Dante was up for parole in six months.
His lawyer was optimistic. He'd been a model prisoner, completed his education programs, his book was getting published. The parole board would likely grant early release.
Six months.
After all this time, we were so close.
And then everything went sideways.
---
Viktor Kozlov was released from prison.
I saw it on the news. He'd served five years for weapons trafficking and was now a free man.
I immediately called Agent Morrison.
"I saw. We're monitoring the situation."
"He threatened Dante. Swore revenge for the business deal that went south. If he finds out Dante's getting paroled—"
"Kozlov doesn't know where you are. You're safe."
"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about Dante."
"Dante Morelli can take care of himself."
But could he? In prison, with limited resources and enemies everywhere?
I barely slept for the next week.
---
Then I got a letter. Not from Dante.
From Marco, Dante's former right-hand man.
*Miss Russo,*
*I hope this letter reaches you. I've been trying to locate you for months through various channels. Agent Morrison finally agreed to pass this along.*
*I'm writing to warn you. Viktor Kozlov has put a contract out. Not on Dante—on you.*
*He discovered your identity through prison connections. Found out you were the reason for his humiliation at that dinner party. And more importantly, he found out you're the reason the FBI took down the Morelli organization.*
*He's hiring people to find you. Offering $500,000 to whoever brings you to him alive.*
*I'm telling you this because despite everything, Dante loves you. And if something happens to you, it will destroy him.*
*Stay hidden. Trust no one. And whatever you do, don't try to contact Dante directly. Kozlov's people are watching him, waiting for you to surface.*
*Good luck.*
*Marco*
---
I showed the letter to Morrison.
"We need to relocate you. Immediately."
"No."
"Elena, this is serious. Kozlov has resources—"
"If I run, he'll know he's getting close. I stay here, maintain my cover, and we wait him out."
"And if he finds you anyway?"
"Then I handle it."
She didn't like it, but she agreed. Increased surveillance, changed my routines, added security measures.
But I stayed in Montana.
Because running would mean losing contact with Dante. And I'd already lost too much.
---
**Letter to Dante (through Morrison, heavily screened):**
*Dante,*
*Things are complicated right now. I can't go into details, but I need you to know—if anything happens to me, it's not your fault.*
*Everything we've been through, everything we've survived—it's been worth it. Loving you has been worth it.*
*Six months until parole. We're so close.*
*Stay safe. Stay strong.*
*I love you.*
*Forever,
E*
---
**Dante's response (arrived three days later, clearly written in a panic):**
*Elena,*
*What the hell does that mean? If anything happens to you?*
*Morrison won't tell me anything. What's going on? Are you in danger?*
*I swear to God, if someone is threatening you—*
*I can't protect you from in here. I can't do anything except sit in this cell and imagine the worst.*
*Please tell me you're safe. Please.*
*I'm going insane.*
*I love you. Be careful.*
*D*
---
I couldn't write back with details. Couldn't risk him doing something stupid to try to protect me.
So I sent a short note:
*I'm fine. I promise. Just being cautious.*
*Love you.*
It was a lie. But a necessary one.
---
Three months before Dante's parole hearing, Kozlov's men found me.
I was walking home from the library, same route I'd taken for years, when a black SUV pulled up beside me.
Three men. Armed.
My training from three years ago kicked in instantly. I ran.
They chased.
I made it to a crowded street, screaming for help, and they backed off. Too many witnesses.
But they'd found me. And they'd be back.
---
Morrison relocated me that night. New town, new name, new everything.
I couldn't tell Dante. Couldn't risk the letters being intercepted.
I just... disappeared.
---
**Three months later**
Dante was released on parole.
I watched the news coverage from my new apartment in Oregon. Saw him walk out of that prison, thinner but somehow stronger, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Looking for me.
I wasn't there.
And I couldn't contact him.
Because Viktor Kozlov was still hunting me, and anyone I loved became a target.
So I stayed hidden. Watched from afar. And broke my own heart all over again.