Chapter Eight

DANTE

Dante sauntered into Salty Pete’s Seafood Shack, a weathered clapboard building nestled against the rocky Connecticut shoreline. Mismatched fishing nets and rusted lobster traps adorned the walls, lending an air of faded maritime charm. He inhaled deeply, savoring the briny scent of fresh seafood mingling with the tang of malt vinegar.

“Brown ale,” Dante ordered from the bar, and then walked into the restaurant area.

Joey slouched in a corner booth, nursing a frosty mug of beer. Dante slid in across from him.

“Glad to have you back on home turf.” Dante raised his own mug, clinking it against Joey’s with a dull thud. “Place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

A wry smile twisted Joey’s lips. “Nah, except I’m pretty sure these red vinyl seats have petrified since we were bussing tables.”

They both chuckled, a comfortable familiarity settling between them as Dante flagged down a frazzled waitress to put in their usual order. Two lobster rolls, piled high with tender chunks of meat drenched in butter and nestled in toasted split-top buns. A basket of golden fries and coleslaw would round out the spread.

As they dug into the feast, Dante studied Joey’s face, noting new lines etched around his eyes and mouth. A world-weariness that hadn’t been there the last time they’d had a beer and lobster dogs. “So, what’s Uncle Sam have you doing nowadays?” he asked.

“Ah, you know, just doing my duty,” Joey replied dismissively, taking a large bite of his lobster dog to avoid further elaboration.

“Last I heard from you, you sent me some pictures of you lounging in a hut on Bali.”

Joey snorted. “Yeah, it’s like that every day of the week. Hot showers, feather pillows, the whole nine.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent of something else. An unspoken weight that seemed to lay heavy on him.

“Seriously, though. Is everything all right?”

Joey cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “It’s nothing, man. Just the usual bullshit, you know?” A haunted look flickered across Joey’s face. The kind of bone-deep regret Dante knew would gnaw at a man, stealing sleep and infecting waking moments.

“Whatever went down, you can’t keep that shit locked up. It’ll eat you alive,” Dante said.

“I’m fine.”

But as they polished off the last of the food, Joey met Dante’s gaze, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m not fine.”

Dante waited. He knew Joey was struggling to find words.

When Joey finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “There was an incident a few months back.” The words were clipped, stripped bare. “Intel was off. Things got messy real fast.” Joey’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

The unadorned agony in Joey’s voice made Dante reach out and grip his forearm, trying to anchor him. Something in Joey’s haunted gaze seemed to fracture then. His chin gave the barest wobble before the floodgates burst open. “Aw hell, Dante...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing away the veneer he’d been struggling to maintain. “This last tour...I saw some shit, man. Stuff that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling while the screams just loop over and over in my head.”

Dante squeezed Joey’s arm, silently urging him to continue. To let the poison out after carrying it alone for too long.

“You remember that convoy that got hit outside Kandahar few months back? The one with all the civilian casualties?” Joey swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Well, I was the one calling in the airstrike after we took heavy fire.”

The words kept spilling out in a ragged torrent—the chaos of the ambush, the fog of gun smoke and adrenaline, the panicked radio calls for close air support as casualties mounted. How Joey had relied on the limited grid coordinates, authorizing the strike without realizing the target area also contained a clutch of village homes with families trapped inside.

“And when the smoke cleared...” Joey’s shoulders slumped, his hollow voice reverberating with defeat. “There were just bodies. Burnt, twisted remains of people who never stood a chance.”

Dante could only listen, his throat constricted, as the horrific scene unfolded. He searched for something—anything—to say to absolve the lifelong friend sitting across from him. But no platitudes could undo such haunting trauma.

“I know the rules of engagement. I know the score.” Joey’s laugh was a broken, bitter rasp. “But tell that to the nightmares, man. They don’t care about the damn rules.”

Dante listened intently, but the weight of his friend’s suffering began to press down on him as well. A darkness crept into his heart, threatening to consume him, but he fought against it for Joey’s sake.

