Chapter 13 - The Price of Being the Woman He Loved
Dante tried to send Clare away.
Naturally.
He managed twenty-seven words before she interrupted.
“No.”
He closed his mouth.
They stood in the townhouse library.
Nico tactfully pretended to study the opposite wall.
Dante started again.
“Italy—”
“No.”
“My mother's estate is secure.”
“No.”
“You didn't let me finish.”
“You were going to send me across an ocean.”
“For a week.”
“No.”
Dante's patience fractured.
“Moretti threatened our future children.”
Clare stared.
The phrase hit harder than the threat.
Our future children.
Dante seemed to realize what he had said.
Neither spoke.
Nico cleared his throat.
“I suddenly remember something extremely important elsewhere.”
He left.
Clare folded her arms.
“Our future children?”
“Poor phrasing.”
“Was it?”
Dante looked trapped.
Clare almost enjoyed it.
Almost.
“We've kissed three times.”
“Four.”
“You counted?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
“This is not the important part of the conversation.”
“It became important.”
Dante rubbed his forehead.
“The threat was hypothetical.”
“So was your response?”
“No.”
Silence.
Clare's heart accelerated.
Dante looked at her with an intensity that removed humor from the room.
“I do not think about people casually.”
“I've noticed.”
“When I imagine you leaving my life, I dislike the image.”
“Very romantic.”
“When I imagine five years from now, you are there.”
That silenced her.
Dante continued.
“I do not know what that means yet.”
Clare stepped closer.
“It means you're terrified.”
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
“Then let me send you somewhere safe.”
“No.”
He groaned.
“Why are you like this?”
“My mother raised me well.”
“She raised a menace.”
“Correct.”
Dante almost smiled.
Clare touched his lapel.
“I won't make decisions because Moretti scares us.”
“He is dangerous.”
“I know.”
“He may kill someone to punish me.”
“I know.”
“Then how can you stand there and argue?”
“Because if we let fear choose everything, he's already running our lives.”
Dante stared.
Again, Clare had found the sentence he did not want to hear.
Again, she was right.
“I hate when you do that.”
“Be right?”
“Yes.”
“You'll adjust.”
They increased security.
Ruiz expanded protection around Isabella's family.
Michael moved again.
Clare temporarily stopped working at the diner.
That decision hurt.
Not because she loved the job.
Because the diner represented independence.
Her normal life.
But normal had become a luxury.
Three days passed.
No Moretti.
Four.
Five.
The absence became its own threat.
On the sixth day, Dante took Clare to dinner.
Pizza.
As promised.
A tiny place in Brooklyn where the owner knew Dante from childhood.
No reserved dining room.
No candles.
No skyline.
Only red vinyl booths, paper napkins, and a ceiling fan that squeaked.
Clare loved it.
Dante hated folding pizza slices.
“You're doing it wrong,” she said.
“There is no wrong way to eat.”
“You eat pizza with a knife and fork.”
“It is civilized.”
“It is criminal.”
“You are dating an alleged criminal.”
Clare stopped.
Dante stopped.
The word dating hovered.
Neither had used it before.
“Are we dating?” Clare asked.
Dante set down his fork.
“I thought so.”
“You didn't ask.”
“I asked you to dinner repeatedly.”
“That isn't the same.”
He considered.
Then, completely serious:
“Clare Murphy, would you like to date me?”
She tried not to laugh.
“You sound like you're negotiating a merger.”
“I have more experience with mergers.”
“That is painfully obvious.”
Dante waited.
Clare reached across the table.
“Yes.”
His shoulders relaxed.
The most feared man in Manhattan had apparently been worried she might reject the label.
Clare smiled.
“Now eat your pizza properly.”
“No.”
“Relationship already failing.”
He laughed.
They walked two blocks afterward.
Nico and another security man followed at a respectful distance.
Clare pretended not to notice.
At a crosswalk, Dante took her hand.
Natural.
Simple.
No strategy.
For a moment she forgot everything.
Then a motorcycle passed.
Dante pulled her toward him instantly.
The motorcycle continued.
Nothing happened.
Clare looked at his face.
“Dante.”
His grip loosened.
“Sorry.”
“You can't live like that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His expression closed.
She understood.
Dante had been waiting for attacks since twenty.
Fear had become muscle memory.
“How many people have tried to kill you?”
He looked away.
“That is not a first-date question.”
“This isn't our first date.”
“Still.”
“More than one?”
“Yes.”
Clare swallowed.
“How many?”
“Enough.”
She squeezed his hand.
Dante seemed surprised.
“You're not leaving.”
“Not because you're difficult.”
“I am more than difficult.”
“Yes.”
“What happens when you discover something you cannot accept?”
“Then we talk.”
“And if talking is not enough?”
Clare looked directly at him.
“Then I walk away.”
Pain flickered.
She did not soften the truth.
“I'm not promising forever regardless of who you choose to be.”
Dante nodded slowly.
“That is fair.”
“I am promising to judge you by what you choose now.”
Margaret's letter.
Dante understood.
He kissed Clare's forehead.
“Fair.”
They reached the car.
Nico's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
Dante noticed instantly.
“What?”
Nico looked toward Clare.
Then back to Dante.
“Moretti surfaced.”
“Where?”
“At the diner.”
Clare's blood turned cold.
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Tommy?”
“Inside.”
“Marcus?”
“Inside.”
Dante opened the car door.
“We go.”
Nico blocked him.
“He asked specifically for Clare.”
“No.”
Clare stepped forward.
“What did he say?”
Nico hesitated.
“Nico.”
“He said he'll stay until she arrives.”
Dante's voice became ice.
“She is not going.”
Clare looked toward him.
“Dante.”
“No.”
“The diner is full of people.”
“Police are evacuating.”
“He could hurt Tommy.”
“That is not your responsibility.”
“Neither was I yours when this started.”
Dante went silent.
Clare stepped closer.
“You chose to help me.”
“Yes.”
“I choose to help them.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“You don't own me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop saying no like you do.”
Fear and anger fought across his face.
Finally he whispered, “If something happens to you—”
“Then we'll prevent it together.”
Together.
The word that kept saving them.
Dante closed his eyes.
Then nodded.
“Together.”
They headed toward Queens.
But by the time they arrived, Moretti was gone.
Tommy and Marcus were unharmed.
On the counter sat one object.
A cheap white coffee cup.
Underneath it, a note.
Tomorrow night. Midnight. Come alone, Clare. Or next time I won't leave everyone breathing.
Dante read the note.
Then looked at Clare.
This was no longer about old evidence.
Moretti wanted Clare herself.
May you like
And for the first time, Clare began to wonder whether courage and recklessness might sometimes look exactly the same.
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