Chapter 34: CAN'T WALK AWAY

Chapter 34: CAN'T WALK AWAY
The way Dante stepped in front of Steve was the kind of thing you didn’t see often. He wasn’t a man who inserted himself without cause. His entire personality was built around precision... movements, words, timing. So when he blocked Steve’s path in the middle of a glittering charity gala, it was enough to pull me up short.

The music behind us carried on... violins, polite chatter, laughter stitched together by champagne bubbles but here, in this tiny wedge of space near the exit, the air had gone taut. Steve stopped. Not dramatically. Not even visibly annoyed. Just… still. Like a chess player waiting to see if his opponent was about to touch the wrong piece.

“What,” Steve said finally, the word flat. Not a question. A demand.

Dante’s expression didn’t change. “There’s someone here who shouldn’t be.”

“That could describe half this room,” Steve replied.

“This one’s different.” Dante tilted his head just slightly toward the far edge of the ballroom. “Back wall. By the bar. Third man from the left. Gray suit. No drink. No conversation. He’s been here an hour, and he hasn’t blinked.”

I followed Dante’s gaze. It didn’t take long to spot him... the kind of man who was trying too hard not to stand out, which, of course, made him stand out even more. Everyone else was glitter and sparkle and casual indulgence. He was a sharp crease in the fabric.

And sure enough… no drink.

No conversation.

Just eyes. Watching.

Steve’s jaw ticked once. He didn’t ask for confirmation. Didn’t ask what Dante planned to do. He simply shifted gears.

“Options,” he said.

Dante didn’t hesitate. “We can confront him now. Quietly. Walk him out before anyone notices. Or…” His eyes flicked toward me for a split second. “We let him make his move.”

Steve’s gaze slid to me then, sharp enough to cut. “Thoughts?”

“I’m flattered you suddenly want my opinion,” I said, but my insides were buzzing. That man by the bar wasn’t here for the free hors d’oeuvres. He was here for something specific. Someone specific. And the way his eyes tracked Steve even when Steve wasn’t looking his way… yeah. We were the target.

“If we walk him out now,” I said slowly, “we don’t learn anything except that he was dumb enough to show up. If we wait, maybe we find out who he answers to.”

“Or we find out he has a bomb strapped under that jacket,” Steve countered, voice cool.

“Not the kind of jacket you’d hide explosives in,” Dante said, clinical as a surgeon. “Too fitted. Too light. More likely armed, but not wired.”

“Comforting,” I muttered.

Steve considered this. One beat. Two. Then he adjusted his cufflinks like we weren’t standing on the edge of a decision that could set the whole room on fire. “Let him make the first move.”

Dante’s eyes flickered, not disagreement, but acknowledgment. “Understood.”

The tension didn’t bleed out. It just rearranged itself.

We moved. Not toward the exit anymore, but back into the flow of the gala, like we’d never paused. Steve picked up a glass of champagne off a passing tray without missing a step, the picture of a man enjoying his own event. Dante stayed close, shadowing without smothering. And me? I tracked the gray suit like my life depended on it. Which, frankly, it might.

The man didn’t approach right away. He shifted once. Twice. Always keeping us in his periphery. Always pretending he wasn’t. The orchestra swelled into something bright and dizzying, people clapping lightly as if music could make them richer.

Then he moved.

Not toward us. Toward the side corridor leading to the private lounges.

Steve caught the motion instantly. “Bait,” he murmured.

Dante’s voice was low. “We don’t split up.”

But Steve was already angling that way, like the decision had been made long before the man even twitched. Dante swore under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, then fell into step. I followed because what else was I going to do...  stand under the chandelier and wait to become collateral damage?

The corridor was quieter, the sound of the gala muffled to a dull hum behind us. The carpet softened our footsteps, but the gray suit wasn’t hurrying. He wanted to be followed.

Steve didn’t speed up. Didn’t slow down. Just walked with the steady, measured stride of a man who already owned the ground under his feet.

Then gray suit slipped into a side room. Door left slightly ajar.

Steve paused. For a second. Two. Long enough for me to feel the weight of a choice hanging in the air.

“Dante,” he said.

Dante moved first, hand brushing the inside of his jacket, pushing the door open with his shoulder in a motion so clean it looked choreographed.

Empty.

No man. No window. No second exit.

Just an envelope on the table in the center of the room.

Steve stepped inside. I hesitated, every hair on my neck standing up. But then I followed.