They lost a baby.
They didn’t lose another.
It was in the hospital, lying on white sheets while Dante got his side stitched, refusing to leave her when the middle-aged female doctor had come in with the news.
She’d been eight-week pregnant with twins, and one of them had latched onto her strong enough to make it through the ordeal while the other hadn’t made it.
She was still pregnant but she had lost a baby.
She didn’t know what to feel.
The doctor said it was a phenomenon called the ‘vanishing twin syndrome’ that wasn’t as rare as people believed. It was odd, the sense of loss interlinked with the sense of euphoria she was feeling. Looking at Dante, she saw the same reflected back at her, the emotion intense on his face, his eyes on her stomach as the doctor checked her with a stethoscope.
“It’s too early to know the gender,” the doctor told them. “But the ultrasound showed this little one doing well. However, I have to urge you to be careful throughout the whole pregnancy. The miscarriage puts you at high risk.”
Amara nodded, still processing the grief and the relief.
“Anything specific we should be doing, doctor?” Dante asked from her side, his hand holding hers, his gaze determined.
“For now, I would suggest refraining from any strenuous physical or mental exertion,” the doctor said. “We’ll keep monitoring as we go.”
Dante nodded. “And sex?”
Amara felt her face flush as the doctor smiled. “It should be okay. Just be careful not to put any pressure on her stomach or be too wild.”
Dante stood up, still shirtless but completely clean, a bandage on his side, wearing scrub pants he’d taken from a male nurse. He’d drawn a line at donning a gown and the female nurse hadn’t minded too much, not with the way her eyes had been drinking in his torso. It had made Amara both laugh and sympathize with the woman. She knew how it felt.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
The feminine voice from the door had Amara turning to see Morana standing there, her hair in a loopy bun, wearing black leggings and a yellow billowy top, her rectangular glasses on her nose, her hazel eyes wide with concern, and a very rigid Tristan looming behind her.
Lips turning up in a smile at seeing two of her favorite people, she waved them in as the doctor left.
Morana rushed to perch herself on the space by her bed, her eyes going to Dante’s shirtless chest that he deliberately flexed because he knew it would rile Tristan up.
On cue, Tristan glared at him. “Don’t you have a shirt?”
Dante grinned. “Actually, no, I don’t Tristan.”
Tristan sighed, and Amara chuckled as Morana leaned forward to hug her.
“I’m here for anything you need, okay?” she whispered in Amara’s ear.
Amara squeezed her back, her heart full, glad every single day that she’d trusted this girl, both for her sake and Tristan’s.
Tristan leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, something he had never done before, and focused his blue eyes on her. “Don’t disappear again like that.”
Those five words were enough to let her know that he’d been worried. Over the years, while he had never spoken much to her, he had been there for her time and time again, keeping that promise he’d made to her in the garage. Amara blinked back her tears, nodding.
“Did you find anything?” Dante’s voice broke their moment, his demeanor grave.
Morana pushed up her glasses and exchanged a look with Tristan.
“We did,” she answered. “I flagged two calls right after you left for Los Fortis. One was made by Vin, and one by Nerea.”
Dante tightened his fingers around Amara’s. “Did Vin check out?”
Morana hesitated. “I think so. I mean he was in Shadow Port at the time so I kept an eye on him. He didn’t do anything except make a call, but he’s been cagey. I don’t know.”
Amara felt her head begin to shake before Morana had stopped speaking. “I don’t care how cagey he’s being, Vinnie would never, and I mean never, do anything like that.”
“He was there, Amara,” Tristan spoke quietly from the side. “When you were taken, he was there.”
“And you didn’t see him fight to save me,” Amara countered, her voice straining. “It’s not him. He might be shady with other people but he would never, ever hurt me.”
“I believe that,” Dante supported her claim. “I’ve known him for a long time, especially with Amara. He would lay his life for her.”
Morana nodded. “I trust your judgments on this. And anyways, Nerea was being cagier than Vin.”
Amara felt her heart drop. While she wasn’t particularly close to Nerea, she was still her half-sister. Amara had come to care for the woman.
“What did she do?” Dante asked.
“What didn’t she do?” Morana scoffed, leaning back against Tristan’s thighs, and started counting off her fingers. “She made a shady call to an unknown number that I tried to track but it kept bouncing. Then, she left the compound and bought herself a ticket to Los Fortis, and had a meeting with a one-eyed man whom I had a hard time identifying because the missing eye, you know, but he’s-”
“Alpha,” Amara spoke, surprised.
“-Alessandro Villanova, also known as Alpha.”
