Page 34 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

Cold steel kissed the tender hollow of her throat, sharp enough to bite, to whisper of blood without drawing it. Yet. Her breath seized, lungs locking down in sheer, animal panic. She tried to scream, but the pressure of his hand smothered the sound, trapping it in her chest like a caged bird.

Her entire body went rigid, frozen in place by that cold blade, and a memory that struck sharper than a razor.

A voice breathed hot at her ear. “Nice try, little dove.”

He dragged her backward, into the corner shadows. The blade at her neck didn’t waver. Her back hit his chest, and she knew that smell. Sharp, acrid, cologne masking something worse. Something decayed. Familiar.

Marcello.

A man without a soul, a phantom.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You were a Dante once. Marco. The Chief.”

Marcello chuckled behind her. “Ah. So he told you.” He spun her around to face him, slamming her back against the wall, blade pressed to her throat. “Cade never could leave ghosts buried.”

“Why me?” she asked, voice tight, breath still caught somewhere between fear and fury. “Out of all the Severins, why did you come after me? What the hell do you want?”

He didn’t bind her. Didn’t strike her. Just held the knife steady and smiled like an old friend. “So many things.”

“What things?” she whispered, barely able to breathe.

Marcello cocked his head. “To find out what you’ve got buried in that pretty little brain of yours.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

As she said it, her mind flickered through hazy memories, odd moments that had never made sense until now.

A gala two years ago, where there’d been eyes on her all night.

A glimpse of a man near the Severin estate’s south corridor, too familiar to be a stranger.

Even the unease she couldn’t place during her last piano recital for the Council.

He’d been there. Hidden in the periphery, always just beyond recognition. And now, he was inches from her throat.

“I’ve been watching you for years,” he said. “You don’t forget a Severin girl. Especially one with a memory like yours. Echoic, isn’t it?”

Her stomach turned. “You were with Bjorn when he found out.”

Marcello’s eyes glittered. “Of course. He didn’t understand what you were at first. Thought you were some useless pretty thing.

But I knew. I watched you hum your little tunes and memorize floorplans you weren’t supposed to see.

I watched you steal fragments of conversations out of thin air.

You were a vault. I just didn’t have the key. Until now.”

Her lips firmed. “Then why kill me?”

He smiled thinly. “Augustus Dante.”

The name struck like a bell. Her whole body rang with it.

She didn’t think. Her mouth moved before her brain did.

“In sanguine scripsi.”

He went still. “So you did hear.”

Her breath rasped, sharp and ragged. The words caught in her throat before spilling out, thick with horror and disbelief.

“You killed Cade’s father.” Her whole body went cold the instant she said it because deep down, she’d known.

But saying it out loud made it real. It made it history, not rumor.

And the man holding the blade didn’t flinch.

Marcello shrugged, as if it excused everything. “Bjorn gave the order. I just... made sure it got done.”

“You pulled the trigger.”

He smiled again. Softer. Crueler. “You weren’t supposed to remember.”

“Elise Severin forgets nothing,” she said, voice low.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he mused. “A Severin girl with a memory like that... it was inevitable someone would want you dead.”

She was quick to change the subject. “Augustus found out you were leaking intel. Selling it. To my family. Maybe others.”

“Found out,” he agreed. “And ordered a hit on me. Family justice.”

She spat it like a curse. “Family justice would mean you’d be six feet under already.”

“Close,” he murmured. “I vanished the day I survived the Dante sanctioned hit. Took two bullets to the chest and one to my hip. Bled into the roots of a citrus grove outside McAllen. Should’ve died.”

That was what Cade told her, that his father had ordered the hit after discovering the betrayal, that Marco had been left for dead.

“I wish you had died in that grove,” she said, her tone almost light, like she were discussing the weather.

But the rage in her blood nearly set the air on fire.

The blade at her throat didn’t matter. What mattered was the ache of justice denied.

The urge to see him undone. Not just dead.

Undone. “The world would’ve been cleaner. Quieter. Safer.”

“Ah, But Marco Dante didn’t die. Bjorn found me. Fed me. Hid me. Gave me a new name. I reemerged in Severin territory as Marcello, with a new allegiance, and more hatred than ever. I simply worked for the Severins and waited for revenge.”

“Revenge against just Augustus?” she dared ask.

He went dead still.

