Chapter 10: Elena's Suspicion

Elena stood in the shadows across the street from Salvatore Tower, her coffee going cold in her hands as she watched the building's gleaming facade catch the morning light. She'd been there for forty minutes, telling herself she was being ridiculous, that successful billionaires worked late and arrived early and there was nothing strange about Dante's schedule.

Except there was.

She'd noticed it three days ago, a pattern so subtle she'd almost missed it. Dante would leave the community center around six, citing meetings or business obligations, always with that carefully constructed mask of corporate efficiency. But twice now, she'd driven past his building late at night, around eleven or midnight, and seen his office lights blazing on the top floor.

Working late wasn't suspicious. What made her stomach twist was the timing.

Both nights, there had been reports on the news the next morning. A drug shipment intercepted at the docks. A human trafficking ring busted in an abandoned warehouse. Police arriving at crime scenes with anonymous tips, finding evidence laid out like gifts, criminals already subdued and waiting.

The Sentinel's work.

Elena took a sip of her coffee and grimaced at the bitter coldness. She was losing her mind. She had to be. The idea that Dante Salvatore, with his thousand dollar suits and boardroom empire, could be the masked vigilante who'd been terrorizing Chicago's criminal underworld for the past two years was absurd.

And yet.

She couldn't shake the memory of that night in the alley, couldn't forget those eyes behind the mask. The way they'd looked at her with an intensity that had felt oddly familiar even then. She'd convinced herself it was trauma, adrenaline, her mind playing tricks in the aftermath of violence.

But now, after two weeks of working closely with Dante, after watching the way he moved with a fighter's grace, after catching glimpses of barely concealed scars on his knuckles that no amount of expensive grooming could fully hide, the pieces were starting to form a picture she didn't want to see.

"You're being paranoid," she muttered to herself, crushing the coffee cup and tossing it into a nearby trash can. "You're sleep deprived and stressed and seeing conspiracies where there's just a workaholic billionaire trying to make a difference."

Her phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: Miguel's mom called. He's being discharged today. Asking for you.

Relief flooded through her, momentarily pushing aside her spiraling thoughts. Miguel had made it through surgery, through the infection scare, through all of it. One kid was saved. One small victory in an endless war.

She texted back that she'd be there within the hour, then started toward her car. The morning rush was building, people flooding the sidewalks in waves of briefcases and determination. Elena felt separate from them somehow, like she was moving through a different world entirely.

Her phone rang. Dante's name flashed on the screen.

Elena stared at it for three rings before answering. "Morning."

"Where are you?" His voice was rough, like he'd been up all night. Which, if her suspicions were correct, he probably had been.

"Running an errand. Why?"

"We need to talk. About the center's security."

Her heart kicked against her ribs. "What about it?"

"There was an incident last night. Someone tried to break into the building. The new alarm system I installed caught it on camera." A pause, heavy with something she couldn't identify. "Can you come to my office? Now?"

Elena's mind raced. An attempted break in. The same night there'd been another Sentinel sighting across town, a warehouse raid that had freed a dozen kidnapped women. The same night Dante's office lights had been burning at two in the morning when she'd driven past, unable to sleep, unable to stop the questions circling in her head.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," she said.

She hung up before he could respond and stood there on the sidewalk, people flowing around her like water around a stone. This was it. The moment where she either confronted her suspicions or buried them completely.

The smart thing would be to ignore the coincidences, accept his help, and focus on saving the center. The smart thing would be to stop playing detective and appreciate that a powerful man was using his resources to make her neighborhood safer.

But Elena had never been particularly good at doing the smart thing.

Twenty minutes later, she was in Dante's private elevator, watching the numbers climb to the penthouse level. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished doors: dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing jeans and a faded Northwestern sweatshirt because she'd given up on trying to look professional around him.

The doors opened directly into his office, and Elena's breath caught despite herself. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the entire city, the morning sun turning Chicago into something beautiful and gleaming. Dante stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, silhouetted against all that light.

"Coffee?" he asked without turning around.

"I've had enough, thanks."

He turned then, and Elena felt that familiar jolt of awareness that hit her every time she saw him. He looked exhausted, shadows under his grey eyes, his normally perfect hair slightly disheveled. His suit jacket was draped over his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal those scarred forearms.

