Chapter 16: Face to Face

Elena Vitiello POV

The feeling wouldn't go away.

For two days, it followed me everywhere.

Through crowded sidewalks.

Through coffee shops.

Through bookstores.

Through quiet evenings inside my apartment.

The feeling of being watched.

The feeling of being hunted.

The feeling of Dante.

I stood beside the apartment window, staring down at the busy San Francisco street below.

Cars moved through the evening traffic.

People laughed.

Tourists wandered along the sidewalks.

Life continued normally.

Yet my instincts screamed that something had changed.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in."

Mia entered carrying takeout containers.

"You look terrible."

"Good evening to you too."

"Seriously. Have you slept?"

"Not much."

She sighed.

"He's getting closer."

I didn't ask how she knew.

I already knew.

"How close?"

"Too close."

"That's not helpful."

"Neither is staying here."

I walked toward the kitchen.

"I'm not running again."

"Elena."

"No."

I turned around.

"Do you know what happens if I run now?"

"You stay free."

"No. I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

Silence.

"I'm tired of being afraid."

Mia looked at me carefully.

Then nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I still think it's a terrible idea."

"Probably."

"But I'm done arguing."

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen.

And immediately went pale.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Mia."

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar."

Slowly, she lowered the phone.

"He found Ruth."

The air left my lungs.

"The bookstore owner?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell him anything?"

"No."

"Thank God."

"But now he knows you're nearby."

I closed my eyes.

Of course he did.

Of course.

Because Dante never stopped once he found a lead.

Never.

Meanwhile...

Dante Moretti POV

"She comes here every week."

Ruth reluctantly poured herself another cup of coffee.

"Sometimes twice."

"Alone?"

"Usually."

"Usually?"

"Sometimes she meets friends."

Dante listened carefully.

Every detail mattered.

"What does she talk about?"

"Books."

"What else?"

"Coffee."

"What else?"

"Life."

Ruth narrowed her eyes.

"You really don't know your wife, do you?"

The question landed like a knife.

Because the answer was obvious.

No.

He didn't.

Not really.

He knew her birthday.

Sometimes.

He knew her favorite color.

Maybe.

He knew where she slept.

What she wore.

How she took her tea.

But who she actually was?

No.

He had never bothered to learn.

"I know enough."

"Clearly not."

Ruth shook her head.

"That girl spent years loving you."

"I know."

"No. You don't."

Silence filled the bookstore.

"People don't leave like that unless they run out of hope."

For the first time in years, Dante couldn't argue.

Because he was starting to understand exactly how much hope Elena had lost.

That night he couldn't sleep.

Again.

Instead, he opened her notebook.

Again.

Page after page.

Memory after memory.

Pain after pain.

"Today Dante forgot I was waiting."

"Today Sofia called and I came second again."

"Today I realized I'm jealous of a woman who doesn't even want him."

The words blurred.

Not because of exhaustion.

Because his vision wasn't steady anymore.

"Boss."

Marco appeared in the doorway.

"We found something."

Dante immediately stood.

"What?"

"Building footage."

"Show me."

Minutes later, a security video played across a screen.

The footage showed Elena entering an apartment complex.

The timestamp was yesterday.

Dante stared.

His heartbeat accelerated.

There she was.

Alive.

Safe.

So close.

"Address?"

"Confirmed."

"Good."

"Boss..."

"What?"

"What happens now?"

Dante looked at the screen.

At Elena.

At the woman he had somehow spent years losing without noticing.

"Now?"

His voice became quiet.

"Now I talk to my wife."

The next evening...

Elena Vitiello POV

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped into the lobby carrying groceries.

Bread.

Coffee.

Fruit.

Normal things.

Ordinary things.

Things I never had time to buy myself before.

The lobby was almost empty.

A receptionist.

Two residents.

And...

My heart stopped.

No.

No.

No.

Dante.

He stood near the entrance wearing a black coat.

One hand in his pocket.

The other holding nothing.

No guards.

No soldiers.

No weapons.

Just him.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

The entire world seemed to disappear.

The receptionist.

The elevators.

The city.

Everything.

Just us.

"Hello, Elena."

His voice was rough.

Tired.

Almost nervous.

I had never heard Dante sound nervous before.

"How did you find me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"I looked."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the truth."

My grip tightened around the grocery bag.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Probably."

"Then leave."

"No."

There it was.

The same stubbornness.

The same certainty.

The same Dante.

"I'm not coming back."

"I know."

That answer surprised me.

"You know?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you here?"

Silence.

A long silence.

Then...

"Because I finally read the papers."

The words hit harder than I expected.

"Congratulations."

"Elena."

"What?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like this doesn't matter."

I laughed.

A sharp, bitter sound.

"Now it matters?"

"Yes."

"Interesting timing."

His jaw tightened.

"I deserve that."

"You deserve worse."

For a second, pain flashed across his face.

Real pain.

Not anger.

Not pride.

Pain.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me something."

I stepped closer.

"Where were you on my birthday?"

He froze.

"Elena—"

"No."

"Listen—"

"Where were you?"

Silence.

"On a yacht."

"With who?"

"Sofia."

"Good."

"Good?"

"At least you're finally telling the truth."

The lobby had become completely silent.

People were pretending not to stare.

Pretending not to listen.

Failing miserably.

"I was wrong."

"You were cruel."

"I know."

"You ignored me."

"I know."

"You humiliated me."

"I know."

"You loved another woman while married to me."

That one hit.

Hard.

Because Dante didn't answer immediately.

And that silence said everything.

"I thought I did," he said quietly.

"What changed?"

Another silence.

Then:

"You left."

The honesty stunned me.

Because it wasn't romantic.

It wasn't poetic.

It was devastatingly real.

"That's not love, Dante."

"Maybe not."

"It's possession."

"Maybe."

"Then why are you here?"

For the first time, Dante looked completely lost.

Completely human.

Completely broken.

"Because I don't know how to live in a world where you're gone."

The words settled between us.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Honest.

And for the first time since arriving in California...

I didn't know what to say.