Page 38 of The Dante
“Mrs. Dante?” The taller of the two spoke, his voice clipped and official as he reached into his jacket, flashing a badge with a practiced flick, the gold catching the light for just a second too long. The movement was deliberate, meant to impose, to remind her exactly who was in charge here. “Agent Reed. We need you to come with us.”
Her stomach lurched, but she kept her expression even. “I’m sorry. Ican’t right now. Ihave anappointment.”
“I’m Agent Foster and this won’t take long,” the second man added, flashing his badge, as well. “We insist.”
Jazz squared her shoulders, fighting the unease creeping through her. “I really can’t miss this. It’s important. If you need to speak with me, you can go through my husband’s lawyers like everyone else.”
Agent Reed didn’t blink. His expression remained unreadable, but something about the way his gaze held hers made her stomach tighten. “We’re not ‘everyone else,’ Mrs. Dante.”
She caught her breath, keeping her stance firm. “No, you’re not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have somewhere to be. Idon’t answer to you.”
Reed tilted his head slightly, his brows drawing together in feigned skepticism, as if debating whether she was telling the truth or stalling for time. He let the silence stretch between them, his gaze studying her too closely, searching for hesitation, aflicker of doubt. Then, he shook his head. “Who’s your appointment with?” he asked, dragging out the questionlike he was rolling it around in his mind. “And this appointment—it’s urgent enough to dodge federal agents?”
Jazz saw no reason to lie. There was no crime in going to a doctor, no reason to act as if she were hiding something. So she met Agent Reed’s gaze directly, lifted her chin, and answered clearly. “It’s with Dr. Vasquez. And yes, it’s urgent enough to delay a meeting.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Foster pulled out a phone, typing quickly. Jazz watched as his expression shifted—just the slightest flicker, but enough. His posture straightened. His fingers tightened around the device.
Reed caught on immediately. “What is it?”
Agent Foster’s eyes flicked to Jazz before he turned his phone toward Reed, his thumb hovering over the screen as if to silently confirm what he’d just found. Reed’s gaze dropped for barely a second before a slow, knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. His expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. He looked at Jazz as if he’d justsolved a puzzle.
“You’re pregnant.”
The world seemed to tilt. Jazz’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening instinctively around the strap of her purse. The pavement beneath her feet felt unsteady, as if the entire parking lot had shifted just slightly off balance. Achill skated through her, despite the warmth of the sun. She forced herself to swallow, to steady her breathing, but her heart pounded so loudly in her ears it nearly drowned out the sounds of the morning traffic beyond thelot.
The air around her suddenly felt thinner, constricting, as if the world had closed in an inch too tight. They didn’t know before. Now, they did. And that changed everything.
Her fingers instinctively reached for her pendant, the cool metal pressing into her palm as she wrapped her fingers around it. It was a subconscious gesture, atether to something steady when everything around her felt like shifting earth. The heft of it reminded her of who she was, of what was real beneath the web of manipulation being spunaroundher.
She had to regain control—not just of this moment, but of the narrative they were trying to seize from her. She had wanted confirmation before telling Titus—but not like this. Not with men like Reed and Foster standing before her, treating her pregnancy as nothing more than another leverage point, another piece of information to wield againsther.
She forced herself to remain unmoving, to mask the turmoil brewing inside. They had the upper hand now, but she wouldn’t let them see how deeply this revelation rattled her. She lifted her chin, locking her expression into something unreadable, even as her heart pounded beneath herribs.
The taller agent’s expression hardened, the polite pretense slipping. “Mrs. Dante, we need you to come with us now.” His voice remained calm, but there was a new edge beneath it, something unmistakable. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.”
Jazz forced herself to stay calm. “Idon’t think so.”
She turned, intending to walk toward the office doors, but Agent Reed shifted, blocking her path with a deliberate ease that made it clear he’d anticipated her everymove.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Mrs. Dante.” Reed’s voice was level, but there was something underneath it now—awarning laced with quiet menace. “I’d think carefully about your next move. Because one way or another, you’re coming with us. The only difference is whether we do this the easy way or the way that makes headlines.”“
She stiffened. “I’m making it hard? Itold you, Ihave an appointment.”
Foster took a slow step closer, his expression unreadable but deliberate. His movements were premeditated, assured—like a man who knew he had already won. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Just certainty. Aswift shift of weight, asubtle narrowing of his eyes, as if he were sizing her up, waiting for her to understand the inevitable. “If you don’t come willingly, we’ll make this a problem. Foryou. For him.”
Jazz’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t a request. It was a warning, aline drawn in the sand. The way Reed held himself, the slight shift of Foster’s stance—it all spoke of inevitability, of men who already believed they had won. This was a move carefully played, and they were waiting for her to realizeit.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. If she refused, they’d escalate. They’d draw attention, twist the story before she had a chance to prevent it. And if they did that, Titus would hear about it—through whispers, through reports, through whatever mess they chose to create.
She clenched her jaw. She hated being cornered, but she hated even more that they were right. They had taken charge of this moment, boxed her in with just a few designed words, and now, she had to decide whether she was going to fight or be smart.
And right now, the smarter choice was clear.
She gave a single nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The agents didn’t gloat. Reed and Foster exchanged a brief glance, something unreadable passing between them— approval, perhaps, or quiet satisfaction.
They had her, and they knew it. They simply moved, one stepping ahead of her, the other behind, guiding her toward an unmarked sedan parked a few rows back, right where it had been sitting, watching, waiting.
