I spent that night in a motel on the outskirts of the city, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Dante's face when he'd looked at me with such betrayal.
At dawn, Agent Morrison called.
"The raid is happening in three hours. Where are you?"
"Safe house. I'll come in after."
"Elena, we need you for—"
"I gave you everything you need. Files, recordings, testimony. You don't need me there when you arrest him."
Because I couldn't watch. Couldn't see him in handcuffs, couldn't be there when his empire crumbled.
I'd already destroyed him enough.
"Fine. But you're coming in for debriefing immediately after. And then we're putting you in witness protection."
Witness protection. A new name, a new life, far away from here.
Far away from Dante.
Maybe that was for the best.
---
The raid happened at noon.
I watched the news coverage from my motel room. Footage of FBI agents swarming the Morelli estate, of men in expensive suits being led away in handcuffs, of evidence boxes being carried out.
And there, in the center of it all, was Dante.
He looked—God, he looked shattered. Not afraid, not angry. Just broken.
As they led him to the waiting vehicle, the camera caught his face for just a moment.
And I swear he looked directly at the lens. Directly at me.
Like he knew I was watching.
I turned off the TV and cried until I had nothing left.
---
The debriefing with the FBI took hours. They wanted every detail, every interaction, every piece of evidence.
"You did good work," Morrison said when it was finally over. "The Morelli organization is finished. You should be proud."
Proud. Right.
"What happens to Dante?" I asked, even though I knew I shouldn't care.
"He's being charged with racketeering, money laundering, conspiracy to commit murder. Looking at twenty-five to life." She paused. "Though his lawyer is arguing for a deal. Apparently Dante's willing to testify against his remaining associates in exchange for a reduced sentence."
That sounded like him. Taking responsibility, trying to make things right even as his world burned down.
"How reduced?"
"Maybe ten years. Maybe less if he cooperates fully."
Ten years.
It wasn't forever. But it was long enough that by the time he got out, I'd be someone else entirely. Living a different life in a different place with a different name.
We'd never see each other again.
"The witness protection paperwork is ready," Morrison continued. "We've set you up in Montana. New identity, new job, everything you need to start fresh."
Montana. Mountains and silence and no ocean views.
No memories.
"When do I leave?"
"Tonight."
So fast. But maybe that was better. Rip the bandage off, don't look back.
"Okay," I said. "I'm ready."
But I wasn't. I'd never be ready to leave him behind.
---
I had two hours before my transport to the airport.
I spent it walking the beach near Dante's estate, watching the sun set over the Pacific, remembering.
His hands in my hair. His voice in the darkness. The way he'd held me like I was precious.
I'd come for revenge and found love instead.
And I'd destroyed both.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I almost didn't answer. But something made me.
"Hello?"
"Elena." My heart stopped. "Don't hang up."
Dante.
"How are you calling me? You're supposed to be—"
"In jail? I am. They gave me my one phone call." A pause. "I chose you."
Tears burned my eyes. "Why?"
"Because I need to know something. And I need you to tell me the truth, just this once. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Did you mean it? When you said you loved me?"
The question hung between us across phone lines and prison bars and impossible distances.
I could lie. Make it easier for both of us. Let him hate me cleanly.
But he'd asked for truth.
"Yes," I whispered. "I meant it. I love you, Dante. I've loved you since—I don't even know when. But I do. I love you so much it's destroying me."
Silence. Then, his voice rough: "I love you too. God help me, but I do."
I couldn't breathe. "How? After everything I've done—"
"I've had time to think. About my parents, about what they did, about what you must have gone through." A shaky exhale. "I can't condone murder, Elena. Can't say they didn't deserve justice. But I understand why you did it. And I—" His voice broke. "I forgive you."
I collapsed onto the sand, sobbing.
"You shouldn't," I choked out. "You should hate me—"
"I tried. Spent the last twelve hours trying. But I can't. Because even knowing everything, even understanding that you killed my parents—I still love you. And I hate myself for it, but I do."
"What do we do?" I asked desperately. "How do we come back from this?"
"I don't know if we can." He was quiet for a long moment. "They're offering me a deal. Ten years if I cooperate. I'm taking it."
"Ten years."
"I know. It's a long time. And you'll be in witness protection, living a different life. You'll move on, find someone else—"
"I won't."
"Elena—"
"I won't move on. I won't find someone else." I stared out at the ocean. "I'll wait. Ten years, twenty years, whatever it takes. When you get out, I'll be there."
"You can't promise that. You don't know what your life will look like in ten years."
"I know I'll still love you. That's enough."
"My time's almost up," he said, urgency creeping into his voice. "Listen to me. I need you to live, Elena. Really live. Don't put your life on hold for me. Build something good, something clean. Be happy."
"I can't be happy without you."
"Try. Promise me you'll try."
Voices in the background. Guards telling him time was up.
"I have to go," he said. "But Elena? Thank you. For the truth. For loving me despite everything. For—" His voice caught. "For showing me what it feels like to be seen."
"Dante—"
"I love you. I'll always love you. Remember that."
The line went dead.
I sat on that beach as the sun disappeared and the stars came out, holding my phone and crying.
I loved him. He loved me.
And it didn't matter.
Because some sins were too big to forgive.
Some loves too broken to save.
And some endings didn't come with redemption.
Just pain.
And the hope that maybe, someday, ten years from now, we might get a second chance.