Fighter's scars. She was sure of it now.

"Show me the footage," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Dante gestured to his desk, where a laptop sat open, frozen on a black and white image of the community center's back entrance. He clicked play, and Elena watched as a figure in a dark hoodie approached the door, tried the handle, then pulled out what looked like lock picking tools.

The figure worked for maybe thirty seconds before something startled them. They looked up, directly at the camera, and bolted.

"Can you zoom in?" Elena asked. "On their face?"

"Already tried. The angle's wrong, and they were wearing the hood too low." Dante's jaw tightened. "But look at this."

He rewound the footage and paused it on a frame where the figure's sleeve had ridden up, revealing what looked like a tattoo on their wrist. Three interlinked circles.

Elena's blood went cold. "That's the Serpent's Mark."

"I know." Dante's voice was flat, dangerous. "Victor Kane's organization."

"How do you know about Kane's tattoos?" The question was out before Elena could stop it.

Dante's eyes locked on hers, and for a heartbeat, she saw something flicker there. Something dark and knowing and entirely too aware. "I make it my business to know who's operating in this city. Especially when they're targeting organizations I'm invested in."

"You make it your business." Elena took a step closer, her heart pounding. "That's an interesting way to put it."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm observing." She gestured to the screen. "This happened around eleven thirty last night. According to the timestamp."

"That's correct."

"And there was a Sentinel sighting last night. Across town. Around the same time."

Dante's expression didn't change, but something in the air between them shifted. Became charged, dangerous. "I don't follow."

"Don't you?" Elena moved closer, close enough to see the faint scar along his jawline that makeup usually covered. Close enough to notice the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders. "Because I've been noticing patterns, Dante. Interesting patterns about your schedule and The Sentinel's activities."

"You think I'm The Sentinel." It wasn't a question. His voice was carefully neutral, giving nothing away.

"I think you're hiding something. I think you have secrets that go deeper than just being a philanthropic billionaire." Elena held his gaze, refusing to back down even as her pulse raced. "I think you're more involved in this city's criminal underworld than you want anyone to know."

"And what exactly do you plan to do with these suspicions?" Dante asked softly. Too softly. There was steel beneath the words, a warning.

Elena swallowed hard. This was the precipice. She could step back, apologize, pretend she'd never said anything. Or she could push forward, demand the truth, and risk everything she'd been building with him.

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I need you to be honest with me. Are you The Sentinel?"

Dante stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he moved, closing the distance between them in two strides, and Elena found herself backed against his desk, his hands braced on either side of her, caging her in.

His face was inches from hers, his grey eyes blazing with something fierce and complicated. "You're playing a dangerous game, Elena. Asking questions you might not want the answers to."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be." His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and raw. "Because if you keep digging, if you keep pulling at threads, you're going to unravel things that can't be put back together. Things that will put you in danger."

"From who? From you?"

"From the people who would use you to get to me." His hand lifted, almost touching her face before he caught himself. "The people who would hurt you just to watch me bleed."

Elena's breath hitched. "So you're admitting it."

"I'm admitting nothing." But his eyes told a different story. His eyes were full of secrets and shadows and a pain so deep it made her chest ache. "I'm telling you to stop. For your own safety. Let this go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Because she was falling for him. Because every instinct she had was screaming that he was both the most dangerous and the most important person who'd ever walked into her life. Because somewhere between the generous donations and the late night conversations and the way he looked at her like she was the only real thing in his carefully constructed world, she'd started to care.

And if he was The Sentinel, if he was risking his life every night to fight the same monsters she was trying to save kids from, then she needed to know. She needed to understand who this man really was beneath all the money and power and masks.

"Because I deserve the truth," she said finally. "And because if you're fighting the same war I am, then we should be fighting it together."

Dante pulled back abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "You have no idea what you're asking."

"Then explain it to me."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

Before he could answer, his phone rang. Marcus's name flashed on the screen. Dante grabbed it, his expression shifting from conflicted to cold efficiency in a heartbeat.

"What is it?" He listened for a moment, and Elena watched his face go pale. "When? ... I'm on my way."

He hung up and looked at Elena, and she saw real fear in his eyes for the first time.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Miguel. Someone just tried to kidnap him from the hospital."