Chapter 9: A Dangerous Proposition

Elena's phone rang at two in the morning, shattering the fragile sleep she'd finally managed to find.

She fumbled for it in the darkness, her heart already racing with the kind of dread that came from years of emergency calls. Miguel's condition is deteriorating. Another kid hurt. The center on fire. Her mind catalogued disasters in the seconds it took to swipe the screen.

"Hello?" Her voice was rough with sleep and worry.

"Miss Moretti. It's Marcus Chen."

Elena sat up, suddenly wide awake. "It's two in the morning."

"I'm aware. Mr. Salvatore needs to see you. Now."

"Are you insane?" She threw back the covers, anger burning through her confusion. "I don't care how much money he has, he can't just summon me in the middle of the night like I'm some kind of employee."

"There's been an incident." Marcus's voice remained infuriatingly calm. "Someone broke into your community center an hour ago. Mr. Salvatore's security team intercepted them before they could do significant damage, but he thought you should know immediately."

The anger drained away, replaced by ice in her veins. "What? How did his security team—"

"A car will be outside your building in five minutes. Please be ready." The line went dead.

Elena stared at her phone, her mind spinning. Dante's security team had been watching her center? Without her knowledge? Without her permission?

She should be furious. She should call the police and report him for… what? Preventing a break in? Protecting property that wasn't his?

Except it felt like something else entirely. Like surveillance. Like control.

Like she was already tangled in something she didn't understand.

Four minutes later, Elena stood on the sidewalk in jeans and an old Northwestern sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The black SUV that pulled up was exactly what she expected: expensive, tinted windows, the kind of vehicle that screamed money and power and secrets.

Marcus opened the back door. "Miss Moretti."

She climbed in, and her breath caught.

Dante sat in the shadows of the backseat, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair slightly disheveled. But it was his eyes that stopped her. They weren't the controlled, calculating eyes of the businessman who'd walked into her center. These eyes were dark with something dangerous, something raw.

"Thank you for coming," he said quietly.

The SUV pulled away from the curb before she could respond, and Elena realized with a jolt that she was essentially trapped in a moving vehicle with a man she barely knew, heading to an unknown destination at two in the morning.

This was either the stupidest or bravest thing she'd ever done.

"Your security team," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "How long have they been watching my center?"

"Since the day after I visited." Dante didn't look away, didn't apologize. "I don't take chances with things that matter to me."

"Things? Is that what my center is to you? A thing?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" Elena turned to face him fully, her fear transforming into anger. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you decided to insert yourself into my life, my work, without asking. Without consent. That's not protection, Mr. Salvatore. That's control."

Something flickered across his face, too fast to read. "You're right."

She blinked. "What?"

"You're right. I overstepped." He leaned forward, and in the dim light from passing streetlamps, she could see the tension in his jaw. "But I'm not going to apologize for keeping you safe."

"I don't need you to keep me safe. I've been doing just fine on my own."

"Have you?" His voice dropped lower, intimate and challenging. "Miguel got stabbed in your center. Someone broke in tonight. How many more incidents before you admit that you can't fight this battle alone?"

Elena's hands clenched into fists. "You don't know anything about my battles."

"I know more than you think." Dante held her gaze, and something passed between them, electric and unsettling. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love to violence. I know what it's like to feel helpless while your world burns. And I know what it's like to decide that you'll never be helpless again."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning she couldn't quite grasp. There was something in his voice, in his eyes, that spoke of pain she recognized. The kind of pain that didn't heal, that just learned to hide.

"Who did you lose?" she asked softly.

"My sister." The words seemed torn from him. "She was nineteen. Wrong place, wrong time, caught in the crossfire of something she had nothing to do with."

Elena's anger crumbled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be smart." Dante leaned back, and the vulnerable moment passed, replaced by that dangerous intensity. "Let me help you. Really help you. Not just with money."

"What does that mean?"

The SUV pulled to a stop, and Elena realized they were parked outside her community center. Police cars surrounded the building, their lights casting blue and red shadows across the brick walls. Her heart sank.

