“The room is yours for tonight. Tomorrow, you can decide what you want to do.”
I shook my head.
“People don’t just help strangers.”
Dante was quiet.
Then he said, “Sometimes they do.”
I wanted to believe him.
God, I wanted to.
But Cameron had been kind once.
He’d brought me flowers.
Made me breakfast.
Told me I was the only woman he’d ever loved.
Cruelty didn’t always arrive wearing an ugly face.
Sometimes it wore the face of someone beautiful.
I looked at Dante.
“Why are you helping me?”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then answered.
“Because you asked me for protection without knowing who I was.”
My throat tightened.
“And?”
“And you looked more frightened of going home than you were of sitting in a room full of armed men.”
I looked down.
He continued.
“That tells me enough for tonight.”
***
Gabriel returned ten minutes later.
“The room is ready.”
Dante stood.
I followed.
As we approached the stairs, a woman stepped into our path.
She was tall, elegant, and perhaps forty.
Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun.
She wore a burgundy dress and carried a tablet.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“Isabella.”
Her gaze moved to me.
Then to my torn skirt.
Then back to him.
Something unreadable crossed her face.
“Your guest?”
“For tonight.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting.”
I suddenly felt ridiculous.
A frightened waitress in cheap shoes standing beside a man who probably owned more buildings than I had pairs of socks.
I stepped back.
“I can leave on my own.”
Dante looked at me.
“Nobody said you couldn’t.”
Isabella’s expression softened slightly.
“I’m Isabella Russo,” she said. “I manage the club.”
“Nora.”
She nodded.
Then looked at Dante.
“There’s something you need to know.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
She hesitated.
Then glanced at me.
“Privately.”
Dante turned toward Gabriel.
“Stay with Nora.”
Then he followed Isabella toward the office.
***
I stood beside Gabriel near the entrance.
He was a large man with close-cropped hair and a scar along his jaw.
Unlike Matteo, he didn’t smile.
“Does he do this often?” I asked.
Gabriel looked down.
“Do what?”
“Rescue strange women.”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Not like this.”
I swallowed.
“Should I be worried?”
He considered the question.
Then said, “You should be careful.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of Dante?”
Gabriel looked toward the office.
“Of anyone who offers you safety before you know what they want.”
I stared at him.
That was not the answer I expected from Dante Valenti’s own security chief.
Before I could respond, the office door opened.
Dante emerged.
His expression had changed.
The faint warmth was gone.
He looked cold.
Dangerously cold.
He approached Gabriel.
“Bring the car around.”
Gabriel nodded.
Then Dante looked at me.
“Nora.”
Something in his voice made me straighten.
“Yes?”
“Did Cameron Hale know you were coming here tonight?”
I frowned.
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“I didn’t even know this club existed until an hour ago.”
Dante studied my face.
Then looked toward Isabella.
She held a tablet.
On the screen was a security photograph.
A man entering the club through a private service corridor.
I recognized him immediately.
Not Cameron.
Someone else.
A man with silver hair.
A man I’d seen only once before.
In Cameron’s apartment.
Standing beside a locked filing cabinet.
The man who had looked at me and said:
“She doesn’t know anything, does she?”
I took a step back.
Dante noticed.
“You recognize him.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Nora.”
I looked up.
“Who is he?”
Dante’s expression darkened.
“His name is Victor Sloane.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know him.”
“But you’ve seen him.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I swallowed.
“At Cameron’s apartment.”
Dante went completely still.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he looked at Isabella.
“Show her the second image.”
She swiped the screen.
Another photograph appeared.
This time, Victor Sloane stood beside Cameron.
And between them was a woman.
Older.
Red-haired.
Smiling.
My heart stopped.
I knew that face.
I knew those eyes.
That smile.
The tiny scar beneath her chin.
“No.”
My voice sounded far away.
I reached for the tablet.
“No, that’s impossible.”
Dante watched me.
“Nora?”
My knees weakened.
Because the woman standing beside Cameron Hale in that photograph was my mother.
My mother, who had supposedly died seven years ago.
My mother, whose funeral I had attended.
My mother, whose ashes I had scattered into Lake Michigan.
And according to the timestamp in the corner of the photograph—
She had walked into Dante Valenti’s nightclub eleven days earlier.
Alive.
I looked up at him.
My voice broke.
“Why does Cameron know my mother?”
Dante didn’t answer immediately.
For the first time since I’d met him, the most powerful man in the room looked genuinely unsettled.
