Chapter 5: Three Words

Sera's POV

"Nothing," I said, and the lie tasted worse than the wine. Dante set his phone face down on the tablecloth, gently, the way someone sets down a weapon he no longer needs.

"You read it," he said.

It was not a question. I stared at the candle flame, at the wine, at anything but him.

"I read three words," I said. "On a screen that wasn't mine."

"And?"

"And I'm deciding whether I want to know what they mean."

For a moment he said nothing. Then he smiled, small and almost sad. "That is the first sensible thing anyone has said to me this week," he said.

"Dante," I said.

"Not here," he said, glancing at the waiters, who had suddenly become very busy folding napkins. "Walk with me."

The street outside glistened after the brief rain. Streetlamps spilled gold across the wet pavement. The black sedan waited at the curb, and the driver opened the door without a word.

The car pulled away. Neither of us spoke for two full blocks.

"The owner bowed to you," I said finally. "The man above Grant's boss called him personally an hour after we sat down. And your phone..."

"Yes," he said.

"Who are you?"

He turned to face me. In the passing light, his features were all sharp lines and shadow.

"Ask me the question you actually want answered," he said.

My pulse hammered. I had thought I was prepared for this. "Are you the Don?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

The word fell into the car like a stone into still water.

I waited for him to laugh, or soften it, or tell me I had misheard. He did none of those things. He simply held my gaze and let the truth settle between us.

"You promised me no lies," I whispered.

"I did not lie to you," he said. "I told you I would never lie to you, and I have not. You asked me the question, and I answered it."

"You let me think you were nobody."

"Vivienne thinks I am nobody," he said. "You chose to sit across from me in that café and believe the evidence instead of her. That was your choice, not my lie."

I folded my arms tightly. My heart was racing, and I hated that part of me was thrilled.

"Is Grant in danger?" I asked.

"Grant is in exactly as much danger as he has earned," he said.

The answer was so calm that a shiver slid down my spine.

"And me?" I asked.

Something changed in his expression. The sharpness softened, only slightly.

He looked away first, out the window. A muscle ticked along his jaw.

"You," he said quietly, "are the one person in this city I will never allow to be touched."

I forgot how to breathe.

"If you want out," he added, "say so now. I will give you the evidence, and I will walk away. Nobody will blame you."

I thought of the red scarf. The hotel door. Sera is too trusting to notice.

"No," I said. "I want to finish this."

"Good," he said, sounding relieved, though he hid it well.

The car turned onto my street. Dante's whole body went still.

"Don't look," he said. "Across the road. Behind the oak."

I looked anyway. A white car sat in the shadow of the tree, engine off, headlights dark. I had ridden in that car a hundred times.

"Vivienne," I whispered.

"She followed us," he said.

"What do we do now?"

"What we planned," he said.

The sedan stopped in front of my house. The driver kept his eyes on the road, still as a statue.

Dante stepped out and came around to my side, offering his hand. I took it. His grip was warm and sure.

I stood on the wet pavement with the porch light spilling over us, and I could feel my sister's eyes burning into my back.

"Sera," Dante murmured.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Look at me as though I am the only person here."

That should have been easy. It wasn't.

I looked up, and the world narrowed. His dark eyes, the hard line of his mouth, rain still clinging to his collar.

His hand slid from my waist to the side of my face. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, light as breath.

My lips parted before I could stop them.

He leaned in until his forehead nearly touched mine. I felt the warmth of him, the slow rise of his breathing against my own.

My eyes fluttered closed. For a moment I forgot the audience entirely. Then I remembered it, and I was not sure I wanted to.

"Not yet," he whispered, so quietly only I could hear.

He straightened and stepped back, and the cold night rushed in where he had been.

"Let her imagine the rest," he said, his voice rough. "It will hurt her more than the truth."

I could only nod.

He pressed a brief, formal kiss to the back of my hand, the way a gentleman might in an old film, then walked back to the car without looking behind him.

The sedan pulled away. The white car stayed dark for a long moment, then roared to life and sped off down the street.

I stood alone on my porch and pressed my palm against the cold door frame. I told myself to stop. I had no idea what I was asking myself to stop.

I unlocked the door and stepped into the dark hallway. The air smelled of whiskey and cold sweat.

Something was wrong.

A single lamp burned in the living room, casting long shadows across the floor. "Grant?" I called.

No answer.

I walked toward the light, my heels silent on the rug.

My husband sat on the sofa with his coat still on. His tie hung loose around his neck. A cut split his lower lip, and a purple bruise was already blooming along his jaw.

He did not look up. He stared at the floor, his hands trembling between his knees.

"Grant," I said carefully. "What happened to your face?"

"I was summoned," he said hoarsely. "To a place I had only heard about in whispers."

"By your boss?"

"By the man above my boss." He swallowed. "The Don."

I kept my face blank. "And?"

He raised his head at last. His eyes were red and wild, and he looked at me as if I were a stranger.

"He didn't shout," Grant said. "He didn't even touch me. His men did that." He swallowed again. "He just sat in the dark and asked me one question."

"What question?" I asked.

A shudder ran through him.

"He asked whether my wife was happy."

The room went very quiet.

"He's never met you, Sera," Grant whispered. "He's never been in a room with you. So tell me..."

He pulled his phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. The screen glowed in the dim light.

It showed a photograph of me, taken tonight at Lucca's, laughing across a candlelit table. Beneath it sat a single line of text from a number I did not recognize.

Enjoy her while she is still yours.