Dante and Tristan exchanged a hard look at the name.
Dante focused his dark gaze on her, the heaviness in them not of her lover’s but the leader of the Outfit. “How do you know him?”
Amara looked at the seriousness on his face. “He came to see me after I moved to the city. Said the city was his and he monitored anyone coming from certain places, like Shadow Port. I got flagged because of my fake passport.”
“Where did you get a fake passport?”
Amara felt her heart sink. “Nerea.”
Dante nodded, turning to Tristan. “Call for a meeting of the Outfit leaders. It’s time.”
The other man nodded, brushing his hand over Morana’s arm. She looked up at him, and Amara marveled at the way they communicated silently. They’d always been able to do that, just look and have entire conversations nobody in the room was privy to. That was some serious telekinetic shit. Had she not had an amazing man of her own, she would have been envious of that connection.
“Okie dokes,” Morana turned to Amara, a smile on her face, “The big guy wants to go and I have to help him with some stuff, so I’ll see you soon. We’re staying in Tenebrae for a week before flying out so let’s do dinner one night? Hopefully, not as tense as last time.”
Amara hesitated, looking at Dante. Though he had found her, she didn’t know what was going to happen now. Logistically, was she staying on the compound with him or what?
“We’ll do a dinner Saturday night at the mansion,” Dante stated. “Just the four of us.”
Amara felt a breath she’d been holding whoosh out of her, as suddenly something hit her. “Lulu? Oh god, is she okay?”
“She’s at the compound,” Dante told her.
“Who’s Lulu?” Morana asked at the same time.
“My cat.”
“You have a cat?” Morana blinked. “That’s adorable. Can we get a cat?” she looked up at Tristan.
“No.”
Amara laughed at the expression on his face and the huff Morana gave, before they left.
“She’s good for him,” Dante noted, his eyes coming back to her, his lips tilted up.
“She makes him alive,” Amara told him, stroking his hand with hers. “You didn’t tell them about the baby.”
His fingers brushed over her scars, his eyes going to her still-flat stomach. “I don’t want to share her yet.”
Her heart fluttered. “We don’t know the gender yet.”
He just shrugged, bending to press his face to her gown, right over the baby. “She’s a fighter, a survivor like her momma. Aren’t you, princess?”
Amara melted as he spoke in low, soft tones to her stomach. “Is it odd that I feel sad for the one we lost, even if I’m happy we have one?”
He shook his head. “You just feel as you feel, Amara. A part of me is broken for the baby we lost, but it’s the most beautiful feeling to know one of them survived, that she clung through that hell and came out with us. Sometimes, mourning and celebration are two sides of the same coin.”
She nodded. He was right. If they focused on the loss, it would be unfair to their child who had made it. They could be happy. They deserved to be happy. After everything they had been through, together and on their own, they deserved this little slice of joy.
“You ready to come home?”
Home.
She was finally going home.
Eyes wet, Amara nodded, and he kissed her hand, the man who had slain demons and men alike to bring her back.
She had missed this place – the rolling green hills, the winding roads, the giant mansion that dominated the view as the car climbed up. It felt odd, coming to the grounds knowing they belonged solely to the man driving her up, the king of the castle himself, and not to the man whose reign of terror and power had permeated the air. As an adult, it looked different than it had as a teenager – the hills were prettier, the roads were narrower, and the mansion less scary.
“My father’s stuff at the house is being stored up in the attic,” Dante said from beside her, dressed in a dark suit that he had one of his men bring over, along with a beautiful floral dress for her in blues and greens. Hair slicked back from his face, highlighting that impeccable bone structure she secretly hoped their child inherited, the dangerous scruff shrouding his jaw, eyes hidden behind dark shades, Dante looked formidable.
“Are you moved in?” she asked, tugging at the neckline of the dress, her boobs sensitive without a bra.
Dante’s neck turned to see the movement, before he turned back, nodding at the guards to open the gates. The huge metal gates swung open and he drove into the compound. “I was more focused on finding you than moving. Although I did get the process started during my father’s funeral, it’ll take a few days more for it to be entirely complete.”
Pulling up in front of the mansion, Dante got out, walked around to her side, and opened her door, giving her a hand. She took it, alighting from the vehicle, and looked up at him.
He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her exposed neck scar. “Go see your mother,” he said softly. “She’s waiting for you at my old place. I’ll get some stuff done here.”
“Okay,” she agreed, a zap of excitement going through her at the thought of meeting her mother.
