I Whispered That the Mafia Heir Was My Dream Man—Then He Called My Name in Front of Chicago's Most Dangerous Family

I called Sasha before I could think.

She answered on the first ring.

"Nerissa?"

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Do not open the door."

"I didn't."

"Is he still there?"

A pause.

Then three heavy knocks sounded through the phone.

I felt them in my chest.

Sasha inhaled sharply.

"Yes."

Dante held out his hand.

"Put it on speaker."

I hesitated only a second.

"Sasha, I'm with someone who can help. I'm putting you on speaker."

"Who?"

"I'll explain later."

Dante leaned toward the phone.

"Sasha, my name is Dante. Is there another exit from the apartment?"

Her breathing changed.

"Dante DeLuca?"

I stared at the phone.

Even my twenty-year-old sister knew him.

"Yes."

"Oh my God."

"Not important right now. Another exit? Fire escape? Back stairs?"

"There's a fire escape through Nerissa's room."

"Good. Get your coat, shoes, phone charger, and any medication you need. Don't take anything else."

I grabbed Dante's sleeve.

"Medication?"

Sasha sighed through the phone.

"Nerissa, stop. It's just my inhaler."

She had been hiding that it was getting worse.

Of course she had.

Dante was already speaking to Marco.

"Get Lena and Beth to the alley behind 814 West Fulton. No sirens."

I stared at him.

"How did you know the building?"

He held up the delivery receipt.

My address was printed beneath the bakery's billing information.

"I memorized it when I saw your name."

"That's creepy."

"Useful tonight."

Another knock sounded.

This time the man outside spoke.

His voice came faintly through Sasha's phone.

"Sasha? I know you're in there. Your mother left something for me."

My knees nearly gave out.

Dante caught my elbow.

"Do you recognize the voice?" he asked.

I shook my head.

Sasha whispered, "No."

Dante's tone changed.

Hard.

Commanding.

"Go to the fire escape now. Keep the phone on."

For the next two minutes, I listened to my sister move through our apartment while my entire body shook.

A window opened.

Metal groaned.

Cold wind rushed across the receiver.

"I'm outside."

"Go down one level and wait," Dante said. "Two women will come up from the alley. One has red hair and one has a scar on her chin. Do not go with anyone else."

"Okay."

We heard the apartment door splinter.

Sasha gasped.

I made a sound I didn't recognize.

Dante took the phone from my hand because I was shaking too badly to hold it.

"Move. Now."

Metal stairs clanged.

Footsteps inside the apartment.

A man's voice swore.

Sasha breathed hard as she climbed down.

"I see them," she whispered.

"Describe them."

"Red hair. Black coat. The other one has short brown hair and—yes, scar on her chin."

"Go."

A woman's voice came through the phone.

"Sasha Vane? I'm Lena. You're safe."

Only then did I breathe.

Dante ended the call after confirming they were heading to the hotel.

I wanted to sit down.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I looked at him.

"Who broke into my apartment?"

"We'll find out."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only truthful one I have."

Marco returned.

"Bellini left through the east garage. His driver says he was told to go home without him."

Dante's mouth hardened.

"Find him."

Marco nodded and walked away.

I hugged my mother's notebook against my chest.

"I need to see Sasha."

"You will."

"Now."

Dante glanced around the ballroom.

"We should use a private room."

"I'm not going into a private room with you."

His gaze returned to mine.

"Because I'm dangerous?"

"Because I met you twenty minutes ago."

"Fair."

He gestured toward a lounge visible through open doors at the side of the ballroom.

Glass walls.

People nearby.

"There?"

I nodded.

That was the first thing he did that made me trust him a little.

Not because he promised I was safe.

Because when I said no, he listened.

We sat opposite each other at a small table while security moved discreetly through the ballroom.

Dante loosened one cuff and looked at the notebook.

"May I?"

I almost laughed at the courtesy.

"You can look. You can't keep it."

He opened the cover.

Most pages were filled with my mother's handwriting.

Recipes at first glance.

Flour amounts.

Oven temperatures.

Names of pastries.

Dante frowned.

"Your mother baked?"

"Constantly. That's why I work at a bakery. She taught me everything."

He turned another page.