"It means," Dante said, opening his door, "that I'm offering you a choice. You can keep fighting alone, keep struggling to protect these kids with insufficient resources and no backup. Or you can accept my help, all of it, and actually make a difference."

Elena climbed out after him, her legs unsteady. "And what do you get out of this? Nobody helps like this without wanting something in return."

Dante turned to look at her across the roof of the SUV, and the expression on his face made her breath catch. It was hunger and intensity and something darker, something she couldn't name.

"Maybe I want to see you succeed," he said. "Maybe I want to be part of something that matters. Or maybe—" He stopped, seeming to reconsider his words. "Maybe I just want to spend more time with you."

The honesty of it hit her like a physical blow. This wasn't about charity or tax writeoffs or photo opportunities. This was personal. For reasons she didn't understand, Dante Salvatore had decided she mattered.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

"Come on," he said, already walking toward the building. "Let's see what they tried to take."

The next hour passed in a blur of police reports and damage assessment. The would-be thieves had targeted her office specifically, trying to get to her computer. They'd been after files, records, something that wouldn't make sense until Dante pulled her aside while the police were distracted.

"They weren't random thieves," he said quietly, his hand warm on her elbow as he guided her to a corner. "They were looking for information. Your donors, your funding sources, who supports you."

Elena's stomach dropped. "Why would anyone care about that?"

"Because you're effective. Because you're helping kids get out of gangs, and someone doesn't like that." His eyes scanned the room, always alert, always calculating. "This neighborhood is controlled by the Vega Cartel. They recruit from these streets. Every kid you save is a soldier they lose."

"How do you know about the Vega Cartel?"

"I make it my business to know about threats to my investments." The answer was smooth, practiced, but something in his tone felt off. Like he was hiding something bigger.

Elena pulled away from his touch, needing space to think. "This is crazy. I'm a social worker, not some kind of threat to organized crime."

"You're more of a threat than you realize." Dante moved closer, crowding her space in a way that should have felt aggressive but instead felt protective. "Which is why you need to accept my proposition."

"What proposition?"

"Come work for me. Directly." He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "I'm establishing a new foundation focused on youth intervention programs. I want you to run it. Full funding, complete autonomy, all the resources you need. You'd have an office at Salvatore Tower, a staff, access to legal and security support."

Elena stared at the paper, not taking it. "You're offering me a job?"

"I'm offering you a chance to do your work without constantly looking over your shoulder. Without wondering if you can pay rent or if some gang member is going to retaliate because you helped the wrong kid."

"And what's the catch?"

"No catch. Just you, doing what you do best, with the backing to actually make systemic change instead of just putting out fires."

It sounded too good to be true. It sounded like everything she'd ever wanted. Which meant it was probably a trap.

"I need time to think about it," Elena said.

"You have twenty-four hours." Dante finally handed her the paper, and their fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity up her arm. "After that, the offer expires."

"Why the deadline?"

"Because in twenty-four hours, the Vega Cartel is going to realize their break in failed, and they're going to escalate. You won't be safe here. Neither will the kids who depend on you."

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. He was right. She knew he was right. But accepting his offer meant stepping into his world, becoming dependent on his money and his protection and his complicated, dangerous orbit.

It meant trusting him with everything she'd built.

"I'll give you my answer tomorrow," she said finally.

Dante nodded, but something in his expression suggested he already knew what her answer would be. "Marcus will drive you home. I have something I need to take care of."

"At three in the morning?"

"I work unusual hours, remember?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Get some rest, Elena. Tomorrow your life changes, one way or another."

He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the night with a fluid grace that seemed almost predatory. Elena watched him go, the paper heavy in her hand, and felt the ground shifting beneath her feet.

Twenty-four hours to decide. Twenty-four hours to choose between the struggle she knew and the danger she didn't.

Twenty-four hours before she walked into Dante Salvatore's world and discovered there was no walking back out.

Marcus appeared at her elbow. "Ready, Miss Moretti?"

But as Elena turned to follow him, she caught something in her peripheral vision. A figure on the rooftop across the street, barely visible against the pre-dawn sky.

Watching.

She blinked, and the figure was gone.

Or maybe it had never been there at all.