His lips tilted up before he swooped in, crushing their mouths together, the kiss deep and wet and over in seconds.
Amara panted, blinking up at him. “What was that for?”
“Because I can kiss you whenever, wherever, however I want now,” he stepped back. “And nobody can do shit about it.” He gave her a light slap on the ass. “Now go.”
“Bossy bastard,” she muttered under her breath, a smile on her lips as she turned and started to walk quickly to his building in the distance. She saw a few patrolling guards stop and give her a look but she ignored them, barely containing the urge to run.
Standing on his porch, Amara lifted her hand and knocked on the door twice, bouncing on her toes in contained excitement.
The door opened and her mother, whom she hadn’t seen in years, stood there, staring up at her.
“Mumu,” her eyes filled and Amara went into her arms, snuggling in the crook of her neck in a habit that she never got over, her nose filling with the same familiar scent of citrus and sugar and warmth that she knew in her bones.
Her mother’s arms tightened around her, holding her close for long minutes as they both just cried, the reunion sweet after years of torment. Amara pulled back, noting the wrinkles on her face, the greys in her hair, the softness of her skin.
They went in to Dante’s living room and for hours, talked – about the babies, about what had happened, about everything. Her mother was overjoyed that Dante knew about the pregnancy and that she’d be a grandmother; she was heartbroken that one of them had passed away. Amara asked her about everything she had missed on the compound and her mother told her everything – about Mr. Maroni’s funeral, about Dante’s brother not wanting to return, about the change in management. And looking at her talk, Amara felt herself fall deeper in love with the man who had not just saved her time and again but protected the one person who was important to her with respect.
Dante Maroni was a remarkable man, and she was lucky he was hers.
Her mother left the house after a few hours, telling her she had some moving stuff to oversee at the main house, and Amara stayed behind, needing a few moments alone before she went out. Walking around his house again, she saw the boxes and stuff lined up beside the stairs. Curious, she climbed up, peeking into his almost empty bedroom, before dodging a box and going up higher into his studio.
As she ascended the last steps, the memories in this room hit her. That first kiss on her neck, right against the door, those stolen kisses after they got together, early morning moments of her listening to his audiobook and watching him sculpt. So many memories in this place and the fact that he was leaving it made her a little sad.
She walked into the large room, taking in the big windows and the plethora of sculptures around it, the workbench lit by a beam of sunlight. She knew many of those sculptures, the ones he had made initially, but a lot of them were new. His art had refined over the years, chiseled itself, and his creations had become something else.
She went to the one of a man’s hand reaching out over the space to something, the tendons and veins, and ridges in the limb beautifully defined, the longing in the way it stretched palpable. Amara lifted her hand, touching her fingers to his smooth ones, feeling the cold of the clay against her fingertips, awed by the art with her tactile senses.
“I was drunk when I made that,” the voice from the door had her turning around to see the creator himself, leaning against the wall, exactly as he’d been that night so many years ago. Amara felt her heartbeat race at the memory.
“It’s beautiful,” she told him softly, pulling her hand back, looking around the room. “What will you do with these?”
“They’ll move to the mansion tomorrow,” he told her, striding in with languid steps. “There’s a room I’ve emptied for it.”
“I’ll miss this one,” Amara confessed, stroking the hand again. “My adolescent self had a few fantasies in this place.”
She felt him step beside her, his finger moving over the length of her exposed arms, his lips at her ear. “Do tell.”
Amara felt wetness pool between her legs, her already-sensitive breasts tingling as her heart thundered. “Sometimes when… sometimes when I used to watch your hands on the clay…” she trailed off.
His finger trailed up her arm slowly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Yes?” he tugged her lobe between his teeth.
Amara felt herself arch, her hands fisting her dress. “I used to imagine you laying me on the bench, and using your hands on me.”
His finger reached the strap of her dress, going under it, tugging it down.
“Dante-” It was the middle of the day. Anyone could walk in the door.
“And?” he asked, pulling the strap down enough to expose one swollen breast, his fingers going around the areola in maddening circles, her chest heaving as she gripped his forearm.
“That was it,” she moaned as the circle grew inward, so close to her straining nipple, but he didn’t touch it.
“Are you wet for me, dirty girl?” he whispered into her ear, his voice smooth and heady and making her eyes roll back in her head.
“Yes,” she panted.
“How wet?” he asked, his teeth biting her lobe lightly, sending a shot of fire straight to her core. Amara moved one hand to relieve the ache between her legs, only to have him trap both her hands in one firm grip behind her, arching her exposed breast higher for his infuriating circles close to her nipple.
