Chapter 4 - Under the Falcon’s Wings
Silence descended upon the study like a physical weight. The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound cutting through the heavy air as I stared down at the documents on Dante’s desk.
Elena Marshall.
The name echoed in my mind like a half-remembered lullaby. Growing up in the foster system, I had always known I was adopted, that my past was a blank slate. I had been told my biological parents died in a tragic accident when I was a toddler. But seeing the documents—seeing my father's face, reading the official coroner's reports, and staring at the undeniable DNA match linking me to the very bloodline that commanded New York's underworld—shattered my reality into a million jagged pieces.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head as I pulled my hands back into my lap. "No, this is insane. This has to be a mistake. People don't just... come back from the dead. How could I have survived a crash like that?"
Dante walked slowly around the desk, his movements fluid and predatory, yet strangely cautious. He stopped just inches from my chair. Orion let out a low rumble, lifting his head from my shoe, though Dante ignored the dog.
"Your father wasn't just an accountant, Elena," Dante said softly, using my real name for the first time. The sound of it on his lips sent a shiver straight down my spine. "He knew my father was targeted. Before the hit happened, he anticipated the worst. He hid you with a trusted, off-the-grid family friend in upstate New York just hours before the crash. But before he could reclaim you, the hit squad struck."
"And the family friend?" I asked, my voice cracking with emotion.
"They died of natural causes when you were six," Dante said grimly. "The social workers who placed you in the state foster system didn't know your true identity. They only had the alias your father gave you to keep you hidden. The paper trail was buried under decades of corruption and fear."
I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "And you? Why are you telling me this? Are you going to kill me? Is my family's old debt still something your syndicate wants to collect?"
Dante’s jaw tightened sharply. A flash of raw, unfiltered anger crossed his handsome features—not at me, but at the thought.
"Collect?" he echoed, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr. "Elena, listen to me very carefully. Your father died protecting my family’s secrets. He was the most loyal man my father ever employed. If anyone had known you were alive, I would have torn this city apart to find you sooner."
He crouched down beside my chair, bringing his face level with mine. Up close, his eyes weren't just gray; they were flecked with silver, glittering with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
"You are not a prisoner here," Dante vowed, his gaze locked onto mine. "You are under my protection. Nobody touches you. Nobody hurts you. If anyone in this city so much as looks at you wrong, they answer to me."
Orion gave a sharp bark of agreement, nudging his nose against Dante’s shoulder as if to reinforce the boss's command.
May you like
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of Dante's mouth. He reached out, his warm calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The simple touch sent an electric current racing through my veins, making my breath catch.
"Now," Dante whispered, standing back up and extending a hand toward me. "Let's get you settled. You're never going back to that cramped apartment, Elena. Your life as a waitress is over."
