Page 36 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

THE WAR ROOM smelled like old wood and blood, history and violence embedded into the grain. It was the kind of room where power changed hands, where vengeance got signed off in ink and blood alike.

The overhead light hummed. The chairs were Dante-black, carved and unyielding. No warmth. No windows. Just four men who’d survived Marcello’s war and weren’t ready to forget it yet.

Cade stood at the head of the dark mahogany table, sleeves rolled, hands braced like he was holding back a war.

His eyes burned cold. Every inch of him radiated control.

But it was the kind that cracked at the edges if pressed too hard.

Zane sat to his left, silent and sharp-eyed.

Titus paced behind them, a gradual storm building.

And Leif Severin? He was a fuse lit at both ends, one hand clenched, the other twitching like he wanted to tear the table in half.

“You let him get to her,” Leif said finally.

“I let him talk,” Cade corrected. “And I was ten feet from the door.”

“She could’ve died.”

“She didn’t.” Cade met his eyes, unflinching.

“Because I knew Elise. I knew the second the noise stopped and the fear settled, she’d come looking.

She wouldn’t stay locked away. That’s not who she is.

So, I stood just outside the door. I waited.

Because Marcello needed an audience for his confession.

And Elise needed to hear it. He wouldn’t kill her until he said every last thing he wanted her to carry. ”

Leif’s glared. “So, she was bait.”

Cade didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, sharp and wary.

“She was justice, a lure for the snake in both our families,” he said finally.

“Marcello wanted her rattled. I wanted him exposed. What I got was the truth, and Elise walking away in one piece. That’s the only outcome that ever mattered. ”

Titus stepped forward, dropping a recording device on the table. “We did what had to be done,” he added, quiet but final. “You deserved to know. It’s all there. The hits on Augustus. On Lily. The Severin leaks. And your father.”

Leif’s eyes cut toward him, sharp. “What?” His voice didn’t quite hit. It dropped out, like the floor had gone missing beneath him.

“Marcello poisoned Bjorn,” Zane said flatly. “Not Severin infighting. Not business backlash. He did it. No theatrics. No build-up. They shared a drink and Bjorn dropped. By the time anyone knew something was wrong, Marcello was gone.”

For a moment, Leif didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at nothing. “I always thought it was internal,” he said quietly. “Thought one of our own made the move.”

“We thought it was you,” Cade admitted.

Leif’s gaze snapped to his. “You thought I put my father in a coma?” There was no outrage, just shock. And underneath it, something like hurt. Cade had expected fury. This was worse.

Cade didn’t flinch. “We hoped you did.”

Leif’s knuckles whitened on the table’s edge. Not from guilt. From betrayal.

Silence fell. Then Leif exhaled, long and slow. “Fuck.”

“Marcello made fools of both families,” Zane said. “Played both ends for a crown that never existed. And we found the final mole. One of our guards. He’s been… dealt with.”

Leif looked up. “Then let’s talk terms.”

Cade straightened. “Now the debt’s paid. Blood for blood. Your sister’s safe. The alliance stands.”

Leif gave a nod, one sharp motion. Then turned away, rubbing at his palm like it burned, like something had changed and he didn’t want anyone to see it yet.

Cade didn’t wait for more. He was already walking out. He didn’t need anyone’s blessing. Elise was still breathing. That was the only thing that mattered.

Back to Elise.

Back to what mattered.

SHE WAS STANDING by the mirror when he entered, barefoot, bloodstained, quiet.

She didn’t need to see him to know he was there.

The air thickened, and her body recognized him before her eyes did.

Her heart stuttered once, then began to pound, the kind of rhythm that only he could summon.

She stared at her own reflection, wrecked, smeared with someone else’s blood, eyes darker than she remembered, and saw his shape blur into view behind her.

Even before she turned, she knew he watched her. More than watched. Tracked every breath she took, every tremor she tried to suppress. He always could.

When her eyes finally met his in the glass, they locked like magnets, hot, dark, charged with too much. She swiveled, unwilling to lose that connection for a second.

God, he was a mess. But it wasn’t the blood on his clothing that froze her in place.

It was his face.

That jaw, flexing tight. Those eyes, carved in fury and need. That stillness, trembling with everything he wasn’t saying.