“Why don’t you find out?” she goaded him, needing him to touch her.
“I will,” he assured her. “But tell me first, are you leaking over your thighs?”
“Yes,” she admitted, feeling the wetness pooling.
“And if I ate you out, you’d drip over my chin?”
Dear gods of foreplay, his filthy dirty mouth turned her on.
She nodded.
“Say it,” he commanded.
“Yes, I’d drip over your chin,” she spoke, the words, the visual, his finger driving her crazy.
She felt his scruff brush over the side of her face, the sensation new and thrilling, as he asked, “Does my dirty girl need a dirty fuck?”
God, yes. Yes, she needed one so bad. It had been months.
She nodded.
His finger completed another revolution around her nipple. “You know the best part? I’m going to fuck you bare and come deep inside you. Do you want that?”
“I do,” she breathed.
He let her arms go and stepped back, leaving her slightly disoriented. Before she knew it, he pushed the other strap down, her dress falling to the floor, leaving her naked in broad daylight while he stayed fully dressed in his suit. He picked her up, put her on the table and taking a seat on the bench, pulled her right to the edge, pushing her thighs back and opening her up.
The sunlight fell on her skin, warming her, highlighting every single scar on her body in stark relief. She saw his dark eyes rove over every single one of them, before stopping between her legs.
Although they had done it a hundred times over, her heart still beat like a drum, her body ready and on edge for him. He bent his head, licking the length of her with the flat of his tongue, the sensation making her arch her back on the table.
“Oh god,” she breathed out. “Don’t stop.”
He slowly dipped in again, his tongue diving inside her, tasting her, eating her like she was the finest dish and he was a man starved. Shivers coursed up and down her spine, her skin warming with the sun on the outside and burning with the heat he ignited from the inside, the dual sensation sending her racing towards the edge of the cliff, secure in the knowledge that he would catch her.
He started writing the alphabets on her nub with his tongue, pushing her closer and closer.
She crashed on the D.
Gripping his hair, her spine arching as she pushed her hips closer to him, she felt her orgasm roll over her – quick, hard, fast – quicker than it had ever been before.
Languid from the pleasure, she saw with hooded eyes as he straightened, unzipping his pants, his mouth wet from her juices, and gripped her under the knees, pushing her legs back until she was almost bent in half, her heart beating like crazy as he plunged into her.
A moan left her, her voice straining as his length speared her, his thickness stretching her walls, her inner muscles fluttering as he pulled back, sinking in deeper.
“Hold your legs open,” he instructed her, and she placed her hands under her knees, obeying the command. He bent over her, weight on his forearms at the side of her head, careful to not put any pressure on her stomach, his pelvis rubbing against her in the position, his dark eyes on her face.
He pulled out and snapped again, sending her body slightly up on the table.
“You should’ve known not to run from me, crazy girl,” he grit out, the rage in his eyes transferring to his movements. “I would chase you to the ends of this earth.”
Amara felt her fingers tighten around her thighs, her muscles vibrating with the sexual and emotional hunger only this man satiated in her. His rage infused her blood as she let go of her thighs, hitting him in the chest. “You let me think you were dead, you dick! Dead! Do you know how that destroyed me?”
Her hands kept hitting him over and over, her body shaking with anger. He took a hold of her wrists, pinning them over her head, his eyes heated, enraged. “You knew I was faking soon enough, Amara. And you still ran, taking my child. Wanna know how that made me feel?” He leaned forward, his face an inch from hers, his cock pushing deeper inside her. “Pissed. So. Fucking. Pissed.”
She stared at him, angry, annoyed, aroused, and clenched her inner muscles around him, really tightly.
He growled over her, his hips flexing, her anger, her annoyance, her arousal reflected back at her.
“I’m going to fuck my anger out on your pussy,” he told her, his jaw clenching. “I’m going to use your body, and I’m going to be selfish as fuck.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll use you back.”
“Fuck, yes, you will.”
With that, he straightened, held her hands above her head, and slammed deep inside her. Amara stretched her legs open again, trying to give him more room but unable to move with the way he had pinned her down. One hand holding both of her wrists, the other came to grip her jaw, his eyes dark on hers as he picked up speed, thrusting hard and deep inside her, the friction and the inability to move doing things to her body she couldn’t understand.
He fucked her, hard, fast, deep, so deep, and maybe it was the pregnancy but Amara had never been as aware of every inch of him, of the depth of every thrust that bottomed him out, of the clench of every muscle, as she was in that moment.
His teeth came to her chin, biting her as he hit the spot inside her with his cock, and her eyes closed.
