Chapter 4 - The Debt of the Vance Family
Delaney was pacing in the private waiting nook when Dante stepped out of the elevator.
She had tried twice to walk past Salvatore, but the large man had simply shifted his bulky frame into her path, offering a surprisingly polite but firm, "Not yet, ma'am. Boss's orders."
When Dante approached, Delaney rounded on him, her green eyes flashing with a mixture of exhaustion and righteous anger. She was tired of rich men pushing her around tonight. First Chad, now this mobster.
"You have no right to hold me here," Delaney said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "I saved your sister. I did a good thing. I have a five-year-old daughter sleeping at home who needs her mother."
The moment the words daughter left her mouth, Dante’s entire posture shifted. His gray eyes flared with a sudden, violent intensity that made Delaney take an involuntary step backward.
"A daughter?" Dante repeated quietly.
"Yes! Her name is Nora, she's five, and she's waiting for me!" Delaney snapped, crossing her arms over her scraped chest. "So if you're done playing the grand crime boss, I'd like to leave."
Dante didn't answer. He stepped closer, towering over her. Up close, Delaney noticed the subtle, faint scar running along his jawline and the intense scent of cedarwood, rain, and tobacco that clung to his coat. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about the way he stood over her, but whenever her mind tried to reach for the connection, a sharp, blinding pain flared behind her temples.
She winced, touching her head.
Dante saw the wince. His hand moved on instinct, hovering inches from her face as if he wanted to cradle her head, before he caught himself and pulled his fingers back, clenching them into a tight fist at his side.
"What is your full name?" Dante asked, his voice low and commanding.
"Delaney Cole."
"Where were you born?"
"Why does that matter?!"
"Answer me!" he growled, the sheer authority in his tone causing the floor nurses to jump.
Delaney shuddered, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "I... I don't know! I woke up in a charity hospital in Boston six years ago after a train derailment! I had no ID, no money, and no memories before that night! The doctors gave me a name from a state roster!"
Silence fell over the hallway like a heavy blanket.
Dante stood completely still. His face went deadly pale, the hard lines of his features cracking to reveal a brief, devastating flash of agonizing grief.
Six years. A train derailment. A charity hospital.
It all clicked together with horrifying precision. Six years ago, when the warehouse in Genoa was bombed by his rival clan, the rival boss hadn't killed Elena—he had smuggled her across the Atlantic on a cargo vessel, dumped her on a train, and left her to die in a wreckage to erase her identity forever.
She hadn't abandoned him. She hadn't lied to him. She had been stolen from him, her mind wiped clean of every memory of their love, their life, and his name.
And for five years, she had been raising a child alone in the slums of Chicago.
Five years old.
Dante’s eyes dropped to Delaney’s face. He calculated the timeline instantly. Six years ago, right before the bombing in Genoa, Elena had told him she was missing her period.
The realization hit Dante like a physical blow to his sternum.
The child waiting in that cramped apartment wasn't just Delaney’s daughter.
She was his daughter. The blood of the Vance dynasty.
Delaney watched the changes on Dante’s face with growing panic. "Why are you looking at me like that? Please... just let me go home."
Dante took a deep, steadying breath. When he looked at her again, the grief was gone, replaced by an absolute, terrifying resolve that settled over him like armor.
"You are not going back to that apartment, Delaney," Dante said softly.
"What?!" she gasped. "You can't stop me!"
"Your apartment building on 4th Street is currently surrounded by Chad Whitmore's men," Dante lied smoothly, his voice dropping into a persuasive, rhythmic hum. "Chad knows you took Isabella. He knows you brought her to us. He is a coward, but he is a desperate coward, and he will use anyone you love to protect himself."
Delaney’s blood ran ice-cold. Her knees felt like water. "Nora... Mrs. Alvarez..."
Dante reached out, taking her scraped, trembling hands in his large, warm ones. His touch was incredibly gentle, completely contrasting the lethal reputation he held.
"My men are already at your apartment building," Dante said, looking directly into her eyes. "They are retrieving your daughter and her babysitter right now. They will bring them to my estate in Lincoln Park, where they will be guarded by thirty armed men."
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Delaney tried to pull her hands back, but he held them securely, warmth radiating from his skin into her frozen fingers. "I don't know you! I can't go to your estate!"
"You saved my sister and my nephew tonight, Delaney," Dante whispered, his gray eyes locking onto hers with an unbreakable promise. "The Vance family always pays its debts. Tonight, you and your daughter belong to my protection. Whether you like it or not."
