Page 19 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

She was sleeping now. Not drugged or unconscious.

Just resting, her breathing steady, her lips parted slightly with each gradual exhale.

Cade shifted in the hard chair beside her, his back tight, the tension of the past hour settling deep into his muscles.

Dried blood stiffened the sleeves of his shirt and coated the insides of his wrists.

It caught there, tacky and hot in the cool morning light. His whole body ached with restraint.

She was still here, and he couldn’t afford to relax. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Still, her presence soothed him. The way her chest rose and fell, the flutter of her lashes when she dreamed, the fragile pulse at her wrist, all of it wove around the tension in his chest like silk around steel.

He hadn’t moved. He wouldn’t. Not until she opened her eyes and told him to. But every few minutes, her lashes would flicker, and her fingers would shift against his.

She was fighting her way back.

And Cade would be there to catch her when she did.

He took her hand. Brought it to his lips. Let the silence stretch.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured.

Elise didn’t open her eyes. But her fingers curled tighter around his, just enough to let him know she was still with him. Still listening. Still fighting. The smallest gesture, but it hit him like a freight train. Not just because of what it meant. But because it was her. Defiant. Brave. His.

He smiled, just a little.

“That’s twice in two days you’ve dropped bombs on me. First the Dante Brand. Then the Russian.”

Her lips parted. ”Not to mention getting shot,” she said, voice hoarse.

Cade exhaled a low breath first, something closer to a growl than a laugh, all pain and disbelief wound tight together. Then he laughed softly, but it broke something inside him.

She was alive.

And he was going to keep her that way.

Even if it meant burning every damn thing around them to the ground.

Elise stirred again, her lashes fluttering like a butterfly trapped under glass.

Cade tensed. He’d been watching for it, waiting for it.

Every muscle coiled with restrained urgency.

Every breath caught somewhere in his chest. The relief was so sharp it might have been a wound of its own, edged with terror and awe.

She was awake. Still with him. And his entire world narrowed to that single, fragile truth.

She didn’t focus right away. Her pupils tracked the leisurely turn of the ceiling fan, as if her brain was still climbing out of a fog, eyes darting once like she was orienting herself to light and space.

Then they shifted—sharp, sudden—toward him.

Not because she registered his voice, not even his name.

But because on some primal, cellular level, she knew he was near. Her tether. Her compass.

“Hey,” he said, voice firm, a steady sound in the swirl of uncertainty. It wasn’t just reassurance. It was a vow wrapped in gravel and heat. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. With me.”

Her gaze landed on him, unfocused, glassy, but fighting for clarity. It wasn’t just recognition she was reaching for. It was certainty. Her eyes locked on his like they were clinging to the moment, to him, to safety she hadn’t dared trust until now.

“I remember,” she murmured.

Cade leaned in close, her breath hitching as she tried to summon the memory. His voice dropped an octave, rough with tenderness and command. “Tell me, Elise. What do you remember? It’s vital I know.”

Because anything she recalled from the reception—any stray phrase, any passing voice—could crack this wide open. And if someone had recognized her gift, her memory, and still tried to kill her? Then this wasn’t just a hit.

It was a warning.

Her brows twitched together, a faint crease forming between them, as though something behind her eyes burned. “I wasn’t supposed to say it,” she murmured, more carefully this time, like it hurt just to admit it. “I wasn’t supposed to remember. Not out loud. That was the rule.”

“Say what, Elise?”

She licked her lips. Her voice was sandpaper. “The Russian.”

He nodded. “You remembered it. You said it. And you were right.”

Tension rippled through her, in her hand, in the slight jerk of her shoulder. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ”Are you angry with me?”

Cade’s chest tightened.

Her voice was quiet but clear, her expression searching, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from him. It wasn’t childlike or timid. It was braced. Managed. The kind of calm a woman learns after years of training herself not to flinch.

Hesitation flickered in her expression. Cade could see, whatever she was about to say, wasn’t easy.

She looked at him, then away, as though weighing something invisible, but painfully heavy.

Her voice, when it came, sounded quiet and careful.

“I remembered something I wasn’t supposed to.

I said it out loud. That always got a reaction. ”

Cade stared at her. “From whom?”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes flicked downward, unfocused, the fight in them momentarily eclipsed by something else, something older.

Cade saw it shift behind her gaze like a shadow layered over steel.

Her jaw moved as if she wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

Not yet. Her fingers curled slightly in his, more reflex than response.

He knew then. This wasn’t just pain or confusion. She was remembering. Not the reception. Not the shooting.

Something worse.

“Elise.” His voice was a thread pulled taut. “Who got mad?”

Silence. Her mouth moved. Then, so quietly he almost missed it. “My father.”

Cade’s blood iced.

“He hit you,” he said flatly.

She looked away.

The pressure in his chest turned volcanic.

It took everything he had not to let it show—how hard his fists clenched, how violently the image of a younger Elise, hurt and silenced, detonated behind his eyes.

The idea that anyone—her father—had ever struck her, punished her for something she couldn’t prevent, sent a red tide surging through him.

And she’d been young. Impressionable. Alone.

He wanted to break something. Wanted to bury his fist in the wall, or into what was left of Bjorn Severin.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe wrong. Didn’t give her fear any room to return.

“Why?” he asked, voice a mere whisper. The only tell was the dangerous calm behind his eyes. “Why did he hit you?”

“Because I remembered too much.” Her voice was detached now, dazed. “I always remembered everything. Word for word. I couldn’t forget. Even when I tried. He’d say something once, and if I repeated it… he knew I’d heard everything. That I couldn’t pretend.”

Cade sat there, thunderstruck, barely breathing.