“Marry me, Amara.”
The words had her lids opening, the fierce look on his face making her wetter as her heart clenched.
“Be my wife, be my dirty girl, be mine,” he mumbled against her lips.
“You’re a romantic,” she huffed a laugh, a breath whooshing out of her.
He kissed her scar, moving inside her, his voice matching his harsh breathing. “Give me your dreams and your nightmares, your pleasure and your pain, your fantasies and your fears. Give me everything. Be my queen outside, and my filthy girl inside,” he hammered his hips into hers, his words coming out rough, gritty, raw. “And make me fucking yours, so everyone who looks at my ring knows I have you finally. Say yes, Amara.”
God, he was killing her.
Amara felt her neck arch as a current of pleasure shot through her, her mind becoming mushy.
“Marry me.”
“Dante-” she whispered against his lips just as he smashed their mouths together, passion flaring hotter between them. For long minutes, there was the sound of their breathing, the creaking of the table, the slap of flesh hitting flesh. She came gushing within moments, he followed right after, pressing their foreheads together.
“Say yes, baby.”
Amara fluttered her eyes open, seeing the man her soul recognized as own, and said ‘yes’.
“We’ll need to come up with a proposal story,” Amara told him as she walked up the hill to the mansion, her hand in his. “I don’t think that one will be appropriate for the baby.”
He gave her a hot look, his lips turning up, but stayed silent.
The sun was setting over the horizon, the light falling on the stone walls of the mansion and setting them on fire. It felt surreal, the moment – being back on the grounds she had grown up on, the grounds that had seen her birth and her ruin, the grounds that had waited for her to return home. More surreal was walking on that ground, hand in hand with the boy she’d been infatuated with and the man she had fallen in love with, without secrecy or fear or shame. While she was aware of the few eyes that turned their way as they climbed the mansion steps, while she knew the lingering staff would feed the gossip with everything, there was something liberating about this kind of open affection, one that she had been denied for so long. She craved it like the dry soil that had burned and cracked, thirsting for one drop of rain. She soaked it up like she would never get it again, her cracks not gone but healing, and only desired more.
The sound of his phone ringing had them stopping in the entryway. A flash of fur had her looking down to see Lulu twining between Dante’s legs, her fur marking the bottom of his pants.
“I should probably get some lint rollers, shouldn’t I?” he said wryly, looking down at her fur baby. Dante bent to scoop Lulu up in one arm, bringing her to his face. “Don’t shed on me where people can see. I have a reputation to protect.”
Amara felt amusement crawl up her cheeks, seeing the huge man in the expensive suit and the tiny cat getting fur all over him, making her laugh. Dante turned to her, handing Lulu over. “Head on to the dining room, I’ll make some calls.”
Amara nodded, watching as he strode away, the dark jacket of his suit stretched across his wide back, a flutter of feminine appreciation making her sigh. She could ogle him now, as openly as she wanted to.
Feeling happy in a long time, Amara hugged her fur baby to her chest. “I’m glad you’re okay, Lulu.”
The cat squirmed in her arms, before settling. Lulu was a weird cat. Sometimes she fell asleep right in Amara’s arms, and from experience, Amara knew she was settling in for a nap. She kissed the top of her head and walked towards the dining room.
Amara had only been in that room on a few occasions, mostly when she’d been helping her mother. She had never had a meal there. It felt surreal too, standing on the door, watching as the staff laid the table for dinner. Her instinct was to join them, helping them place everything, but she refrained. She didn’t know how she was going to be the lady of the house when she had grown up serving them. It was an odd realization, and something she needed to think about. While she didn’t want to be detached from the working members of the compound, as Dante Maroni’s wife she would have to adhere to certain expectations.
The twelve-foot table was the focal point of the hall-like room, with tall windows with a stunning view of the darkening hills, and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling that glimmered in the sunset with different colors of the fire.
Amara watched from the sidelines as two of the girls who had been her juniors placed the cutlery on the long table, avoiding looking at her as she stood at the door with a napping Lulu.
Fuck expectations. Just because no one before her had been friendly with the staff didn’t mean she couldn’t start. Forgetting one’s roots was one of the biggest mistakes she had seen people make. Roots were important for a tree to grow.
Putting a wide smile on her face, she headed into the room and noticed the five staff members pause.
“So, you’re all just going to ignore me?” she asked them in a teasing tone.
One of the men smiled. “Welcome home, Amara. It’s been a long time.”
She smiled back. “It has been a very long time, Fabio. How is your knee?”
