Chapter Eight: The Trap
The Justice Department moved fast.
Three days later, a team of federal agents arrived at the hospital. Plain clothes. Discreet.
They took the USB drive. Made copies. Questioned Dante for hours.
Elena wasn’t allowed in the room during the interrogation.
She paced the hallway instead.
Michael sat in a chair, scrolling through his phone, pretending not to be worried.
“He’s going to be fine,” Michael said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you. But worrying won’t help.”
Elena stopped pacing.
“Why are you being so calm about this?”
Michael looked up.
“Because I spent seven years watching you pretend to be fine. Watching you throw yourself into work so you didn’t have to feel anything. Watching you become a ghost in your own life.”
He stood up.
“And now I know why. Now I know what he did. And I hate him for it. But I also understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That he loved you enough to let you go.” Michael’s voice was quiet. “That’s not nothing, Elena. That’s everything.”
The door opened.
A federal agent stepped out. “Dr. Vance? Mr. Rossi is asking for you.”
Elena walked inside.
Dante was sitting up in bed. Pale. Tired. But alive.
“They’re setting up a sting,” he said. “Marcus wants the USB drive. We’re going to give it to him.”
“We?”
“You and me.” Dante reached for her hand. “Marcus won’t meet with anyone else. He wants to see you. He wants to watch you hand over the evidence in person.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.” Dante’s fingers intertwined with hers. “But it’s the only way to catch him. The agents will be there. Hidden. Armed.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“Then I die protecting you.” He said it simply. Like it was obvious. “That’s always been the plan, Elena. From the very beginning.”
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t lose him again, not now, not when she’d just gotten him back.
But she didn’t say any of that.
Instead, she leaned down and kissed him.
It was soft. Brief. The kind of kiss that asked a question instead of answering one.
Dante’s hand came up to cup her face.
“Elena.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me this is a bad idea. Don’t tell me we shouldn’t. I already know.”
“I was going to say I’ve waited seven years for that.”
She pulled back.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
“You’re impossible,” she said.
“And you’re still saving me,” he replied. “Some things never change.”
