Page 26 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

ZANE SLAMMED the decanter down harder than necessary. The whiskey sloshed but didn’t spill. Cade watched the ripple flatten itself in the cut glass like it knew better than to make a mess in this room.

“Grigor didn’t just wake up homicidal,” Zane muttered, pacing the edge of the war table like a wolf denied a kill. “Somebody turned him. Paid him. Coerced him. Take your pick.”

“He was ex-military,” Titus added, voice flat. “Takes more than money to flip a soldier like that. Especially one with that kind of discipline.”

“He didn’t hesitate.” Cade leaned back, one hand draped casually over the armrest, the other resting against his thigh, body still but eyes lit with fire. Composed. Contained. The way he always was. Except now, something inside him burned.

When Grigor’s gun rose, Cade had seen it in slow motion. Not the muzzle. Not the threat. Just Elise, her eyes going wide, her body arching backward a second too late. The sound of the shot. The blood.

His palm itched where the mark still pulsed, a faint echo of the fire it had unleashed at the altar.

She was his before he knew it. Before he wanted it.

Before he had a choice. He hadn’t asked for the brand.

Hadn’t asked for fate to carve her name into his skin.

But when it burned into existence in front of that altar, it changed everything because for the first time in his life, someone was his. And he was hers.

The door creaked open.

None of them had called for anyone.

Zane’s hand dropped to the knife at his thigh. Titus shifted his weight forward.

Leif Severin stepped through the doorway without waiting for permission.

“Thought this was a private conversation,” Zane said, not bothering to mask his disdain.

Leif didn’t blink. “It is. That’s why I’m here. Or did you forget that Elise is my sister?”

Cade didn’t move. “You weren’t invited.”

“No,” Leif said, stepping fully into the room. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I know. About the man who gave the order to Grigor.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Titus’s gaze narrowed. “Speak carefully, Severin.”

Leif didn’t sit. Just stood across from Cade, eyes sharp. “The name is Marcello. He’s been embedded in my father’s inner circle for years. No last name. No records. No history. Operates in shadow. Speaks to no one but Bjorn.”

A pause. A breath.

And then Cade said it: “Marcello?” Elise’s Marcello?

Titus went still. “Where did you hear that name?”

Leif looked between them. “He’s been with the Severin’s since before I came of age. My father trusted him more than his own blood. Nobody questioned it.”

Zane snorted. “Convenient. A ghost with a knife.”

Cade leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Describe him.”

Leif hesitated, then said, “Short. Dark hair. Walks with a limp, bad one. Scar runs from his left eye, across his nose, to his jawline. Nasty one. Old.”

The air in Cade’s lungs froze.

He stood, gaze locking on Titus first, then Zane. “Marcello isn’t a ghost,” he said, voice razor-sharp now. “His real name is Marco.”

Leif frowned. “Marco?”

Titus answered this time, clipped and cold. “Marco Dante. Former Chief. He betrayed the family. Sold intel to Bjorn. Our father ordered the hit. We thought he was dead.”

Something shifted behind Leif’s eyes. “That’s why he never gave me a last name.”

Silence fell heavy.

And then it snapped into place. The betrayal. The ambition. The twisted symmetry.

Marcello—Marco—wasn’t just playing both sides. He was both sides.

Titus dropped into his chair, visibly stunned. “It was him. All along.”

Leif ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “I let him walk. After the stroke took my father down. He said he was stepping back. Offered me advice before he disappeared.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of advice?”

Leif’s voice was quiet. “Unite the families. Through marriage.”

Cade’s breath locked. “Petra?”

Leif nodded. “He suggested her specifically. Said she had the right balance of influence and blood. I thought it was strategy. Political maneuvering.”

Titus muttered a curse. “It was sabotage. If Petra had died after the wedding—”

“It would’ve looked like a power grab,” Zane finished. “Our family assassinating hers from the inside.”

“But Elise got the brand,” Cade said. “And everything shifted.”

“Marcello didn’t expect that,” Leif said. “I’m guessing he panicked. Improvised. Grigor was a last-ditch move.”

“And he moved too soon,” Cade said. “Too messy. That wasn’t a professional hit. That was desperation.”

Titus rubbed a hand down his face. “Then we’re out of time.”

Zane looked at Cade. “Does Elise remember anything?”

Cade shook his head. “Not yet. But she flinched the moment Grigor opened his mouth. Before she even saw the weapon.”

Leif stepped closer. “Then she heard something. Maybe a voice she recognized. Or a command.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ve seen what she can do. My father hated it. Hit her when she used it. Said it made her dangerous. Echoic memory. She doesn’t forget what she hears.”