His smile widened. “Still twinges.”
Amara turned to the woman who had been her mother’s apprentice. “And you Maria, is your son still playing football?”
The older woman gave a stiff smile. “Yes, Miss Amara.”
The stiffness of the smile made her own wobble a bit. Amara hugged Lulu closer and swallowed.
“Give us the room, please,” a feminine voice from the door had Amara turning to look at Chiara Mancini, Leo Mancini’s wife. While Amara had never had any interaction with her, she didn’t like the woman one bit. Chiara was extraordinarily beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful women Amara had seen, but her soul was rotten. Rumor said she had been married by a much older Leo who had raped her in the marriage. Amara had been empathetic towards the woman until she had heard about her taste for younger boys. Tristan being her first extra-marital affair hadn’t endeared her any either.
Amara didn’t know if she had ever come onto Dante, but she straightened her spine as the room emptied.
Dressed in a stunning silver dress, Chiara strode in, a polite smile on her lips. “I don’t think we have been introduced. I’m Chiara.”
For a second Amara felt vulnerable, as though she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. But then she remembered the man who had walked through hell with her, the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, and realized that dealing with people like Chiara would come with the package of them being open.
“Dr. Amara,” she introduced herself politely, using the same confident tone she used with her clients.
Chiara’s eyes flickered to the scar on her neck that she wasn’t hiding anymore before she looked up at Amara. It was one of the rare occasions Amara thanked her height over the shorter woman.
“Well,” the other woman began, looking down at the sleeping cat in her arms, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Are you Dante’s girlfriend?”
Amara gave the woman a cool gaze. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Dante’s family,” Chiara chimed, her eyes all innocent. “He’s under such pressure. Being the leader is not easy, and he’s so young yet. I’m just looking out for him.”
“I appreciate that,” Amara told her in her soft voice that she still hated on certain occasions like this one. People like Chiara heard her speak and immediately thought her weak. Soft did not equal strong in their vocabulary. Soft meant malleable, gullible, vulnerable. Only that was strong which was in-their-face. Morana was strong in her eyes probably, with her devil-may-care attitude and the spine of steel she wore in her eyes. Amara, with her flowery dress and furry cat and soft voice and scars, was a passing fancy, a poor little innocent, an easy target.
Maybe, her voice and her demeanor was a good thing. It let them underestimate her.
Keeping her expression deliberately pleasant, Amara thanked her. “It’s nice of you to look out for him.”
Chiara fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Someone has to. Hopefully, he’ll marry one of the prospects soon.”
“Prospects?” Amara asked, mildly curious, rocking Lulu in her arms.
“Oh, women he’s been vetting for years,” Chiara told her helpfully. “All girls from prominent families with good connections. He needs someone who adds to his power.”
Amara felt her lips turn up at the not-so-subtle attack at herself. Amara of a week ago might even have agreed with Chiara, might have felt the doubts about her suitability. But the woman who had been tied up in her nightmare had struggled against her ropes, escaped them, and shot a man dead to protect the father of her child. This Amara had woken up into her nightmare and walked out, not unscathed but stronger. This Amara didn’t let a dig get to her simply because if Dante had wanted to marry one of the more suitable girls, he would have. He didn’t. He had given his crown to her.
Before Amara could give a response, she heard Morana’s voice.
“Oh, look Tristan, it’s your lizard ex,” Morana exclaimed from the door, rolling her eyes behind the glasses. She was in such contrast to Chiara, in black jeans and a blue printed t-shirt with ‘Nerd Life = Thug Life’. Amara felt her lips twitch at the quote and the way Morana openly glared at Chiara, coming to stand beside Amara in a clear show of support.
Tristan’s lips twitched too.
Damn, Morana was good for him.
Chiara glared at them, before going to the windows, leaving them alone.
“Is this Lulu?” Morana whispered, looking down at the slumbering cat in awe.
Amara nodded. “You wanna hold her? She’s very friendly.”
“Oh, I can?” Morana grinned at her, slowly taking Lulu’s soft body in her arms. The cat woke up in the transfer, turning to look at Amara.
“It’s okay, baby,” Amara cajoled her, rubbing between her eyes. “She’s a friend. You like new people, remember?”
Lulu meowed and turned to stare at Morana.
“She’s so soft,” Morana uttered, amazed. Tristan came to stand behind her and Lulu, the little attention seeker that she was, tried to climb over Morana’s shoulder to sniff him. Morana struggled to contain her.
“Traitor, I know he smells nice, but stay with me for a second!”
