Chapter 22: Dante's Double Life

Elena woke to the sound of her phone vibrating against the nightstand, the insistent buzz pulling her from dreams she couldn't quite remember. She reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen through sleep-heavy eyes.

3:47 AM.

Her heart lurched. Early morning calls were never good news. She sat up, suddenly wide awake, and saw Marcus's name flashing across the display.

"Hello?" Her voice came out rough, uncertain.

"Miss Moretti." Marcus's tone was clipped, professional, but she could hear something underneath it. Worry. "I apologize for the hour. Have you heard from Dante tonight?"

Elena's stomach dropped. "No. Why? What's wrong?"

A pause. Too long. "He left the office around eleven. Said he had some business to attend to. He's not answering his phone, and his security detail lost contact with him two hours ago."

"Lost contact?" Elena threw back the covers, already moving toward her closet. "What does that mean? Is he in danger?"

"I don't know." Marcus's admission sent ice through her veins. "His tracker went offline in the warehouse district near the docks. I've sent a team, but I thought... if he'd contacted you..."

"He hasn't." Elena pulled on jeans with one hand, cradling the phone against her shoulder. "Text me the address. I'm coming."

"Miss Moretti, that's not necessary. My team can handle—"

"Text me the address, Marcus."

She heard him sigh, then her phone chimed with a message. "Be careful. That area isn't safe at this hour."

Elena ended the call and grabbed her keys. Her hands were shaking as she locked her apartment door, her mind racing through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Dante had been acting strange for weeks now. The mysterious late night meetings. The bruises he'd tried to hide. The way he'd sometimes space out mid-conversation, his eyes going distant and cold.

She'd told herself it was just the stress of running a billion dollar company. That the pressure of their relationship, of trying to merge their two vastly different worlds, was taking its toll.

But deep down, she'd known something else was going on. Something he wasn't telling her.

The drive to the warehouse district took twenty minutes through empty streets. Elena's ancient Honda protested every mile, the check engine light glowing accusingly in the darkness. She pulled up to the address Marcus had sent, a sprawling complex of abandoned buildings that loomed like sleeping giants against the night sky.

Three black SUVs were already parked near the entrance, and Marcus stood beside one of them, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up as Elena approached, surprise flickering across his usually impassive face.

"Anything?" she asked.

He shook his head. "The team is doing a sweep now. His last known location was somewhere inside that building." He pointed to a massive structure with broken windows and graffiti-covered walls. "Miss Moretti, you should wait in the car. If there's danger—"

"Then Dante's in it, and I'm not leaving him."

Before Marcus could protest, a figure emerged from the shadows of the building. One of the security team members, moving fast, speaking urgently into his radio. He approached Marcus, his voice low.

"We found blood, sir. Fresh. And signs of a struggle."

Elena's world tilted. "How much blood?"

The man glanced at her, then back at Marcus. "Enough to be concerned. But nobody. Whoever was here left in a hurry."

"Show me," Elena demanded.

Marcus caught her arm. "Miss Moretti—"

"Show me, or I'll go in there by myself."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Marcus nodded. He grabbed a flashlight from one of the SUVs and led her inside, the security team flanking them like silent ghosts.

The warehouse interior was a maze of debris and decay. Moonlight filtered through broken skylights, casting everything in shades of gray. Their footsteps echoed off concrete walls, and Elena could smell rust and old oil and something else. Something metallic.

Blood.

Marcus stopped near what looked like an old loading dock. His flashlight beam swept across the floor, illuminating dark stains that spread across the concrete like spilled ink. Elena's breath caught.

But it wasn't just blood that made her freeze.

It was what lay beside it.

A torn piece of black fabric. Tactical gear. And a mask.

A mask she'd seen before, in grainy photographs and news footage. A mask that belonged to the vigilante the media had dubbed The Sentinel. The man who'd been systematically dismantling criminal operations across Chicago for the past year. The ghost that the police couldn't catch and the criminals feared.

Elena's mind went blank, then filled with a thousand questions all at once. She bent down, reaching for the mask, but Marcus was faster. He swept it up, his face carefully neutral, but she saw the recognition in his eyes.

He'd known.

"Marcus." Her voice was deadly quiet. "What is that?"

"Miss Moretti—"

"Don't." She stood, fury and fear warring inside her chest. "Don't you dare lie to me right now. Is Dante The Sentinel?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Elena felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Every strange moment over the past months suddenly made horrific sense. The unexplained absences. The bruises. The way he'd always seemed to know too much about the criminal activity in her neighborhood. The night he'd shown up at her center with that donation, just days after The Sentinel had taken down a trafficking ring two blocks away.

