Elena's POV
The storm had passed by morning but the world still felt heavy with it, the air damp, the sky pale and tired. The river moved slower now, thick with mud and ash.
Elena hadn't slept. She sat against the cold wall of the boathouse, knees drawn to her chest, the envelope clutched in her hand. The photograph inside felt like a weight, one that no amount of rain could wash away.
She looked at Dante sprawled on the floor where she'd laid him hours earlier. His breathing was shallow but steady. The bandage around his side was soaked through again, the dark stain spreading.
She'd done what she could but it wasn't enough.
Mateo slept nearby, curled beneath a blanket. Every now and then he stirred and murmured something in his dreams.
Elena brushed a hand through her tangled hair and stared at Dante again.
He looked younger in sleep, softer, human in a way that didn't fit the man she'd met. The one who moved like a ghost through the underworld, who killed without hesitation, who'd turned his life into a fortress no one could enter.
And yet here he was, bleeding, unguarded and somehow still protecting her.
She didn't know whether to hate him for it or hold onto him tighter.
The sun had barely begun to rise when he finally stirred. A soft sound escaped him, a low groan followed by the faint movement of his hand.
Elena straightened. "Dante?"
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening. "Elena…"
"You're alive" she said quietly.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You sound disappointed."
"Don't start" she said but her voice trembled just enough to betray her relief.
He tried to sit up, grimacing as pain flashed across his face.
"Stop" she said, pushing gently on his shoulder. "You lost too much blood."
"I've had worse."
"Dante you were unconscious for hours."
He met her gaze then, the humor fading. "Did anyone come?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. But they're still out there."
He nodded slowly. "We'll move before nightfall."
"No" she said.
He blinked. "No?"
"Not until you tell me the truth."
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the wall. "This isn't the time."
"It's exactly the time" she said, pulling the envelope from her jacket. "Because I can't keep running from people who want me dead without knowing why."
His eyes fell to the envelope and for the first time he looked uneasy.
"You opened it" he said.
"Part of it." She held up the photograph. "I saw enough."
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at the photo like it was something sacred or cursed.
"Who are they?" she asked quietly.
Silence.
"Dante."
Finally he said "The woman's name was Isabella."
"Was?"
"She's dead." His voice was flat but there was something beneath it, the kind of grief that had never healed, only learned to hide.
"And the baby?"
He looked away. "That's not your concern."
Her frustration flared. "Not my concern? You dragged me into this Dante! You put a target on my back, on my son's. I think I have a right to know who the hell you are."
He met her gaze then and for a second she saw something unguarded, raw, broken.
"The boy in that photo" he said slowly, "was my son."
The words hung in the air, heavy and irreversible.
Elena's breath caught. "Was?"
"Is" Dante corrected but his tone made it clear the truth wasn't simple. "He'd be Mateo's age now. Maybe older."
She stared at him, her thoughts spinning. "What happened to him?"
Dante's eyes darkened. "What always happens in my world. Someone wanted to hurt me and they found a way."
Elena's throat tightened. "You lost them."
He nodded once, jaw tight. "Vincenzo's family. The ones we buried years ago. They took Isabella and Luca to make me fold. I didn't."
"And they killed them."
He didn't answer but she didn't need him to.
She sank down beside him, her back to the wall. The river whispered outside, the sound of it filling the silence.
After a moment she said quietly, "The date on the photo. August 12. That's when my ex disappeared."
He turned to her slowly. "I know."
The world tilted. "You knew?"
"I didn't know he was connected to you" he said. "Not until that night at the diner. I recognized the name from an old ledger. He'd been working for them, stealing money that didn't belong to him."
Elena's pulse quickened. "You think that's why they came after me?"
"I don't think" he said. "I know. You were there when the deal went bad. You saw something you weren't supposed to and when the bullets started flying they assumed you had what your ex took."
She shook her head. "But I didn't…."
"They don't care. They only care about what they think you know."
Elena pressed a hand to her forehead trying to breathe through the weight of it all. "So I've been running for a year because of something I didn't even do."
Dante's voice softened. "You've been running because of him."
"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "Why are you helping me? Out of guilt? Or because I remind you of her?"
He didn't answer.
The silence between them was sharp, intimate, dangerous.
She looked down at the photograph again. "You loved her."
He closed his eyes briefly. "More than I should have."
"And now you're protecting me."
"Because I couldn't protect them."
The simplicity of it shattered her.
For a long time neither of them spoke. The rain had stopped but the world outside was still grey, the kind of grey that felt like it would never lift.
Finally Dante broke the silence. "We can't stay here. If they tracked us this far they'll find this place soon."
She nodded numbly. "Where will we go?"
"There's a contact north of the city. Safehouse on the edge of Bellagio Heights."
The name hit her like a jolt. "Bellagio Heights? That's…."
"Where it started" he finished.
Elena felt the ground shift beneath her again. "Why go back?"
"Because that's where it'll end."
Before she could respond his phone buzzed faintly from his jacket pocket. He pulled it out, his movements slow, every breath still labored.
He answered with a curt "Talk."
A pause. Then his face changed, the calm cracking for the first time.
"What?" he said sharply. "Say that again."
Elena's stomach twisted. "What is it?"
Dante didn't look at her. "They found something. At the old warehouse."
"Found what?"
His gaze flicked to Mateo, asleep across the room.
Then quietly "A name. Yours."
Elena's breath caught.
Dante hung up the phone and stood swaying slightly. "They're not just hunting you for what you saw anymore. They think you have what was stolen."
"I don't…."
"I know" he cut in. "But they won't believe that. Which means we move now."
He grabbed his bag and turned toward the door but Elena didn't move.
"Dante."
He stopped.
"When we get there… Bellagio Heights… are you going to tell me everything?"
He looked at her for a long moment then nodded once. "Everything."
She didn't believe him. Not entirely. But she followed anyway.
Because trust, she realised wasn't something that came before the fall. It was what kept you from hitting the ground.
As they stepped back into the gray light of morning, the sound of the river fading behind them she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Whatever ghosts waited in Bellagio Heights, they weren't done with her.
And neither was Dante Moretti.