“It’s a pattern with me,” he leaned in and whispered against her temple. “Augustus tried to kill me for disloyalty. I killed Augustus for underestimating me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Fought not to gag on the stench of his cologne. Just listened, letting the pieces arrange themselves in her mind like a puzzle snapping into place. “He’s not the only one, is he?”

He smiled. “No, sweetheart, I’m afraid he isn’t. But you’re making it harder than I planned, as is that husband of yours.” He tilted his head to one side in speculation. “Maybe I’ll take him out, too.”

But she couldn’t let herself react to that. Not now. Not with his body heat pressed against her, the blade still flirting with her pulse.

She shifted the conversation, seizing on the next question as if it might splinter the rising panic. Not a lifeline, but a sharp-edged tool to stall him, to make him speak. Anything to buy time. She needed to keep him talking, steal herself seconds she wasn’t sure she had.

Her mind raced, calculating the angle of the blade, the pressure at her throat, the instability in his voice.

If she could keep him focused on her words, not her body, she might find a crack.

Desperation coiled under her ribs, but she stuffed it down.

Let him think she was calm. Let him think she was breakable. “Was I always the target?”

“Oh, hell no, sweetheart.” Marcello’s amusement oozed through every word.

“Petra was the one I pegged first. Killing her would’ve destabilized the Severins fast and clean.

Political fallout. Emotional carnage. It would’ve been beautiful.

But then Cade married you instead. And that changed everything.

Suddenly, you were more than a pawn. You were a bridge between both families.

And worse? A Severin bonded to a Dante. That made you dangerous.

That made you a little too strong. And therefore, that made you mine to eliminate. ”

How much time did she have? What else could she ask him?

Elise’s mind flashed—Jazz’s gentle voice, Lily’s laughter. A conversation they’d had not long ago, curled up in this very room. Lily had spoken quietly then, her voice brittle but unwavering. A shooter had aimed for her chest. Zane had shoved her out of the way. Taken the bullet himself.

Elise had thought it was just a warning shot. A Severin scare tactic, maybe. And yet, each word from Marcello rearranged the pieces until the truth clicked into place like a cruel lock snapping shut. Marcello hadn’t just orchestrated it. He’d tried to kill Lily. And nearly succeeded.

She hadn’t connected it before. Not fully. But now, God, now it all made sense. She fought the tremble in her voice, but it broke anyway, filled with anxiety. “What about Lily?”

“Oh, that was all me.” His voice dipped, filled with gloating. “I hired the shooter. Told him to aim for the spine, make it clean but cruel. Let her crumple in front of Zane. Helpless, bleeding, unforgettable. Bjorn said it was reckless. Thought it might light the match too early. He wasn’t wrong.”

Elise’s breath hitched. “Then why do it?” she demanded. “If my father was against it, why go ahead?”

Marcello chuckled, dark and unhurried. “Because I wanted to see what Zane would do. When Grigor told me about their shared marks, I wanted to see how far they’d go to protect their precious Dante Brands.

I wanted chaos. I wanted revenge on the Dantes.

And maybe, deep down, I wanted Bjorn to know I didn’t take orders anymore. ”

She lifted her head ever so slightly, ever so carefully, so she could stare into his scarred face. “I’ll bet Dad wasn’t happy about that.”

Marcello smiled with pure viciousness. “I gave the order anyway. When Bjorn found out, he was furious.”

“What did he say? What did he do?” she pressed.

Marcello laughed. “He wasn’t pleased with my initiative. Called me a fucking embarrassment. Said I’d overstepped one too many times. That he should’ve left me to bleed out in that grove. I knew what that meant.”

“You were the next to die.”

“Exactly. So I took him out first.”

Elise froze in disbelief. “That’s a lie.”

Marcello’s head tilted slightly, tension spiking. “What?”

“You didn’t take my father out. Bjorn Severin’s still alive. Granted, in a hospital bed. Hooked up to tubes. Barely breathing.” Her voice sharpened. “But, you didn’t finish the job.”

Marcello’s grip tightened. The knife bit deeper.

“I left him as good as dead,” he growled.

“Like you were left as good as dead?” she asked coldly. “That’s what’s eating you alive, isn’t it? You failed.”

He jerked her closer, breath ragged against her ear. “He wasn’t supposed to survive. I made sure of it. I put enough in there—”

“Apparently, you were wrong.”

Her eyes narrowed as she shifted, just a fraction, enough to test the firmness of his grip. The pressure was tight, almost frantic, like a trap on the verge of snapping. She steadied her breathing, tuning in to the ragged rhythm of his.