LEMON TART — 2 / 14 / 07

Sugar: 620

Butter: 410

Salt: 16

"These aren't recipes," he said.

"What?"

"Six hundred twenty grams of sugar for one lemon tart? Four hundred ten grams of butter?"

I stared.

I had seen those pages a hundred times but never questioned the numbers.

Mom cooked by instinct. She rarely measured anything.

Dante ran one finger down the margin.

"My father used a three-number transfer code. Account. Amount. Route."

My mouth went dry.

"You're saying my mother's recipes were financial records?"

"Possibly."

He flipped to the back.

Several pages had been torn out.

I remembered Mom doing that.

Burning paper in the kitchen sink one night.

I had been fifteen.

I had asked if she was destroying old recipes.

She had smiled and told me some things were safer forgotten.

Dante looked up.

"Did she leave more?"

"A few notebooks."

"Where?"

"Our apartment."

Silence.

The apartment someone had just broken into.

I stood so fast the chair scraped the floor.

"I need to go back."

Dante stood too.

"No."

"Those notebooks are all I have left of her."

"And someone just kicked in your door looking for them."

"Exactly."

"Which is why you are not walking into that apartment."

"You don't get to tell me what to do."

His expression tightened.

"No, I don't. But I can tell you what will happen if the man inside is still there."

"Your security people can go first."

"They're extracting your sister, not clearing the building."

"Then send somebody."

Dante stared at me for a second.

Then he took out his phone.

"Marco. Send a team to the Vane apartment. Recover all personal papers, notebooks, photographs, and devices. Photograph everything before moving it."

He paused.

"And find out who went inside."

He ended the call.

I crossed my arms.

"You really do expect everyone to obey you."

"Most people do."

"I won't."

"I've noticed."

There it was again.

That almost-smile.

It disappeared when two women entered the lounge with Sasha between them.

I ran to her.

She crashed into my arms so hard we nearly fell.

"I'm okay," she said quickly. "I'm okay."

I held her face.

"Did he touch you?"

"No. I was already outside when he got in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I pulled her close again.

Over her shoulder, I saw Dante watching us.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

Loss, maybe.

Or memory.

Sasha finally stepped back.

Her eyes went to Dante.

Then to me.

Then back to him.

Despite everything, she whispered, "That is the elevator guy?"

I closed my eyes.

"Please don't."

Dante heard her.

Of course he did.

"Elevator guy?" he asked.

Sasha's mouth twitched.

"She texted me from the hotel and said she was trapped in an elevator with the most handsome man she'd ever seen."

"Sasha."

"What? You were."

Dante looked at me.

"Interesting."

"Someone broke into our home. Can we focus?"

His expression sobered instantly.

"Yes."

Sasha sat down and took the notebook.

"Mom's?"

I nodded.

"Dante says she worked for his family."

Sasha blinked.

Then laughed.

"Mom? Our mom?"

"Apparently."

Dante pulled out a chair.

"There is something else."

I hated those words already.

"What?"

"The symbol on the notebook was used by my father, Salvatore DeLuca, for private ledgers. Elena was his forensic accountant. She tracked money no one else could trace."

Sasha frowned.

"Forensic accountant? She never went to college."

Dante shook his head.

"She did. Northwestern. Full scholarship. She graduated under her maiden name."

He took out his phone and showed us an old scanned photograph.

My mother.

Twenty-something.

Standing beside a younger Salvatore DeLuca in an office.

My breath vanished.

Mom wore glasses I had never seen.

She held a stack of folders.

And she was smiling.

I touched the screen.

"Where did you get this?"

"My father's private archive."

Sasha stared at the picture.

"Why would she lie to us?"

I knew the answer before Dante said it.

"To keep you alive."

A security man appeared at the glass door.

He handed Dante a plastic evidence bag.

Inside was a phone.

"Found in the hallway outside the Vane apartment," the man said. "Burner. Whoever dropped it remotely wiped most data. We recovered one unsent draft."

Dante read the screen.

His expression turned lethal.

"What?" I asked.

He did not answer.

I grabbed the phone.

The unsent message contained only six words.

THE OLDER GIRL HAS THE LEDGER.

Below it was a photograph.

Me.

Taken that night.

Standing beside Dante in the ballroom.

My stomach twisted.