Chapter 29: The House That Burned Twice

Elena Vitiello POV

"Absolutely not."

The words left Dante's mouth before anyone else could speak.

"Dante—"

"No."

"He's asking for me."

"Exactly."

"Maybe I should go."

"Absolutely not."

The agent looked between us.

"For what it's worth, I agree with him."

"Thank you," Dante muttered.

"I don't remember asking either of you."

"You don't have to," Dante replied.

"You're not going."

I folded my arms.

"You don't get to make decisions for me anymore."

Silence.

The reminder hit exactly where intended.

"Fair," he admitted.

"Then stop acting like my husband."

That one hurt.

I saw it happen.

A brief flash across his face.

Pain.

Regret.

Loss.

Then it disappeared.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"You're giving up?"

"No."

His eyes locked onto mine.

"I'm respecting your choice."

"That's new."

"I'm trying something different."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Poorly."

Marco coughed suspiciously.

"I miss when bullets were the biggest problem."

Nobody acknowledged him.

"Tell me about the house," Dante said to the agent.

The agent immediately shifted into briefing mode.

"Property records show it was destroyed fifteen years ago."

"Officially."

"Unofficially, several underground structures survived."

"Tunnels."

"Storage rooms."

"Safe rooms."

"The entire foundation remained intact."

Dante's expression darkened.

"My grandfather built those tunnels."

"You knew about them?"

"Some."

"Not all."

"Lorenzo helped design the expansions."

"Which means he knows the property better than anyone alive."

That wasn't reassuring.

Not even slightly.

"Why would he want me there?"

Nobody answered immediately.

Because everyone already knew.

"The drive," I said.

"Partly," Dante replied.

"Then what else?"

His silence made my stomach twist.

"Dante."

"You matter to him."

"Why?"

"Because you matter to me."

The room became very quiet.

Again.

"Everything always comes back to that, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"I hate that."

"So do I."

Hours later...

The convoy rolled through Napa Valley beneath a moonless sky.

Black SUVs.

Federal vehicles.

Unmarked tactical units.

Enough firepower to invade a small country.

And somehow it still didn't feel like enough.

The estate appeared suddenly beyond a line of ancient oak trees.

My breath caught.

Even in ruins, it was beautiful.

Or maybe haunting was the better word.

The main mansion stood partially collapsed.

Blackened stone walls.

Broken windows.

Charred beams exposed to the night.

A monument to something that should've stayed dead.

"Welcome home," Marco muttered.

"Not helping," I replied.

"I know."

"Then stop talking."

"Also not helping."

The convoy stopped.

Nobody exited immediately.

The estate sat in complete silence.

No lights.

No movement.

No guards.

Nothing.

Which somehow felt worse.

"It's too quiet," one agent whispered.

"Agreed," Dante replied.

"Trap?"

"Definitely."

"Wonderful."

"I know."

Eventually everyone moved.

Tactical teams spread out.

Agents established positions.

Snipers climbed nearby ridges.

The operation unfolded with military precision.

Yet Dante never moved more than a few feet from me.

Not possessive.

Protective.

There was a difference.

I noticed it.

Unfortunately.

"Elena."

"What?"

"Stay close."

"You said I get choices now."

"You do."

"Then I'm choosing to stay close."

That answer surprised both of us.

Neither commented on it.

The front doors of the ruined mansion hung open.

Like an invitation.

Or a warning.

"He's expecting us," Marco said.

"Obviously," Dante replied.

"Still creepy."

"Very."

We entered together.

Dust coated everything.

Moonlight spilled through broken ceilings.

The air smelled old.

Burned.

Forgotten.

Like history refusing to die.

Then we found the dining room.

Or what remained of it.

A long table sat in the center.

Untouched by time.

Untouched by fire.

Almost impossibly preserved.

And at the head of the table...

Sat Lorenzo Moretti.

Waiting.

A glass of whiskey rested beside him.

A silver candle burned softly.

He looked more like a professor than a criminal mastermind.

Calm.

Elegant.

Dangerous.

"Dante."

His voice was warm.

Almost affectionate.

"Uncle."

"You've grown suspicious."

"You've grown predictable."

Lorenzo laughed.

"No."

"You've simply grown older."

His eyes shifted toward me.

And suddenly I understood why people feared him.

Not because he looked threatening.

Because he looked intelligent.

"Elena."

"Lorenzo."

"You're prettier in person."

"That's unsettling."

"Fair."

To my surprise, he smiled.

"I always liked you."

"Funny way of showing it."

"Everything is perspective."

"No."

"Sometimes people are simply terrible."

That actually made him laugh.

"I understand why Dante loves you."

The room froze.

Every single person froze.

Including Dante.

"Careful," Dante said quietly.

"Or what?"

"You'll find out."

Lorenzo looked delighted.

"There he is."

"The boy who used to follow me around asking questions."

"That boy is gone."

"Yes."

"That's why you're here."

Silence.

"What do you want?" Dante asked.

"Closure."

"Try again."

"The drive."

"No."

"Then why are we here?"

Lorenzo's eyes shifted toward me.

Only me.

And suddenly every instinct I possessed screamed danger.

"Because," he said softly,

"there's something on that drive Elena hasn't seen yet."

My heartbeat accelerated.

"What are you talking about?"

Lorenzo smiled.

Slowly.

Patiently.

Like a man about to detonate a bomb.

"Ask Dante about your father."

The room exploded into silence.

My father?

Every drop of blood drained from my face.

"What?"

"Uncle," Dante said quietly.

Dangerously quietly.

"Don't."

"She deserves the truth."

"Not from you."

"Then from whom?"

I looked between them.

Confusion turning rapidly into fear.

"Dante."

No answer.

"Dante."

Still nothing.

"What is he talking about?"

For the first time since I had known him...

Dante Moretti looked afraid.

And that terrified me more than Lorenzo ever could.