Her mouth went dry. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, unsure if she wanted to hit him or kiss him.

Because the ache inside her wasn’t just anger or desire, it was everything.

Every second of waiting. Every breath she hadn’t taken while he was gone.

Every memory of Marcello’s knife at her throat and the savage realization that Cade had known.

Had planned for it. Had trusted her to face it down alone.

She didn’t know if she wanted to scream at him or strip him bare. Maybe both. Maybe at the same time.

Cade shut the door behind him with a click that echoed louder than it should’ve. He didn’t say her name. Didn’t need to. Not when every inch of him was already tuned to her.

“You knew,” Elise said.

He nodded.

“Code Orange wasn’t a threat,” she whispered, the realization crashing over her like a wave she hadn’t seen coming.

“It was him,” he admitted roughly.

Elise’s breath hitched. Her body went taut, heat and memory tangling behind her ribs. The truth burned. But so did the way he was looking at her now. Like he needed her more than air. Like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Her voice—at least her voice was steady when it came again.

“You bastard.”

And she surged toward him, hands fisting in his shirt, mouth colliding with his in a kiss that tasted like survival and fury and love too big to speak.

Her body arched into his, her pulse stumbling as the kiss deepened, devoured, demanded.

It wasn’t soft. It was bruising, gasping, the kind of kiss that left them both trembling.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders like she didn’t trust the floor, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. And maybe he was.

Then she pulled back, breathing hard, her lips swollen, her whole body vibrating with leftover need. Her eyes locked on his, wide with everything she hadn’t said yet.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay in here. In our bedroom,” Cade said quietly, holding her in his arms. “I stayed nearby the second Marcello entered the sunroom. I waited for you to come out. But you didn’t. Not at first. That’s what scared me. Fifteen minutes? That’s not you.”

His arms wrapped tighter, his breath cutting short like he’d relived every second of those fifteen minutes without her. His voice, when it came, was laced with wrath, but driven by something deeper. “You never take that long to tell me to go fuck myself.”

She buried her face in his neck, cheeks flushed and still trembling from the aftershocks of everything. Fear. Rage. Ache.

“I almost didn’t leave,” she whispered, the words brushing the hollow of his throat, filled with simple truth. She hadn’t frozen. She’d waited, daring him to flinch first. Just once. Just to see if the monster had a crack.

His arms tightened, and for a second, all she felt was the wild rush of safety wrapped in heat and want, the pulse-pounding ache that hadn’t faded. Not even close.

“Fifteen minutes,” she echoed. “To give your order the middle finger.”

“That’s what worried me.” His mouth twisted. “You usually only take five.”

She almost laughed. Almost. But her voice caught instead. “I could’ve died.”

“And if he’d touched you, if he’d drawn blood before I got there…” His voice dropped to something dangerous. “I would’ve ended him with my bare hands.”

Her gaze rose to his face. The chiseled line of his mouth was hard with restraint, his lips flat, but his eyes—God, those eyes—were burning. Not just with rage, but with a ferocity that shook her.

“I wouldn’t have stopped,” he said, each word gravel. “I would’ve made sure there was nothing left for the sun to find.”

“You still used me.”

The words came quiet, but not soft. She’d spent her whole life being weaponized by men who wanted her mind.

Her memory. Her voice. And now Cade had turned her into bait.

Willingly. After all, she had offered to be bait.

She just didn’t know he’d accepted her offer.

That not-so small detail swept across something bruised inside her.

“I trusted you,” Cade corrected. “To be brave. To face him. And I trusted myself to be faster. Stronger. Deadlier.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, eyes shining, not with betrayal, but with the rush of everything that had just happened. “You did it to protect me,” she said, her voice thick. “Didn’t you? To draw that bastard out and end him.”

Cade’s gaze didn’t waver. “With you as my lure, I knew I could stop him. My lure, not bait. I just needed him to speak first. And I needed you to survive it.”

He pulled her into a tighter embrace, heat rolling off him in waves, tension crackling between them like static.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, his look dark and hungry, filled with something primal.

His hand slid along her waist, fingers cupping at the curve of her hip, possessive, sending a molten thrill through her spine.

Her mouth curved in a gentle smile, her eyes flashing with heat. “So what now, Chief? You want me to say thank you for turning me into live bait… or just climb you and scream your name?”