CHAPTER FOUR The Weakest Target
1398 Words
We have her.
I read the message three times before my brain accepted it.
“She’s standing right here,” I whispered.
Dante’s expression did not soften.
“That is not what they mean.”
My skin went cold.
The ballroom doors opened behind us. Music spilled onto the balcony. Laughter. Glasses clinking.
Normal.
The world was still normal.
But something had shifted.
“Who took that photo?” I asked.
“It was sent from a masked server.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It means they do not want to be found.”
I felt exposed suddenly. The balcony felt too open. The night air too thin.
“Are they threatening me?” My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it.
“They are sending a message.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
“And I am the message.”
His silence confirmed it.
The thought made my stomach twist.
This was never about love.
It was never even fully about revenge.
It was about leverage.
And I was the easiest piece to move.
“We’re leaving,” Dante said suddenly.
He guided me back inside without waiting for agreement.
His hand stayed firm at my back.
Possessive.
Protective.
I could not tell which anymore.
The crowd barely noticed our exit. Wealthy people do not question sudden departures. They assume importance.
The car was already waiting.
We slid inside.
The door shut.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows.
I stared at my reflection in the glass.
A girl in white silk.
Engaged to a billionaire.
Threatened by ghosts.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I asked quietly.
“Tell you what.”
“That you suspected my father was innocent.”
He did not answer immediately.
The silence stretched long enough to hurt.
“I needed proof,” he said finally.
“And until then?”
“Until then I needed control.”
The honesty felt brutal.
“You still think controlling me is necessary.”
“Yes.”
I turned to him fully.
“You think I would run.”
“I think fear makes people unpredictable.”
“And you think I am weak.”
His gaze met mine.
“Yes.”
The word cut deep.
It was not cruel.
It was factual.
He believed it.
And maybe that hurt more.
“Then why keep me close?” I whispered.
“Because weakness attracts hunters.”
My heart pounded.
“And you are not a hunter?”
His eyes darkened slightly.
“I am not hunting you.”
That was not an answer.
The car pulled into the underground garage of his building.
Security was tighter than before.
More guards.
More scanning.
We stepped out.
Dante’s phone rang immediately.
He answered without greeting.
“Yes.”
Pause.
His jaw hardened.
“No. Double it.”
Pause.
“Now.”
He ended the call.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Security footage from the ballroom is gone.”
My breath caught.
“Gone how?”
“Erased.”
“By who?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
We entered the elevator.
Mirrored walls reflected us from every angle.
We looked like a perfect couple.
Untouched.
Unbothered.
The lie was almost convincing.
When we reached the penthouse, Dante locked the door himself.
He rarely did that.
Tonight he did.
He walked straight to his office.
“Stay here,” he said.
“I’m not a child.”
“No. You are a target.”
The word hit harder than it should.
He disappeared into the office.
The door shut.
I stood alone in the massive living room.
Glass walls.
Open space.
Nowhere to hide.
I walked slowly toward the window.
The city stretched endless below.
Somewhere out there, someone had taken my picture.
Someone had written those words.
We have her.
Her.
Not Lina.
Not Mrs. Vale.
Her.
Like I was an object.
A possession.
Something to be traded.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
I should have felt anger.
Instead I felt small.
Very small.
The office door opened.
Dante walked out with a folder in his hand.
His expression was different now.
Colder.
Focused.
“Come here,” he said.
I obeyed.
He placed the folder on the table and opened it.
Inside were printed documents.
Company records.
Board member lists.
Old trial transcripts.
“This is the board from ten years ago,” he said.
I scanned the names.
One stood out.
Hale Enterprises.
Victoria’s father.
“They benefited,” Dante continued. “After my father was removed, Hale Enterprises absorbed two of our largest contracts.”
“So they had motive.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“He was the witness that made it possible.”
My chest tightened.
“What if he didn’t know the documents were altered?”
“That is what I am trying to determine.”
His phone buzzed again.
Another message.
He opened it.
His expression changed slightly.
“What now?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Then handed me the phone.
A video.
Grainy.
Dark.
It was the outside of my old apartment building.
Taken tonight.
A man stood near the entrance.
Watching.
The timestamp was from an hour ago.
“That’s my building,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My heart began to race.
“My father.”
“He is not there.”
“How do you know.”
“Because I moved him this morning.”
I stared at him.
“You what?”
“I relocated him to a private facility.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“It was not necessary.”
“It was my father.”
“And he is safer now.”
Anger sparked through the fear.
“You do not get to make decisions about my family without telling me.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I make decisions that keep you alive.”
“I am not your project.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You are my responsibility.”
The word responsibility landed strangely in my chest.
Not possession.
Not leverage.
Responsibility.
“Why?” I asked.
He held my gaze.
“Because if something happens to you, everything collapses.”
There it was again.
Not affection.
Structure.
Control.
The video replayed in my mind.
The man standing outside my building.
Watching.
“Do you think they’ll try to kidnap me?” I asked softly.
“If they do, they will fail.”
The certainty in his voice should have comforted me.
Instead it reminded me of something.
He believes he cannot lose.
Men like that are the most dangerous when they do.
Another message came through.
This one to my phone.
Unknown number again.
I hesitated before opening it.
Dante watched carefully.
I opened it.
A single sentence.
Ask him about the night his father died.
My throat tightened.
I looked up slowly.
“What happened the night your father died?” I asked.
His entire body went still.
“Who told you to ask that.”
“Answer me.”
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Thick.
His jaw clenched.
“It was ruled a suicide.”
Ruled.
“Was it?” I pressed.
His eyes darkened.
“You are stepping into dangerous territory.”
“So are you.”
He moved closer.
Close enough that I could see the faint scar near his temple I had not noticed before.
“You think I do not question it?” he asked quietly.
“I think someone wants me to.”
He studied my face.
“You received another message.”
“Yes.”
“What did it say.”
I swallowed.
“To ask about that night.”
His gaze shifted slightly.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Something guarded.
“Why would someone want you digging there,” I whispered.
He did not answer.
That scared me more than anything else tonight.
Because for the first time since I met him, Dante Vale looked uncertain.
And powerful men do not like uncertainty.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, it was not text.
It was a photo.
I opened it slowly.
And my blood turned to ice.
It was a picture of me.
Inside this penthouse.
Taken through the glass.
Just now.
Below it were four words.
You are not safe.
- Writer
