Chapter 8: THE PRICE OF PROTECTION
Three days later, Marcus Bellamy declared war.
Not with guns.
Not at first.
He used money.
Influence.
And fear.
Two of Dante’s warehouses were shut down after anonymous complaints.
A major transportation contract was canceled.
A longtime business partner suddenly refused to return his calls.
Then Tony Mercer arrived at Rosa’s house with a swollen cheek and a split lip.
I ran toward him.
“Tony!”
He tried to smile.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Eli really was a girl.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best mechanic I ever hired.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Who did this?”
Tony’s smile disappeared.
“Bellamy’s men.”
“Why?”
“They wanted to know where Elena was.”
I felt sick.
Tony looked at me.
“I didn’t tell them anything.”
“You got hurt because of me.”
“No, kid. I got hurt because some fools thought they could scare an old mechanic.”
He lowered himself into a chair.
Then added:
“Besides, my wife would’ve killed me if I sold out a young woman trying to stay alive.”
I covered my mouth.
Tony had a wife named Margaret.
Three grown children.
Five grandchildren.
He had spent forty years working on cars.
He didn’t deserve to be dragged into my nightmare.
Dante noticed my expression.
“Elena, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Blame yourself for what Marcus chooses to do.”
I looked at Tony’s bruised face.
But guilt was already settling inside me.
That evening, I found Dante alone in his office.
He was staring at a stack of financial reports.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Expensive.”
“Because of me.”
“Because Marcus wants leverage.”
I stepped closer.
“You could hand me over.”
Dante looked up sharply.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“No.”
“Your businesses are suffering. Your employees are getting hurt.”
He stood.
“Listen to me carefully, Elena.”
I flinched at the intensity in his voice.
He noticed and softened immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Then he continued.
“My father once told me that the moment you start trading innocent people for convenience, you’ve already lost everything worth protecting.”
I stared at him.
“You really believe that?”
“I didn’t always live by it.”
He looked toward the window.
“But I’m trying to now.”
For several seconds, we stood in silence.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
Dante turned back.
His expression changed.
“At first, because you needed help.”
“And now?”
He took a slow breath.
“Now, because I care about you.”
My heart stumbled.
“Dante…”
He stepped back, deliberately giving me space.
“I know what you’ve been through. I’m not asking you for anything.”
I felt tears rising.
“Nobody’s ever said that to me.”
He looked almost angry at the thought.
“Then you’ve spent too much time around the wrong men.”
I smiled faintly.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to see Dante not as the feared man everyone described, but as the complicated man standing in front of me.
A man with a dangerous past.
A man trying to become better.
A man who had every opportunity to control me.
And kept choosing not to.
That night, however, a message arrived on my phone.
It contained a photograph.
Rosa.
Leaving church.
Underneath were six words.
COME ALONE OR SHE DIES NEXT.