Page 74 of Blood Vows

“No.” She dropped her arms. “I know you said you don’t have a family.” He looked away. Discussing his family had always been dangerous territory for anyone who brought them up. And now was the wrong time to talk about them because he had no intention of opening that door.

“Elena,” he warned.

“What happened to them?” she asked, ignoring his tone.

“Not relevant,” he insisted.

“To you, maybe,” she said.

“They are not part of this,” he spat.

“It’s part of why you trust Luca so much, right?” she guessed.

Dante’s eyes narrowed at her. “You’re good.”

“At what?”

“Finding the wound and digging your fingers into it,” he growled. She flinched, and he immediately regretted saying it. Goddamn her—he was getting tired of regret. Dante stepped inside and shut the door behind him, but didn’t lock it, not wanting to trap her—just giving them privacy.

“My father drank.” Elena went still. Dante hadn’t planned to say it. He hadn’t planned to say any of it, but the words were already there. “He hit my mother.” Her expression softened.

“Dante—” She reached for him, and he pulled his arms back from her.

“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “You asked, so now you listen.” She nodded, and he continued. “When I was fifteen, I tried to stop him.” His jaw tightened at the memory. “He broke two of my ribs.” Elena’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and Dante looked away. “I left that night.”

“What happened to your mother?” she asked.

“She wouldn’t come with me.” That still burned, even all these years later. “I slept in cars, alleys, wherever I could safely close my eyes for a few hours.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Then Luca found me.”

Elena frowned. “How did he find you?”

“I tried to steal his wallet.”

That seemed to surprise her. “He caught you?”

“Yeah,” Dante breathed.

“What did he do?”

Dante almost smiled. “He broke my nose.”

Elena stared. “That’s how you became friends?”

“Basically,” he said with a shrug. She laughed despite herself, and he didn’t know how badly he needed to hear her laugh. “He fed me,” Dante continued. “Found me work. Gave me a place to sleep. Later, when his family needed someone who could handle things⁠—"

“You became that someone,” she filled in.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Elena studied him. “So Luca is your family.”

“Yes,” he said, simply, because it was true. That was exactly why Hale’s accusation mattered so much to him.

Elena stepped closer. “And if the Camorras did kill my father?”

Dante knew this question was coming, but he still hated it. “I’ll find out why.” Her expression closed, and he knew that he had given the wrong answer—again. He swore under his breath. “That doesn’t mean I’ll excuse it.”

She looked at him. “Then what does it mean?”