"How long?" she whispered. "How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning," Marcus said quietly. "I'm his head of security, Miss Moretti. It's my job to know."

"And you let him do this? You let him go out there and—" She gestured at the blood, her hand shaking. "He could be dead right now. He could be dying somewhere while we stand here, and you just let him—"

"I don't let him do anything." Marcus's voice was firm. "Dante Salvatore makes his own choices. He has since the night his sister was murdered five years ago."

The words hit Elena like a physical blow. Sister. Murdered. Five years ago.

The same time her brother had died.

"He never told me," she said numbly. "About his sister."

"He doesn't talk about it. To anyone." Marcus's expression softened slightly. "She was seventeen. Wrong place, wrong time. Caught in the crossfire of a gang war. Dante found her body himself."

Elena closed her eyes, pain lancing through her chest. All this time, they'd both been carrying the same wound, the same grief, and he'd never said a word. Had never trusted her enough to share it.

Or maybe he had, in his own way. By fighting. By becoming something else. By trying to save others the way he couldn't save his sister.

"We need to find him," she said, opening her eyes. "Now."

Marcus nodded and spoke into his radio, coordinating with the team. Elena walked the perimeter of the blood stain, her mind working through the scene. There was a blood trail leading toward a side exit, along with drag marks. Someone had been hurt badly enough to leave this much blood, but they'd been conscious enough to move.

Or been moved.

She followed the trail, ignoring Marcus's protest, until she reached the exit. The door hung open, and beyond it, an alley stretched into darkness. More blood drops, growing fainter, leading toward the street.

Elena stepped outside, her heart pounding, and nearly tripped over something lying in the shadows.

A phone.

She picked it up, the screen cracked but still functioning. Dante's phone. The lock screen showed missed calls from Marcus, from her, from dozens of others. But there was something else. A text message notification from a number she didn't recognize.

You can't hide forever, Sentinel. We know who you are. We know who she is.

Below that, a photograph.

Of Elena.

Taken yesterday, outside the community center.

The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers, clattering against the concrete. They knew. Whoever had attacked Dante tonight knew about her. Which meant she wasn't just discovering his secret.

She'd become his greatest vulnerability.

"Miss Moretti?" Marcus appeared at her side, saw the phone, saw her face. "What is it?"

She couldn't speak. Could only point at the device lying between them, at the message that changed everything.

Marcus picked it up, read it, and his face went hard. "Get her back to the car," he barked at the security team. "Now. Full protection detail."

"Wait." Elena grabbed his arm. "What about Dante? We have to find him. We have to—"

"He can take care of himself," Marcus said grimly. "But if they're targeting you to get to him, then you're the priority. That's what he'd want. That's what he'd demand."

Two security guards moved to flank her, but Elena pulled away. "I'm not leaving until we find him. I don't care what you say. I don't care about the danger. I'm not—"

Her phone rang.

Unknown number.

Elena's hands shook as she answered. "Hello?"

"Elena." Dante's voice, rough with pain but unmistakably alive. "Don't come looking for me. Go home. Lock your doors. Let Marcus handle this."

"Dante, where are you? Are you hurt? I saw the blood, I saw—"

"You saw the mask." Not a question. A statement, heavy with resignation. "So now you know."

"Now I know you've been lying to me for months." Her voice broke. "Now I know you've been risking your life every night while I slept, thinking you were safe in some boardroom somewhere. Now I know that everything between us has been built on secrets."

"Elena—"

"They sent me a picture, Dante. They know about me. About us. And I'm standing here in your blood, trying to understand how the man I'm falling in love with could hide something this massive, this dangerous, this—"

"That's why I didn't tell you." His voice was raw. "Because I knew the moment you found out, you'd become a target. I was trying to protect you."

"By lying to me? By keeping me in the dark about who you really are?"

"Yes." No hesitation. No apology. "And I'd do it again if it meant keeping you safe."

The certainty in his voice, the absolute conviction, made something crack inside her chest. Because she understood it. God help her, she understood the desperate need to protect someone you loved, even if it meant pushing them away.

She'd been doing the same thing, in her own way, for five years.

"Come home," she whispered. "Please. Just come home, and we'll figure this out together."

"I can't." Dante's breathing was labored. "Not yet. There's something I have to finish first. Something I should have finished a long time ago. Marcus will keep you safe until—"

The line went dead.

Elena stared at her phone, at the blank screen, and felt the last threads of her carefully controlled world finally snap.

Somewhere out there in the darkness, the man she loved was bleeding and hunting and preparing to face whatever demons had been chasing him since his sister's death. And she was standing here, powerless to help, knowing that when he finally came back—if he came back—nothing between them would ever be the same.

Because she knew his secret now.

And secrets, once exposed, could never be buried again.