Lulu stretched towards Tristan. Tristan stared at the cat, before shaking his head and taking a step back.
“Get that thing away from me, please.”
Amara felt Dante enter the room, her eyes immediately seeking him out, and smiled as he came towards them. He scooped Lulu up in his arms and turned to Tristan.
“This thing is a fucking cat, dude,” he told the other man, rubbing Lulu behind the ear, so naturally Amara wondered if he’d ever had pets before. “She’s a cute little thing.”
“Can we get one, caveman?” Morana blinked up at him, putting a hand on his arm. “We’ll adopt a stray.”
Tristan sighed, sending a glare at Amara, and she burst out laughing.
It felt good. Life felt good.
Dinner had gone as well as one could hope, she supposed. Chiara had pretty much given her looks and her husband, Leo, had gazed off into the distance, clearly distracted by something. Another couple their age – she didn’t know their names – had given her polite smiles, while their three kids had been quiet but stealing looks at her and Lulu napping at the base of a sitting man’s statue. Dante had taken a seat at the head of the table – where his father had once sat – and had her seated on his left side. Tristan took the seat on his right, opposite Amara, with Morana beside him. It was strategic, a silent message to everyone watching that this was how he was rolling the ball.
Amara had enjoyed the dinner after a long time and observed her man talking in quiet tones with Tristan, or turning to ask one of the kids a question. In between, he had just touched her foot with his shoe, giving her a bit more of that affection she craved from him. With his stubble that darkened his jaw, contrasting with his impeccably-dressed body, Dante Maroni was a vision of masculine beauty and primitive badassery, with a dark gaze that missed nothing and a light smile that hid everything. He was contradictions and balances complimenting each other in one specimen; a slow, deceptive, undetectable poison to everyone except the people close to his heart. Small doses of him over the years had made her stronger, a resilient survivor.
Now, standing in his study, the same study where Lorenzo Maroni had changed her life, Amara watched the king of the underworld on his throne, a glass of scotch in his hand, watching the two other people he trusted talk.
“The airport guy gave me an address,” Morana spoke, sipping from her glass of scotch, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes on Dante. “But when we got there, the house was empty. And just yesterday, I got an alert that it had burned down. Faulty wiring, they said.”
Dante leaned back on the table, swirling the scotch in his glass, his eyes on Tristan. “We’ll find her, Tristan.”
Luna.
Tristan’s little sister who had disappeared twenty years ago.
Amara felt her heart clench at the way he leaned against the window, rigid, looking down at the floor, and she walked to him. Hunched as he was, his head was the same height as hers. Amara put a hand on his bicep, giving him a squeeze, and he looked up at her with those focused blue eyes.
“Don’t lose hope, yeah?” she whispered to him. “You worked so many years to get control. You have the reins now. You have Dante, who has the reins here. You have Morana, who does stuff I don’t even understand. And you have me, who does nothing but for moral support. We’ll find her.”
His jaw clenched but he gave her a nod, straightening and walking to sit beside Morana, who snuggled into him like he was a bear instead of one of the most dangerous men in their world. But then, nobody knew how dangerous he was more than Morana.
Amara took Tristan’s vacated space and leaned against the windowsill, as Dante spoke up. “You notice too many fires in buildings of late, Tristan?”
“Yeah, it’s fishy.”
“I agree,” Dante took a sip of the drink. “So, we don’t have any leads as of now?”
Morana shook her head. “I’ve contacted the airport guy again but haven’t heard anything back yet.”
Dante nodded. “Well, let me tell you what I know.” Putting his drink to the side, he took out a cigarette from his pocket, and hesitated, his eyes coming to Amara. She nodded at him to go ahead, and he lit it up. She didn’t have anything to contribute to the meeting per se, but Amara knew Dante wanted to keep her in the loop. She appreciated that, especially because if she was to be by his side, she wanted it to be a true partnership.
He inhaled deeply, telling her just by the action that it was stressful. “The Syndicate is deeper than we thought,” he began. “I barely got through the surface and the filth is deep. They’ve been trading in children for at least twenty-years that we know of. Could be much more than that.”
Amara felt her hand instinctively go to her stomach, before she breathed out, bile rising in her throat at what he was saying. It was ghastly. Children were a line never, ever to be crossed, and to hear they had been grossly violated for decades just made her skin crawl.
Why aren’t you screaming anymore, slut?
The memory came out of nowhere, barreling into her consciousness. She had been a child too.
She pinched the inside of her wrist and exhaled, listening to Dante’s voice, anchoring herself to the present.
