"The FBI?" My voice came out as a whisper. "They think you kidnapped me?"
Dante's grip on my arm was iron. His dark eyes burned with fury barely contained.
"They think exactly what someone wanted them to think. That I killed Marcus and took you to cover it up." He pulled me back up the stairs. "Now we have maybe twenty minutes before they breach this building. So you're going to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say."
"No." I yanked my arm free. "I'm not doing anything you say. You threatened Marcus. The articles said—"
"The articles said what someone leaked to them." He grabbed both my shoulders. "Isabella, think. Use that smart brain I know you have. If I killed Marcus and kidnapped you, why would I leave evidence for your mother to find? Why would I hand the FBI everything they need to arrest me?"
I stared at him. My heart hammered. My thoughts raced.
He was right. It didn't make sense.
"Someone's framing you."
"Yes. Someone who benefits from me going to prison. Someone who wants my organization weakened while also starting a war with Viktor Markov." His jaw tightened. "And they just used your mother as a weapon."
My mother. God, she must be terrified.
"I need to call her. I need to tell her I'm okay."
"You can't. The moment you make contact, the FBI traces it. They find you. They find me. And whoever's really responsible disappears while we both go to prison."
"So what do we do?"
Dante's eyes searched mine. Like he was deciding whether to trust me.
"We run. Together. We find proof of who's behind this before the FBI finds us."
"Together? You want me to run with you?"
"I want you alive. Which means keeping you away from Viktor Markov's people and keeping you from being used as evidence against me." He released my shoulders. "But I can't force you. So choose, Isabella. Run with me and maybe we survive this. Or turn yourself in to the FBI and hope Viktor doesn't kill you before you testify."
The choice was impossible.
Trust the man everyone said killed Marcus. Or trust the system that would put me in protective custody while Viktor Markov sent people to silence me.
I thought about the armed men in the elevator. About Tommy's body. About the message spray-painted in blood.
She's next.
I thought about Dante standing between me and those guns without hesitation.
"How do I know you won't kill me the moment we're safe?"
Something flickered in his expression. Almost like hurt.
"You don't. But you know I've had a dozen chances already and you're still breathing." He held out his hand. "Last chance, Isabella. Choose."
I looked at his outstretched hand. Strong. Scarred. Capable of violence or protection depending on his mood.
I took it.
"Let's go."
We made it out through a service tunnel that connected to the parking garage three blocks away.
James met us with a different car. Not the black SUV everyone would be looking for. A plain gray sedan that blended into traffic.
"FBI is surrounding the building," James said as we climbed in. "You've got maybe ten minutes before they realize you're gone."
"Where are we going?" I asked as James drove us into Manhattan traffic.
"Somewhere safe while we figure this out." Dante was already on his phone, typing rapidly. "I need to know who leaked information to the press. Who sent that package to your mother. Who's pulling these strings."
"Viktor Markov sent the ransom demand. He's the one—"
"Viktor didn't send it. Someone wants me to think he did. Someone who benefits from the Caruso and Markov families going to war." His dark eyes met mine. "Someone inside my organization."
The traitor. The one he'd mentioned before.
"How do we find them?"
"We start with Marcus. With what he knew. Who he talked to in his last weeks." Dante leaned forward to James. "Take us to Marcus's apartment."
My heart skipped. "His apartment was cleaned out. I saw the police reports."
"The official apartment was cleaned out. But Marcus had a second place. Somewhere he thought I didn't know about." Dante's expression hardened. "Somewhere he was probably meeting with whoever got him killed."
Marcus's secret apartment was in a run-down building in Brooklyn.
Nothing like the nice place we'd shared in Manhattan. This was small. Shabby. The kind of place you rented when you wanted to disappear.
Dante picked the lock in under thirty seconds. We stepped inside to musty air and abandoned furniture.
"How did you know about this?" I asked.
"I always know where my people are. Even when they think they're hiding." He started searching. Opening drawers. Looking under furniture. "Marcus rented this place six months ago. Right after I told him to end things with you."
Six months ago. When he'd started promising we'd leave together.
"What was he doing here?"
"Meeting someone. Planning something. Getting himself killed." Dante pulled out a laptop from behind the couch. "And hopefully leaving evidence."
He opened the laptop. It powered on immediately. No password.
Marcus's desktop background was a photo of us. From our first date. We looked happy and young and completely naive.
My chest tightened.
Dante clicked through folders. Found one labeled "Insurance."
Inside were dozens of files. Photos. Documents. Audio recordings.
"What is this?" I leaned closer to look.
Dante opened a document. Started reading. His face went pale.
"Marcus was building a case. Against me. Against my entire organization." He kept scrolling. "Financial records. Witness statements. Proof of illegal activities going back ten years."
I felt sick. "He was going to turn you in."
"No. He was going to sell this information. To whoever paid the most." Dante opened another file. "Look. He had offers. Three different buyers. Including Viktor Markov."
The betrayal cut deep. Marcus hadn't just wanted to leave. He'd wanted to burn Dante's empire down for profit.
"Why would he do this?"
