Page 20 of Dante
Franco's gaze flicks briefly to Elena, a silent question about speaking freely in front of her.
"She stays," I clarify. "This concerns her directly."
He gives a short nod. "We've identified the bodies. Definitely Moretti's crew, just as you suspected. Lower-level muscle, nothing special."
I notice Elena flinch at the casual mention of bodies. She's still processing the reality of our world, still adjusting to the bluntness with which we discuss violence.
"And Moretti?" I ask.
"Still at the Continental Hotel. Our people are watching him." Franco removes his gloves, revealing scarred knuckles, evidence of a lifetime of dirty work. "He's meeting with the other Russian, Petrov, in the morning."
"Fucking perfect," I mutter. "Another alliance Marco's actions have pushed into being."
Franco glances at Elena again. "Speaking of Rossi, he's been making calls. Lots of calls. Word is he's looking for his sister."
Elena straightens. "Marco knows I'm missing already? But it's only been an hour since—"
"Your brother has eyes everywhere," I explain. "Someone likely reported the altercation outside your building."
"Shit," she whispers, the profanity sounding strangely delicate in her cultured voice. "He'll think—"
"That I've taken you," I finish for her. "Which, technically, is true."
Franco raises an eyebrow at this exchange but doesn't comment.
"I need to call him," Elena insists, reaching for her purse. "Before he does something stupid."
"I'll handle it," I say, my tone making it clear this isn't up for debate. "Franco, you'll stay here tonight. Full security protocol."
Franco doesn't question the order, though I can tell he's intrigued by my protective stance toward Elena. In fifteen years, he's never seen me bring a woman to my actual residence, let alone assign personal security to one.
"Yes, boss. I'll take first watch. Raphael will relieve me at dawn." He moves toward the security panel, checking the building's surveillance feeds.
"No," I correct him. "You both stay. Double coverage until further notice."
This does prompt a reaction, a brief widening of his eyes, quickly controlled. "Understood."
Elena watches this exchange with a furrowed brow. "Isn't that excessive? Surely your penthouse is secure enough without armed guards."
Franco actually chuckles at this, the sound rough from years of cigarettes.
"Ms. Rossi, you've just been targeted by Russian hitmen because of your brother's fuckups. 'Excessive' left the building about three dead bodies ago."
"Franco," I warn, though there's no real heat in it. He's the only one in my organization who can speak this freely without consequence. He's earned that right a thousand times over, starting when he took a bullet meant for my father years ago.
"Sorry, boss." He doesn't sound particularly apologetic. "Just stating facts."
Elena looks between us, curiosity momentarily overriding her anxiety. "How long have you two worked together?"
"Too fucking long," Franco replies before I can answer. "I was changing his diapers back when—"
"That's enough," I cut him off, though I'm fighting a rare smile. "Check the perimeter, then report back."
Franco nods, throwing Elena a look that might almost be friendly before disappearing down the hallway toward the security room.
When we're alone again, Elena glances at me with new interest. "He seems... comfortable with you."
"Franco has been with my family since before I was born," I explain, moving to pour myself another drink. "He's earned certain liberties."
