Chapter 15: Watching from the Shadows

Elena knew she was being followed.

She'd felt it for three days now, that prickling awareness at the back of her neck, the sense of eyes tracking her movements through crowded streets. At first, she'd dismissed it as paranoia, a side effect of spending too much time with Dante and his world of security protocols and bodyguards. But tonight, walking home from the community center under the dim glow of streetlights, she was certain.

Someone was watching her.

She clutched her bag tighter and quickened her pace, her keys already threaded between her fingers the way her father had taught her years ago. The street was emptier than usual, most of the shops already closed, their metal gates pulled down like sleeping eyelids. A car passed, its headlights momentarily blinding her, and when her vision cleared, she saw him.

A figure stood across the street, half hidden in the shadow of a boarded-up building. Tall. Still. Watching.

Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Dante's contact, but pride stopped her. She wasn't some damsel who needed rescuing every time she got spooked. She'd lived in this neighborhood her entire life. She knew how to handle herself.

She turned the corner toward her apartment building, walking faster now, and heard footsteps behind her. Measured. Deliberate. Keeping pace.

"Miss Moretti."

The voice came from directly behind her, and Elena spun around, her keys raised like a weapon.

The man who stood there wasn't what she expected. He was older, maybe fifty, with salt and pepper hair and a face marked by old scars. But it was his eyes that stopped her cold. They were familiar somehow, carrying the same intensity she'd seen in Dante's gaze when he thought no one was looking.

"Who are you?" Elena demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Someone who's trying to keep you alive." He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the street with practiced efficiency. "You need to be more careful, Miss Moretti. Walking alone at night, keeping predictable schedules. You're making it too easy."

"Making what is too easy? What are you talking about?"

"You've gotten close to Dante Salvatore. That makes you a target."

The words hit her like ice water. "A target for what?"

"For people who want to hurt him." The man stepped closer, and Elena tensed, but he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to harm you. I'm here to warn you. Dante has enemies. Powerful ones. And now that you're in his life, you're on their radar."

Elena's mind raced. "If you're trying to protect me, why are you skulking around in the shadows? Why not just come to my door?"

"Because I can't let Dante know I contacted you." Something painful flickered across his face. "He wouldn't understand. Not yet."

"Who are you?" Elena asked again, softer this time.

The man was quiet for a long moment, studying her with those eerily familiar eyes. "Someone who cares about what happens to him. Someone who knows what he's capable of when the people he cares about are threatened." He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out. "If anything happens, if you see anything suspicious, call this number. Not Dante's. Mine."

Elena took the card with trembling fingers. There was no name, just a phone number printed in plain black text.

"You care about him," the man said. It wasn't a question. "I can see it. But caring about Dante Salvatore is dangerous, Miss Moretti. He lives in a world where love is a weakness that can be exploited. Where everyone you care about becomes a pawn in someone else's game."

"Then why tell me this? Why not just let me walk away?"

"Because I don't think you will. Walk away, I mean." He smiled sadly. "You're like her. Stubborn. Brave. Unwilling to abandon someone who needs you, even when the smart thing would be to run."

"Like who?"

But the man was already backing away, melting into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all. "Remember what I said. Be careful. And trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is."

"Wait!" Elena called out, but he was gone.

She stood there for a full minute, her heart still racing, the card burning in her hand. Then she turned and practically ran the rest of the way to her apartment, not stopping until she was inside with the door locked and chained behind her.

Her hands shook as she examined the card under her kitchen light. Just a number. Nothing else. No clue to the man's identity or how he knew Dante or why he'd felt compelled to warn her.

You're like her.

Like who? Who had the man been talking about?

Elena paced her tiny apartment, too wired to sit still. Everything about the encounter felt surreal, like something out of the thriller novels she used to read in college. But this wasn't fiction. This was her life, and it was becoming increasingly complicated by the day.

She thought about calling Dante, but what would she say? That some mysterious man had followed her home and warned her she was in danger because of their relationship? Dante would immediately insist on tighter security, probably try to move her into his penthouse for her own protection, and she'd lose what little independence she had left.

Besides, there was something about the encounter that made her want to keep it to herself. The way the man had looked at her, with a mixture of concern and something that felt almost like kinship. The way he'd spoken about Dante, with intimate knowledge and barely concealed pain.

Who was he? An old friend? A former associate? Someone from Dante's past who still cared enough to protect the people in his life?

Elena's phone buzzed, making her jump. A text from Dante: Are you home safe?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could tell him. Should tell him. But instead, she typed: Yes. Just got in. Long day.

I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8. We're having breakfast with my attorney. Contract details for the center's expansion.

Okay. See you then.

She set the phone down and stared at the mysterious card again. The smart thing would be to throw it away. To tell Dante everything and let him handle it with his resources and his security team and his money that could solve almost any problem.

But Elena had learned early in life that smart and right weren't always the same thing.

She tucked the card into her wallet, behind her license where it would stay hidden but accessible. Then she poured herself a glass of wine she couldn't really afford and tried to calm the anxiety thrumming through her veins.

The man's words echoed in her head: Caring about Dante Salvatore is dangerous.

She already knew that. Had known it from the moment he'd walked into her community center with his expensive suit and his dangerous eyes and his offer that was too good to refuse. Had felt it in every conversation, every touch, every moment when he looked at her like she was something precious and terrifying all at once.

But knowing something was dangerous and walking away from it were two different things.

Elena thought about Miguel, still recovering from his knife wound. About the fifteen new kids who'd enrolled in their programs since Dante's donation. About the renovations starting next week that would finally fix the leaking roof and the broken heating system. About all the good that was happening because she'd let Dante Salvatore into her life.

And then she thought about the way he'd held her hand last week when she'd broken down crying after a particularly hard day. The way he listened when she talked about her brother. The way his mask seemed to slip sometimes, revealing glimpses of the man beneath the billionaire facade.

She was falling for him. Had probably already fallen, if she was being honest with herself. And that terrified her more than any mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Dante: I know you said you're fine, but Marcus is in the area. He'll do a drive by to make sure everything's secure.

Elena's chest tightened. He was protecting her, even now. Even when he didn't know there was a real threat.

You don't have to do that, she typed back.

I know. I want to.

Three words. Simple. Direct. And somehow they made everything more complicated.

Elena walked to her window and looked down at the street below. A sleek black car sat at the corner, engine idling. Marcus, keeping watch. But was he the only one out there? Was the mysterious stranger still lurking somewhere in the darkness? And if so, was he really there to protect her, or was this all part of some larger game she didn't understand?

She closed the curtains and finished her wine in one long swallow.

Tomorrow she'd ask Dante about his past. About the people who might want to hurt him. About why someone would think she needed protection. She'd demand answers and trust that he'd give them to her.

But tonight, standing in her apartment with a stranger's warning fresh in her mind and the taste of fear still bitter on her tongue, Elena made a decision.

She would be more careful. More aware. She'd watch her back and trust her instincts.

Because if loving Dante Salvatore was dangerous, then she needed to be ready for whatever came next.

Her phone buzzed one more time. A final text from Dante: Sleep well, Elena. Dream of better things than community center budgets.

She smiled despite everything and typed back: What should I dream about instead?

His response came immediately: Me.

Elena laughed, a real laugh that pushed back some of the fear. But as she got ready for bed, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change. Those forces were moving in the darkness, and she was standing right in the center of something far bigger and more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.

And the most terrifying part? She wasn't sure she wanted to step away, even if she could.