Page 35 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

His balance was misaligned, too much weight in his left leg, as if bracing for something.

His breathing faltered. Not with fear, but a restless, seething kind of rage.

The kind that clouded thought. The kind that made men reckless.

His focus had splintered. She felt it. The blade still pressed into her throat, but his attention was fraying.

Marcello’s expression twisted, something more feral slipping through. “Was I wrong?” His lip curled. “I think all my hits were justified. Even Augustus. Especially Augustus.”

“You were a Dante,” she spat. “You took an oath.”

“And they broke it first,” Marcello hissed. “Augustus turned on me. My own cousin. I was his Chief. The trusted one. And he cast me out like trash. For what? A whisper that I’d passed intel to the Severins? That I’d dared question his son’s eventual elevation instead of elevating me?”

“Because you betrayed them.”

“I did what needed to be done. I gave Bjorn just enough to keep our families balanced. To keep the peace. I didn’t want blood. I wanted to be in charge.” He leaned in, the knife pushing harder. “But Augustus couldn’t stand that. Couldn’t handle the idea that his Chief might have ideas of his own.”

“So you shot him.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger,” he said tightly. “But I made sure the hit would land. Augustus bled out right where he belonged—on Dante marble, betrayed by one of his own. And Titus? He was supposed to die next. That was always the plan. Zane just ruined it by getting in the damn way all the time.”

Her vision swam.

“You’re a monster.”

“I’m a realist,” he said softly. “The Dantes wanted purity. Soul bonds. Fate. They built a religion out of bloodlines and ink. And when I didn’t get my mark, I became expendable. An embarrassment.”

“You never got the Dante brand, despite being one,” she realized aloud.

Her voice didn’t shake. It sliced. And as the words landed, so did the truth.

She could see it in his face, how deep that wound went.

The Brand was everything to a Dante. Legacy.

Connection. The sacred way they found their perfect match.

Marcello had none of it. Had watched every younger Dante male light up with fire and fate while he remained untouched. Unchosen. “You never found her.”

“No,” he snarled. “I had to watch all the boys find their match, palms burning like their father’s once did.”

She let her breath tremble. Just enough to bait him. “You killed Augustus for ambition. But what did you gain?”

His face darkened. “Not enough. Not the seat. Not the mark. Not the legacy.”

“Is that why you latched onto my family? Onto the Severins? To fill the void?”

He leaned close, his breath rancid. “Bjorn gave me authority. Position. I became his ghost. His blade. But he didn’t understand loyalty, either. Neither he nor Augustus did.”

“So you killed them both.”

“I thought Leif would be easy to control.”

“But he wasn’t.”

Marcello’s smile thinned. “Leif’s a fool.

Always thought he could play the diplomat.

Thought aligning with the Dantes made him clever.

Safe. But all it did was make him a pawn.

Just like the rest. And Cade?” He gave a brittle laugh.

“That bastard was born lucky. Marked. Worshipped. Untouchable. But even he has cracks. Even he can bleed.”

“You’re afraid of Cade,” she said, her voice breaking with stunned clarity.

The blade froze. ”I’m not afraid of anyone,” he said, but the lie was brittle.

“You should be.”

He laughed, a soft, sour sound. “Cade’s not invincible. He bleeds. I’ve seen it.”

“But you haven’t broken him,” she said. “And that terrifies you.”

His jaw clenched.

“You thought you could manipulate this family from both sides,” she went on, voice gaining strength. “Whisper in the Severin ear, poison the Dante well. You thought you could carve your own empire out of their ruins.”

“I still can.”

“No,” she said. “Because you underestimated one thing.”

He tilted his head. “And what’s that?”

Her eyes locked on his. “Me.”

He sneered. “You think this ends with you talking me down?”

“No,” she said, absolutely certain. “It ends with you finally exposed. You’ve run out of shadows, Marcello.”

The air changed.

She sensed it a split second before she saw it, the faint glint of Cade’s Glock catching the low light, swift and ghostlike, barely more than a breath in the dark. The air thickened around her, charged with a familiar violence. She didn’t have to see him to know. He was here.

Marcello stiffened.

Cade’s voice cut through the dark like a gunshot. “Drop it.”

Marcello didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His smile widened.

“Of course,” he said softly. “The Chief arrives. Right on cue.”

Cade stepped into view, pistol leveled. His face was pure stone. “Let her go.”

“You sure you want to risk that?” Marcello pressed the knife in, just enough to draw a line of blood down Elise’s neck. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t cry out.

“Last chance,” Cade said.

“Tell me,” Marcello murmured into her ear, “does he know what you are? What else you remember? You’re not safe no matter which family you belong to.”

Cade’s finger flexed.

Elise met Cade’s eyes, steady. No fear. Just fury.

“Let me go,” she said. “Now.”

Marcello hesitated. That one moment of arrogance, that need to talk, to gloat, to make her see, was his undoing.

Her heel slammed down on his instep. Her elbow snapped back into his ribs. The blade jerked, but Cade was already moving.

Two shots. Clean. Precise.

Marcello dropped like a stone.

Cade caught her before she hit the floor.

“Elise—”

“I’m okay,” she gasped. “I’m okay. He’s not.”

Blood pooled beneath Marcello’s body. But the look in his dead eyes?

Not peace. Not vengeance. But something Elise hadn’t expected at all.

Disbelief.

His eyes were frozen wide in shock, mouth parted like the final answer had knocked the air out of him. Marcello hadn’t thought he could lose, not like this. Not to her.

It wasn’t justice. It wasn’t enough. But it was something, his body at her feet, her breath still hers.

And for the first time since the blood, the blade, and the fear, she remembered who she was.

And tomorrow, when the storm settled and her hands stopped shaking, she’d figure out what came next.

For now, she’d take that victory and let it burn Marcello all the way to hell.