't sleep.

The villa smelled the same. A blend of ancient wood, good leather, and that subtle hint of Dante, clove and cedar, and clean steel.

She hated that she noticed.

She hated that her fingers had trembled as she touched the edge of the dresser they had used to fight on. That her skin still remembered the squeeze of his hands, the scorch of his kisses.

She hated that she didn't hate him enough.

The shadows beyond her window swirled with wind. But what chilled her more than the rain was the silence.

Too quiet.

Too familiar.

She pulled on a robe and padded toward the door. It creaked when she opened it, just enough to see into the hallway.

Two guards.

No surprise.

But one of them... She narrowed her eyes.

He was observing the other, gently checking his watch every fifteen seconds. Not once did he gaze toward her room. Not once did he adjust his posture.

She'd been undercover long enough to identify a terrible actor when she saw one.

That one's not real.

Elena closed the door quietly and walked to her desk. From the drawer, she pulled a thin nail file. She twisted the handle, popping it apart to reveal the little blade she'd hidden inside before she was taken here.

Because one thing she'd learned in the past two years?

Never trust a Callahan guard. Never walk unarmed.

She returned to bed, gripping the sword beneath her pillow.

Dante's dreams resumed that night.

He hadn't had them in months, but with Elena back in his home, they came creeping out the walls like old ghosts. Fire. Screams. Blood on his hands. His father's words reverberated through the flames: "Kill or be killed, Dante. That's the only rule.

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, fists curled around the blankets.

The nightmare never changed.

Only now, when he peered down, the woman bleeding out on the marble wasn't a rival.

It was Elena.

The next morning

Elena sat across from Dante at the large mahogany dinner table, her fork untouched, gaze locked on the eggs she had no intention of eating.

He, of course, was drinking black coffee like it was ammunition.

Neither talked for a long moment.

Until Dante broke the silence.

"Why come back now?

Elena looked up, her voice flat. "I didn't come back. You kidnapped me.

"If I wanted you kidnapped, you'd be in a cage. You're not. You're here. In our home.

"This is not my home.

"It was.

"It was a lie.

Dante's jaw clenched. "So you faked your death because of a lie?

"I faked my death because someone tried to kill me in our bed. And when I looked for help, the only thing I discovered was silence from your side of the world.

His hand clutched the mug. "You think I ordered the hit?

She met his eyes. "If you didn't, why didn't you find me?

"I buried you.

"I didn't die.

"And yet, you didn't say a word for two damn years.

"Because I didn't know who I could trust!

Dante stood, pacing. His voice sank, darker now. "And yet you trusted someone. Someone helped you vanish. Someone helped you change your identity, acquire access to a safehouse in Berlin, and create an underground shipping line.

Elena's eyes blazed. "I did what I had to do to survive.

"Don't twist this like you're the victim.

"I am the victim, Dante. I've always been. Even before the wedding. Even when you promised me freedom but delivered me a jail with gold walls.

That struck him. He didn't show it. Not with his face. But his knuckles whitened.

She rose from the table. "You want answers? I'll give them. But not here. Not like this. Because this isn't a conversation between a husband and a wife. This is war. And I've learned how to combat it better than you ever taught me.

Later that day

Luca approached Dante with a file in hand.

"We've got a name.

Dante turned from the balcony, interest flaring. "Who?

"Vincent Arledge. Former MI6. Black ops. Disappeared six years ago. He's the one who prepared the identity package for Elena after her fake death. He specializes in ghosting assets.

"Where is he now?

"Paris. Under the alias of Simon Varric. Owns a gallery.

Dante's eyes narrowed.

"Pull the jet.

Luca paused. "You want to bring Elena?

"She'll come. Does she want the truth? Let's walk her right into it.

Paris, 12 Hours Later

The gallery was built of glass and shadows. Modern sculptures. Abstract pieces. And quite piercing enough to slash the throat.

Elena wandered between the installations like she didn't recognize anything. But her heart was thumping.

She had been here before.

Not as herself.

Not as Elena.

As someone named Marissa Vale.

Dante followed close behind, his presence like a fever she couldn't ignore.

At the rear of the gallery, a man stepped from the shadows.

Mid-forties. Graying beard. Tailored suit. Eyes like a sniper's scope.

"Elena, he replied, a small smile twisting. "Or should I say... Mrs. Callahan. Still alive, I see.

"Hello, Vincent.

Dante stepped forward. "You're the one who ghosted her.

Vincent chuckled. "Ghosted? No, no. She came to me. Paid me in diamonds. Gave me three weeks and a burner phone. And she was extremely specific: "If I ever saw somebody resembling you, Mr. Callahan, I was to disappear next.

Dante's eyes never left Vincent's. "Who tried to kill her?

Vincent's smile vanished. "That's the real question, isn't it?

Elena's breath hitched.

"You knew?

Vincent nodded slowly. "It was never you, Dante. You were the distraction. The shooter was sent by someone of her own lineage. Someone has access. Someone who needs her to influence a very specific vote in the Syndicate.

Dante froze. "The council voted on the Eastern docks...

Vincent looked at Elena.

"Tell him who was there that night, Elena.

Her eyes burned.

"My mother.

Back at the villa, 48 Hours Later

Everything changed.

Elena stared at the photo Vincent had handed her. A blurry image from the CCTV camera in their former villa. A woman in black departed through the staff exit at 3:14 a.m., six minutes after the gunman failed.

Her mother's face was half-covered.

But unmistakable.

"She said she was protecting me," Elena muttered.

"She sold you, Dante stated coldly." To whoever would benefit from your disappearance.

And immediately, the memory came flooding back.

The smell of her mother's perfume that night. The way she embraced Elena goodbye, tighter than usual.

"I thought she loved me, Elena muttered.

"She loves power more.

Dante stood near her. "She won't stop.

"I know.

"I'll take her down for you.

Elena looked up. Her voice cracked. "No. We'll do it together.

Elsewhere...

A masked figure stood in the back of a cathedral, speaking quietly into a phone.

"She knows the truth," the voice whispered. "We move to Phase Two.

On the altar, a candle flickered.

Blood dripped from its base.

"Kill the mother.