“I don’t know how many ways they operate,” he went on. “But I did find one of them. They have recruiters of sorts who scour through chat rooms and forums where assholes who are into kids go, and that’s where they find members to get into the organization.”
“Factoring in at least twenty years, maybe more,” Morana voiced, “this could mean they have over hundreds of thousands of members.”
“Jesus,” Tristan cursed, rubbing a hand over his face.
The kids. The poor kids.
Dante took another drag. “These members seem worthless though. We need to find more information about how deep this goes and who all are involved in this. The recruiter this guy told me about went by the username MrX.” Dante hesitated, casting a small look at her, before speaking again, a tic in his jaw. “He’s also the guy who ordered Amara’s abduction fifteen years ago.”
The strings of a conversation from long ago drifted back to her, triggered by that name.
‘MrX is here.’
‘Show me the girl.’
“He was there,” Amara murmured, her brain still trying to recall more of a conversation she didn’t even remember happening.
Dante turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised.
“That name triggered something,” Amara frowned. “I think I wasn’t fully conscious when I heard his name. But he was there for a moment.”
Dante’s eyes blazed as he looked back at Morana. “Tristan and I looked into the building back then and it was a dead end. I want you to look again, look deeper, to see if we missed anything. Amara’s abduction never made any logical sense to me, and this MrX guy being connected to it… he’s a lead to pursue.”
Morana nodded. “I’ll get on it. If they’re hunting these forums, there would definitely be a trail on the dark web. But it won’t be safe. I hadn’t realized how much the Reaper – my father, I mean, had been shielding me down there. It might take a while for me to cloak myself but I can do it.”
Amara was kind of in awe of Morana’s brain and her confidence in her abilities. As a woman who had to rebuild herself from the ground up, and someone who still had days of self-loathing, that confidence seemed so unreachable to her. As a therapist, she knew that confidence was a well-made shield hiding a well of emotion.
“Good, but it shouldn’t lead back to you,” Dante pointed out. “We can’t risk them closing the one door we found. Also, do me a favor and try to find something on the Shadowman, if you can.”
“The Shadowman?”
“He’s involved?”
The other couple spoke at the same time.
The Shadowman. That was an interesting name, especially given how they were earned in their world.
Dante looked at Tristan. “My interrogation told me the one person the Syndicate is careful of is the Shadowman. So, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I want to meet my new friend and find out what he knows.”
“Okay, but that’s a badass name,” Morana echoed Amara’s thought. “Who is this guy?”
“No one knows,” Tristan answered her, his arm over the back of the couch behind her. “There were whispers about him on the street out of nowhere. Big players turned up dead right in their homes, no signs of entry or exit, no break-in, dead by a bullet, garrote, poison, ice. He has no MO, no face, no name. That’s why they started calling him the Shadowman.” He turned to Dante. “But why would the Syndicate be careful of him? He’s one man, they’re an entire organization.”
“Why indeed,” Dante muttered, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “You feel like paying a visit to Alessandro Villanova tomorrow? We’ll take the jet.”
Tristan nodded. “Time?”
“Eight.”
“Alpha,” Amara spoke up from the side, seeing all eyes turn to her. “That’s what he told me to call him. He was kind to me, especially given I was there under a false name. He even offered me protection.”
“Did he now?” Dante stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray, his dark eyes on her, the possessive fire that had simmered in them over the years burning hot again. “Could it be because you were a beautiful woman all alone in his territory?”
Amara narrowed her eyes. “I’m not defending him. Just keep in mind that he was good to me when he didn’t have to be.”
Dante’s jaw clenched before he turned to the other two in the room. “We’re getting married.”
Amara felt her jaw drop at his sudden announcement as Morana exclaimed an ‘oh my god’, and Tristan’s eyebrows hit the roof. He looked between the two of them before a small smile curved his mouth. “Congratulations.”
“This is amazing!” Morana leaned forward, her excitement so genuine it warmed Amara’s heart. “Wait, where is her ring? Did you propose without a ring?”
“It wasn’t planned. I’ll get my ring on her, don’t worry,” Dante reassured her. “You need to send Vin back to the compound. I need him here. And keep your eyes on Nerea. Any suspicious movement, tell me immediately.”
Morana nodded, still grinning. “Okay, but I’m helping you plan the wedding. I’ve never been to a wedding!”
Amara realized with surprise she hadn’t either. The first wedding she was going to attend would be her own.
Tristan raised his glass. “To hope.”
Coming from him, Amara truly felt it bubbling in her heart. Hope.