His spine turned to stone, every muscle held in brutal suspension as if one wrong move would shatter the moment.

Or him. Her voice echoed in his skull, that small, devastating confession splintering through every layer of control he’d ever mastered.

He hadn’t seen it coming. Not this. Not from her.

Not that quiet, haunted heaviness behind her words.

It hit harder than any ambush. He wanted to rage, to act, to hunt down every ghost still clawing at her.

Instead, he held still. And listened. Because that’s what she needed.

She glanced back at him, eyes unfocused but earnest. There was something unguarded in her face now, something bleak and open that Cade knew she’d never have let him see under normal circumstances.

But the pain meds had dissolved all her defenses, stripped her down to truths she’d been taught to bury.

“It scared him. My memory. He said it made me dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” Cade repeated, every syllable iron-clad.

Fury slashed through him, vicious and cold, but he masked it, buried it beneath a calm too still to be safe.

He wouldn’t let her see the storm. Not now.

Not when she was bleeding truths he suspected she’d never spoken aloud.

But inside, his rage was feral. The urge to rise, to destroy something in her father’s name, was nearly unstoppable.

“He told me never to tell anyone. Ever.” She spoke harshly, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. “Or I’d regret it.”

Cade couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The image of Elise—tiny, bruised, silent—lodged in his mind like a blade. Bjorn Severin had always been a bastard, but this?

If the man weren’t already halfway in the grave, Cade would’ve put him there. And then kicked dirt over the edge.

“You told me,” he said at last.

Her lips twitched. “You’re scary. I figured if anyone could handle my curse…”

His throat worked. But he wanted to be clear.

Because somewhere in her past, a man who should have protected her had twisted love into fear.

And if there was so much as a flicker of doubt in her mind, if she looked at Cade and saw any piece of that man, he needed to rip it out, burn it down, and replace it with the truth.

“You think I’d ever lay a hand on you?”

She held his gaze, her eyes clear despite the haze of pain and medication. “I hoped not. But I’ve been wrong before.”

His fingers closed around hers, tight but gentle. “This is the last time you ever wonder if I’d hurt you. I am not your father. I don’t punish truth. I don’t raise my hand to what I love. I protect it. And I protect you.”

Elise blinked hard. A tear slid down her cheek.

He caught it with his thumb.

“I swear to you,” Cade said, his voice pure iron. “No one touches you like that again. Ever. Not even in memory.”

She breathed out, slow and shuddering, as though the load of years had finally cracked loose in her chest. And for the first time since the shot, since the blood and the truth spilled in equal measure, her body eased.

Not fully. Not entirely. But just enough for her trust to settle into his grip.

A thread drawn tight, no longer fraying.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, a note of quiet wonder winding through the words.

Like she hadn’t been sure until just now.

Like hearing herself say it out loud made it real.

Relief shimmered faintly behind her lashes, chased by something softer, trust, maybe.

Or the first flicker of peace that hadn’t occurred in years.

He leaned in. “Good. Because you never need to be.”

Her fingers tightened in his.

Cade didn’t think. Didn’t plan it. He just leaned in and let his lips brush hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It was tender, rooted in need, edged with tension, as if holding back the storm just beneath the surface.

The kind of kiss a man gave when words weren’t enough. When vows had already been made but needed to be sealed in touch, in presence, in the kind of quiet closeness that made everything else fall away.

His hand cupped the side of her face, careful not to disturb the IV or the faint flush still clinging to her cheeks.

Her mouth was warm and soft, tasting faintly of coffee and something sweeter—something her.

And when she exhaled against his lips, a tremble passed through her like tension uncoiling from deep within, released after too long held tight.

She kissed him back.

Not forceful. Not fiery. Just… real. Present. Her fingers curled tighter around his, grounding him to the moment as it swept through him like a tide.

He pulled back an inch, barely. Let his fingers slide along her cheek as he pressed a kiss to her temple, then dropped his head beside hers, close enough to breathe the same air. His breath mingled with hers, hearts thudding in tandem.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, but this time the words weren’t reassurance. They were a claim. A promise.

Cade’s mouth tightened, as guilt slammed through him like a punch to the ribs. He should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve sensed it in the air. The twitch in Grigor’s posture, the shift in Elise’s voice. He replayed every second with ruthless clarity.

Then, quietly, hoarse with restraint, he said, “I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve seen it coming. And I swear to you, Elise, nothing will ever touch you again. Not while I’m breathing.”

But deep down, he knew better. The war wasn’t over. Not even close. There were more shadows ahead, more hands reaching from the dark. He wouldn’t lie to her, not with silence. Never with silence. So he kissed her again, softer this time, and whispered what he couldn’t promise, only fight for.

“I’ll do everything within my ability to keep you safe. God forgive anyone who thinks they can raise a hand to you again, because I won’t.”

Her lips parted, the hint of a breath catching there like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

Her gaze held his, steady and soft, and something passed between them, silent and searing.

A recognition. A vow. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

The substance of everything they’d just said, everything they hadn’t, hung in the air like a chord still vibrating.

The kiss should have said everything.

But still, his thoughts reeled.

Her trust lingered on his lips, simmering beneath the taste of warmth and trembling hope. Her surrender hadn’t been weakness, not even close. It had been courage. Grace. That kiss hadn’t just healed something in her.

It had branded something into him.

And Cade knew. Whatever came next, interrogations, lockdowns, the unraveling of everything, they’d face it together. But first, there would be consequences. Lines drawn and crossed. Someone had tried to kill his wife. And Cade Dante didn’t forgive, didn’t forget, and didn’t wait.

And he would make damn sure no one ever silenced her again.