"Money. Fear. Desperation." Dante's jaw tightened. "He owed Viktor a million dollars. This was his way to pay it back. Sell information about my organization to Viktor. Let Viktor use it to destroy me."
"But he didn't sell it. He died first."
"Yes. Which means someone else wanted this information. Someone who killed Marcus to get it. Someone who's now using it against me." He kept clicking through files. Stopped on an audio recording. "Listen to this."
He pressed play.
Marcus's voice filled the small apartment. Talking to someone on the phone.
"I have everything you asked for. Every detail. Every weakness. But I need guarantees. I need protection. Dante will kill me if he finds out what I'm doing."
Another voice responded. Male. Familiar somehow.
"You'll have protection. Just get me the files. I'll handle Dante."
"And Isabella? She can't know about any of this. She thinks we're leaving together. She thinks—"
"Isabella doesn't matter. She's collateral damage. Just like Marcus will be."
The recording ended.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't process what I'd just heard.
Marcus had known. Had known someone was planning to kill him. Had known I was in danger too.
And he'd done it anyway.
"Do you recognize that voice?" Dante asked quietly.
I shook my head. But something about it nagged at me. Something familiar.
Dante played it again. Then again.
On the third playback, I realized why it sounded familiar.
"That's the man from the funeral. The one who gave the eulogy for Marcus's family."
Dante's entire body went rigid.
"Marcus's uncle. Carlo Rossi."
"Why would Marcus's uncle want him dead?"
"Because Carlo works for me. Has for twenty years." Dante's voice was cold. Deadly. "He's my connection to the Rossi family. My inside man. My trusted advisor."
"So he's the traitor."
"Yes. He killed Marcus to get the information. Sent it to Viktor to frame me. Started a war between our families while also setting me up for FBI investigation." Dante stood. "And now he has exactly what he wanted. My organization in chaos. The FBI hunting me. Viktor demanding ransom."
"What do we do?"
Dante looked at me. His dark eyes burned with rage and something else.
Respect.
"We prove he did it. We get evidence that clears me and exposes him. And then—" His jaw tightened. "And then I make him pay for using you as bait."
He was already moving. Gathering the laptop. Collecting the files.
"We need to get this to James. Have him analyze the recordings. Figure out—"
The apartment door burst open.
Three men rushed in. Armed. Professional.
Not FBI. Not Viktor's people.
These men wore suits I recognized from Dante's compound.
Carlo's men.
The first one raised his gun. Aimed at Dante's head.
"Mr. Caruso. Mr. Rossi sends his regards. He says thank you for leading us to the evidence he missed."
Dante pushed me behind him. His hand went to his gun.
But he was outnumbered three to one.
"Let the girl go," Dante said calmly. "She's not part of this."
"She's the whole point of this." The man's smile was cold. "You were supposed to fall for her. Supposed to keep her close. Supposed to make yourself vulnerable protecting her. And you did exactly what Mr. Rossi predicted."
My blood ran cold.
This was all planned. From the beginning. From the moment Dante claimed me at the funeral.
Someone had known he would protect me.
Had counted on it.
Had used it to destroy him.
"Isabella." Dante's voice was quiet. Controlled. "When I move, you run. You don't look back. You find James. You tell him everything."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You don't have a choice."
The first gunman's finger moved to the trigger.
Dante moved.
Fast. Impossibly fast.
He tackled me sideways just as the gun fired. The bullet hit where my head had been half a second ago.
We crashed through the apartment window.
Glass shattered around us. Wind rushed past. I screamed.
We were falling.
Three stories. Straight down toward concrete.
Dante wrapped his arms around me. Twisted his body so he'd hit first.
This was it. We were going to die.
Then we hit something soft. A dumpster full of garbage bags. The impact knocked the air from my lungs. Pain exploded through my body.
But we were alive.
Dante was already moving. Pulling me out of the dumpster. Running.
"James! Now!" He was yelling into his phone.
The gray sedan screeched around the corner.
We dove into the back seat just as Carlo's men appeared in the broken window above us.
Guns fired. Bullets pinged off the car.
James floored it. We peeled away from the building.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process that we'd just jumped through a window and somehow survived.
Dante was checking me for injuries. His hands moved quickly over my arms, my legs, my head.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I don't think so." Everything hurt but nothing felt broken. "You?"
"I'm fine." He pulled me against his chest. Held me tight. "You're okay. You're safe."
His heart hammered under my ear. Fast and strong and very much alive.
"Dante." James's voice cut through the moment. "We have a bigger problem."
"What now?"
"Carlo just released a statement to the press. With photos. He says you killed Marcus. Kidnapped Isabella. And jumped through a window when the FBI tried to arrest you." James glanced in the rearview mirror. "You're officially the most wanted man in New York."
Dante's arms tightened around me.
"Good."
"Good? How is that good?"
"Because now Carlo thinks he's won. Which means he'll get sloppy. Make mistakes." Dante's dark eyes met mine. "And when he does, we'll be waiting."
I should be terrified. Should be demanding James take me to the police. Should be running as far from Dante as possible.
Instead I found myself asking, "What do we do now?"
Dante's smile was cold and sharp and absolutely deadly.
"Now we hunt the man who killed your fiancé. Together."