Chapter 15: The Hunter Arrives

Elena Vitiello POV

"He's in California."

The words echoed through my mind long after Mia stopped speaking.

Dante was here.

Not in New York.

Not across the country.

Not separated by thousands of miles.

Here.

Close enough to find me.

Close enough to destroy everything I had built.

"How?" I asked finally.

"Private jet."

"Of course."

"He landed six hours ago."

"And nobody thought to tell me sooner?"

"We only confirmed it an hour ago."

I walked toward the window.

The city lights blurred.

Not because of tears.

Because suddenly everything felt unstable.

"Elena."

"What?"

"You need to leave."

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"I'm done running."

Mia stared at me.

"He's Dante Moretti."

"I know exactly who he is."

"Then act like it."

"For three years I acted like it."

Silence.

"Not anymore."

Mia looked frustrated.

Terrified.

Protective.

All at once.

"If he finds you—"

"Then he finds me."

"That's your plan?"

"No."

I looked around the apartment.

My apartment.

My life.

My freedom.

"My plan is not to surrender it."

Meanwhile...

San Francisco

Dante Moretti POV

"Again."

"Boss, we've checked every property connected to Isabella."

"Check again."

"Every rental record."

"Again."

"Every financial transfer."

"Again."

Marco looked ready to jump out a window.

"Boss, California has forty million people."

"Then start counting."

Nobody laughed.

Because Dante wasn't joking.

Three days.

Three days in California.

And still no Elena.

The problem wasn't that she was hiding.

The problem was that she had learned from him.

Every trick.

Every precaution.

Every blind spot.

His wife had spent three years watching the most dangerous organization in New York operate.

Now she was using that knowledge against him.

"We've got something."

Everyone looked up.

One of the tech specialists rushed into the room.

"What?" Dante demanded.

"Bookstore purchase."

The room went silent.

"Explain."

"One of the cards connected to Isabella was used near a bookstore three days ago."

"Location?"

"North Beach district."

"Show me."

Within seconds, a security image appeared on the screen.

Dante froze.

The picture was blurry.

Distant.

Poor quality.

But it was her.

Elena.

Standing outside a bookstore carrying coffee.

Alive.

Safe.

Beautiful.

His chest tightened painfully.

"Print it."

"Boss?"

"Print it."

Nobody questioned him.

Minutes later, the photo sat on the table.

Dante stared at it.

For the first time in weeks, he could see her.

She looked different.

Lighter.

The sadness wasn't gone.

But it wasn't consuming her anymore.

And somehow that hurt worse.

Because she looked happier without him.

Hours later, Dante stood outside the bookstore.

The same bookstore.

The bell above the door chimed as he entered.

Books lined every wall.

The scent of coffee and paper filled the air.

"Can I help you?"

An elderly woman appeared behind the counter.

Purple glasses.

Sharp eyes.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Everyone is."

"A woman."

"That narrows it down."

Dante slid the photograph across the counter.

"Have you seen her?"

Ruth looked at the image.

Then at him.

Then back at the image.

"Why?"

"She's my wife."

"Interesting."

"Why?"

"Because if you're her husband, you're an idiot."

The room went completely silent.

Marco nearly swallowed his tongue.

Nobody spoke to Dante Moretti like that.

Nobody.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Ruth crossed her arms.

"That girl walks around looking like someone broke her heart and then mailed the pieces back in separate envelopes."

Dante felt physically ill.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Name your price."

"Get out."

"What?"

"Out."

Ruth pointed toward the door.

"I'm ninety-two years old. What exactly are you going to do? Shoot me?"

For the first time in years, Dante had absolutely no response.

Because she wasn't afraid of him.

And because every word she said was deserved.

Back at the apartment, Elena sat on the couch unaware that Dante had already found the first thread.

The first clue.

The first connection.

He didn't know her address yet.

He didn't know her building.

He didn't know her apartment number.

But he knew something far more dangerous.

He knew she was close.

And Dante Moretti had never walked away from a hunt unfinished.

That night, Elena stood at the window watching the city lights.

A strange feeling settled over her.

The feeling of being watched.

Of being near a storm.

Of standing on the edge of something inevitable.

Far across the city, Dante stared at her photograph.

And for the first time since she left, he made a promise.

"I'm coming for you, Elena."

"Not because you're mine."

"Because I was supposed to be yours."