“Daddy told you to head home?” Dante rests his hands on the railing surrounding the terrace.
Chills slip down my spine, but the gusty wind is not the one to blame. It’s his closeness and the emotions he awakens inside me. It’s Frank’s words and his contradicting behavior. I’m confused. Unsure what to do. Unsure whether Frank meant what he said over the phone or if he’s scaring me into obedience.
The dark sky, speckled with bright stars, hangs above the vast lake in the distance calm, the air saturated with Dante’s cologne. I tear my gaze from the black canvas to look at him, his cheekbones like hewn in stone, expression emotionless.
“No,” I admit with a sigh. “He promised that Burly will end up in a body bag if I decide to see you again.”
“He won’t kill his man because you’re rebelling. Without my help, you wouldn’t escape Burly long enough to use the toilet.” Dante pulls me closer, nestling his face in the crook of my neck. “He’s bluffing.”
My eyes close when he moves his hands to my hips. A jab of fear comes first, but a wave of heat radiating off him calms me down. I’ve been treated with nothing but harsh, cold restraint for years and Dante’s tenderness is addictive. He’s a plaster for my neglected, bruised heart. I crave his attention, ignoring the inevitable consequences. I can’t fall for him, no matter how alluring the idea of what he offers—the closeness, concern, and wonder in his eyes. At the end of the day, he’s Frank’s enemy.
“Maybe, but I’d rather not test that theory or his patience. I don’t want Burly to get hurt because of me.” I turn my back on the majestic view, slipping out of Dante’s embrace. It’s hard to trust my reason when he’s close. “You’ve not answered my question. Why did you find me tonight?”
“Stop playing the fool, Star. You know why. I made myself quite clear in the middle of fucking Chicago.”
I am playing the fool.
One look at him is enough of an explanation. He enjoys both: my company and me. “I know, but I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” He rests his back against the railing. “Why I like you? Show me one man who doesn’t.”
“Don’t belittle yourself. You’re not shallow. And I know I’m not ugly, but, as you said, I’m sassy, feisty, and inexperienced. That’s even before I mention who my father is.”
He peers at the sky as if praying for patience. “I don’t care about Frank, Layla. And you haven’t listed a single flaw.”
With every passing minute, I’m digging myself a deeper hole. This is harder than I imagined for an entirely different reason. Dante’s intriguing… his looks, the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, and the unpredictable, volatile nature he tries to contain when I’m around. The more time we spend together, the deeper the hole becomes. If I don’t want to be buried alive, I have to put down the shovel and separate my mind from my heart.
“Call me a cab.”
He grips the railing on both sides of my waist, caging me in his arms. “What happened to annoying Frank?”
“Mission accomplished.” I bite my lip. It’s a nervous gesture I can’t control despite trying to rid the tic.
He lets out a heavy sigh as his gaze darts to the floor. “You’re such a fucking tease, baby.” His lips catch mine, gently at first, greedier when his hands touch my back.
I’m feverish. Hundreds of colors light up my mind like fireworks light up the sky on the fourth of July. The world brightens with his presence as if I was Sleeping Beauty for nineteen years, and his kiss woke me up, introducing a different, better reality. One in which I matter; one in which I’m wanted.
“Didn’t you say you won’t let me touch you again?” His nose grazes my cheek before he nips my earlobe. “Liar, liar.”
“It’s almost impossible to speak when you kiss me.”
“I’ll remember that. C’mon, We’ll have another drink and I’ll call Rookie. He’ll take you home.”
I can’t say no when he holds me. Five minutes later, we’re comfortable on the leather couch in his living room, drinks in hand. “Adam told me why you and Frank hate each other,” I say, trying to change the course of my thoughts because not one is unrelated to Dante’s lips.
“A wild guess… he told you that when Frank killed Dino, I started doing business on the side.”
“More or less, yes.”
Dante drapes his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers an inch away from my head. “But he didn’t tell you that after taking Dino’s place, Frank introduced the Ten Commandments of Cosa Nostra among his people.”
I read about the Ten Commandments—never look at the wives of friends, never be seen with cops, wives must be treated with respect—all rather obvious.
“I thought those only apply to Italians.”
“Yes, but Frank was fascinated with Cosa Nostra. He breathed their culture long before he became the boss. Even though the Italians gave up on the idea that no one with an illegitimate partner could join the ranks, Frank married your mother when they were just sixteen.”
That explains the lack of love in their marriage. They’re strangers living under one roof. They spend less time together than they do with me, which says a lot.
“What does that have to do with your work?” I ask, once again interested in a subject I never cared about.
Now it interests me too much. Dante’s side of the story shouldn’t matter, but after twenty-four hours of knowing him, I realize my father and Adam’s rendition of their hatred is one-sided and influenced by Frank’s hurt ego.