Cade’s brows tugged together in a dark frown. “If she flinched at the sound of Grigor’s voice, it’s possible he used Marcello’s words. A phrase. A command she’s heard before. That would link it back to him.”

“She may already have the memory,” Titus said. “It just hasn’t surfaced.”

“Then we bring her in,” Cade said, pushing to his feet. His voice wasn’t hard. It was protective, fierce in its restraint. “But gently. No pushing. No cornering her. The last time something surfaced, it was because she felt safe. She has to feel that again.”

He looked between them, gaze like iron. “If she remembers, it’ll come on its own. You press her, and we lose her. Understand?”

The door opened again, softer this time.

Elise stood just inside the threshold, hair pulled back, skin pale but composed. The soft fabric of her sundress skimmed her knees, fluttering with each step. She still looked too fragile for this room. And too brave not to walk into it.

Her eyes scanned the table, then landed on Cade.

“I heard my name,” she said quietly.

Cade moved first, crossing to her with a calm so absolute it masked the urgency beneath. He didn’t touch her, not yet, just gave her the space to come closer on her own.

But Leif was faster.

In two strides, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. It was gentle, yet still a full-body brotherly hug, grief and guilt crashing through. Elise stiffened for a heartbeat, then melted into it.

“You were shot,” he said thickly, his mouth near her hair. “Damn it, Ellie.”

Cade waited until her head tipped toward Leif’s shoulder before speaking again, his voice steady and warm. “You’re safe here,” he said, pitched for her alone. “But there’s something we need to ask you.”

Elise’s gaze flicked to the other men in the room, her body tensing as if bracing for impact. Then, with a quiet breath, she pulled from Leif’s embrace and walked straight into Cade’s. Her arms slipped around him as his wrapped her up tight, mooring her to the only safe place.

“Ask,” she murmured, voice steadier now.

Cade angled toward her, shielding her subtly with his frame. “Do you remember Grigor’s voice? Anything he said before he raised the gun?”

Her fingers curled around the fabric at her sides. “Just one thing.”

The room went still.

Zane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What did he say?”

Her eyes lifted to Cade’s, full of certainty and something colder. “He said, ‘The debt is finished.’”

Cade’s blood turned to ice. The words hit him with delayed force, threading through his memory like poison through a vein.

He’d been so focused on the shot, on the blood, on Elise collapsing in his arms, he hadn’t heard what Grigor said.

Not really. But now, now it rang with deadly clarity. And it was personal.

He looked at Leif. “That phrase mean anything to you?”

Leif nodded, face grim. “That sounds like him. I can’t swear to it, not firsthand. But my father repeated that phrase more than once, and it always came from Marcello.”

Cade reached for Elise’s hand, threading their fingers together. “You just gave us what we needed.”

Titus stood again, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “So what’s the move?”

Zane cracked his knuckles. “We hit him first.”

Cade didn’t speak right away. His thumb brushed over Elise’s knuckles, grounding himself. “We don’t know where he is. We don’t know who’s still working for him.”

Leif nodded grimly. “He’s slippery. Before the coma, my father kept him buried deep. And if Marcello suspects we’re coming…”

“He’ll accelerate the timetable,” Titus finished. “More hits. Maybe on Elise. Maybe on us.”

Elise stiffened against Cade’s chest. “Then we can’t wait.”

All eyes swung back to her. She wasn’t shaking. She wasn’t flinching. Her voice held the same calm that had carried her through the wedding, the brand, the bullet.

“He wants me?” she said. “Then use me.”

Cade’s arms tightened instantly. “No,” he said, sharp and final. “We’re not using you for anything.”

Elise didn’t back down. “Cade—”

“No.” His tone dropped, deadly quiet. “That’s not a discussion. You don’t offer yourself up like a lamb to slaughter.”

Her fingers pressed against his chest. “I’m not a lamb. And you said it yourself. Marcello moved too soon. That means he’s nervous. If I make him think I’m vulnerable, he’ll come out of hiding.”

Cade’s mouth tightened. His gaze never left hers. “You are not bait.”

“No, I’m not bait. I’m a lure,” she corrected softly. “The difference is that I choose it.”

A long silence.

Then Titus spoke, cautious. “She might be the only one he’ll show himself for.”

Cade’s expression hardened. “Absolutely not. We’re not using her like that.”

Elise stirred in his arms, lifting her head. “Cade—”

“No.” He looked at Titus, then Zane, then finally at Leif. “I don’t care what strategy you think this is. The answer is no.”

Elise’s fingers curled against his chest. “This is about making him move.”