Dante tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Frank wanted to implement the rules of Cosa Nostra among his people. He was so busy cleansing the ranks that he neglected business. Once he realized old bulls no longer want to join the mafia, I was dealing on my own account.”
Being a mafia man became a profession ruled by the younger generation. The oldest boss I met during the many parties in our house is Mauricio, who is sixty-odd. Next in line is Nikolaj, but he’s still a few years short of his fiftieth birthday. Dante isn’t the youngest at twenty-eight. The boss from Orlando is twenty-five, while the head of San Francisco is just a year older.
“Why does Frank think you want to take over North?”
“Because I do. He wants South, I want North, but we respect each other too much to shoot. Why do you think he’s scared now? Even if you don’t think he cares about you, he won’t let me hurt you.”
I’m sure if push came to shove, he would let Dante put a bullet through my head. Frank’s not scared. He’s furious. But maybe Dante has a point. “His pawns would think less of him,” I mutter, adding two and two together. Who’d deal with a man who doesn’t care about his family? “Why won’t you use me?”
“I’ve got boundaries.” His fingers brush against my neck, sending waves of shivers through my body in a series of faint vibrations. Who knew a simple touch like this could be so pleasant? “This isn’t your war. You always were and always will be Switzerland no matter what happens.” He laces our fingers, lifting my hand to his lips. “I won’t ever hurt you, and I sure won’t let anyone else do it either.”
I slide across the sofa, away from his touch. “You’ve no idea how quickly I’ll get addicted to you.”
“Is that supposed to stop me?”
I hide my face behind a curtain of hair, searching for the right words to convey the chaos ruling my mind. “You said I haven’t listed a single flaw yet.”
“I’m sure you have some.” He drinks the last of his whiskey, setting the glass aside. “No one’s made up of only good qualities.”
Either the mojito, the atmosphere provided by the music, or Dante himself breaks a dam inside me. Words roll off my tongue of their own accord. “When I was a child, I had toys other kids could only dream about.” I fiddle with the hem of my dress, watching the fabric crease. “Then came the gadgets. Now it’s clothes, shoes, and jewelry. We spent our holidays in the most luxurious hotels. I took singing lessons, ballet, and horse riding. Whatever I wanted was mine because my parents tried to compensate for not loving me.”
“Every parent loves their child.”
I find the courage to look at him, and he holds my gaze, waiting for more. “Not every parent. I lacked warmth for so long that…” I scoff, shaking my head. “My first boyfriend wasn’t affectionate, but I took the scraps he offered with open arms. I used to hold so still whenever he hugged me. He always moved away first because I was too hungry for closeness to let go.”
That’s not normal.
I’m not normal.
“Sam was next, then Chase. Both as cold and distant as Michael. And here we are. Now, it’s you. I want to believe I’m Switzerland, but I can’t trust you, Dante. There’s too much hatred between you and my father.”
Dante’s silent for what feels like an eternity. I get up to change the music. Slow, emotional songs aren’t doing me any good considering how much information escaped my lips. John Newman’s CD catches my attention when I stop in front of the shelf and I can’t resist.
Dante grabs my arm when I approach the couch, his touch urgent as he pulls me in, and grips my waist, sitting me on his lap. His warm mouth closes my parted lips with an eager, demanding kiss. I want to melt into him and bask in the unrestrained attention, but I jerk away when an unpleasant thought hijacks my confused mind.
“I don’t want your pity.”
He grips my jaw. “You’re talking back again.”
With a sigh, I link my hands around his neck and take the initiative, pressing my lips to his, dictating my own rhythm as I deepen the kiss. The slow, passionate battle raises the temperature around us by a few degrees. I’m not in control for long. I might be sitting astride him, but he takes over, dictating a lustful pace.
I want to say that giving me hope, then taking it away in a few days is vile, but I can’t reject the closeness. I abuse the protective bubble of his arms, praying it’ll never burst. This won’t last, but a moment of affection I’ve been denied all my life is worth the river that I’ll inevitably cry.
The sound of the alarm being disarmed brings me back to reality. I flinch to slide off Dante’s lap, but he holds me firmly in place, his strong hands on my hips.
“I’m here.” A tall man enters the living room, catching us in an intimate position.
I wiggle out of Dante’s embrace, my cheeks burning, eyes avoiding the guy who just walked in.
“You’re the most adorable little bug I ever saw,” Dante utters, eyeing my lips before he looks over his shoulder. “Rookie, this is Layla. You’re taking her home.”
“Sure, Boss.” If my presence at Dante’s side surprises him, he doesn’t let it show.
Dante holds my hand until I’m tucked in the back seat of Rookie’s Camaro. “Good night, Star,” his hot lips press against my forehead before he closes the door, moving over to the driver’s window.
“I’ll keep her safe, Boss,” Rookie says.
“Yes, you will. Make sure she gets inside before you leave. Call me when you’re done.”