“I had to make a call. And now...now I’ve got to live with it.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll get you through it. One day at a goddamn time. Don’t you dare carry that alone. Not while I’m still breathing.”

A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of Joey’s mouth, faint but unmistakable. He took a long pull from his beer, his gaze distant as he stared out at the churning waves visible through the smudged windowpane.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Like a chick?”

Dante fought the urge to bang his head on the table. “No, I mean a therapist.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Do you want to talk to me more? In a more professional setting?”

“Not really.”

“You should.”

Joey shrugged. Dante wouldn’t push. But he’d make sure that this wasn’t the last time they had a conversation about this.

They sat in silence for a while, nursing their beers as the faint sound of laughter from nearby tables washed over them. The contrast between their turmoil and the carefree atmosphere around them was jarring.

“Hey,” Joey said suddenly. “I’ve been worried about Emma. How’s she really doing at that fashion resort place, Couture? She’s always been sensitive. Couture, that whole scene...” He shook his head. “I don’t want those fashion bitches tearing her down, y’know? She’s so shy and sensitive, I’m afraid they’ll eat her alive.”

“Emma’s tougher than you give her credit for. She’s not a kid anymore.”

Joey’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Maybe not. But she’s still my little sister. I’m always going to want to protect her.”

Dante bit back a sigh, the weight of his own secrets suddenly heavy on his shoulders. If Joey had any inkling of the true nature of where Emma worked, he’d worry even more. “And she’s always going to need to fight her own battles. You can’t keep stepping into the ring for her, man. It’s not fair to either of you.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken fears and old wounds. Finally, Joey blew out a breath, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I know you’re right. It’s just hard to let go sometimes.”

Dante nodded, his own chest tightening with an all-too-familiar ache. The urge to shield those he loved from the world’s sharp edges, to take on their pain as his own—it was a compulsion he knew intimately. But he also knew the price of that protection. The slow erosion of self that came from living in someone else’s shadow, never quite trusted to stand on your own two feet.

He wouldn’t let that happen to Emma. Not even if it meant watching her stumble and fall. Watching her learn to pick herself back up again, scarred but stronger for it.

Even if every instinct screamed at him to catch her.

Dante leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Joey thoughtfully. “Look, I get it. Wanting to keep her safe, wrapped up in Bubble Wrap and hidden away from anything that might hurt her. But that’s not living, that’s just existing.”

“So, what? I’m just supposed to stand back and watch her drown? Hope she figures out how to swim before she goes under?”

“No.” Dante shook his head, his voice low and intense. “You can still be there for her. You can support her when she needs it. But you need to let her fight her own fights. Let her find her own way.” He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And trust me, she’s doing just fine at Couture. Better than fine. She’s kicking ass and taking names.”

Joey’s brow furrowed, a flicker of surprise and something else—pride, maybe—flashing in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dante nodded, his own chest swelling with a fierce, aching sort of admiration. “The clients love her, the staff respects her. She’s having a good time.”

And she was. In more ways than one. But Joey didn’t have to know about that either.

Dante’s gut clenched as unbidden images rose in his mind. Emma, flushed and laughing as she danced at Club Inferno, her body swaying to the pulsing beat. Emma, her eyes wide and darkened with curiosity as she watched a scene play out, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. Emma, kneeling at his feet, gazing up at him with a heady mix of trust and desire that made his blood run hot and his heart pound against his ribs.

He swallowed hard, shoving the memories down deep where they belonged. Where they had to stay, locked away behind iron bars of control and denial. Because Joey was right. Emma was precious, unspoiled in a way that made Dante want to simultaneously protect and possess her. To cherish her innocence, even as he longed to corrupt it. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when she was his best friend’s little sister. Not when the risk of shattering their friendship—and her—was too high a price to pay. No matter how much he ached to take her in hand. To show her the heights of pleasure and submission she could reach, if only she would surrender to his mastery.

If only.

“The point is, Emma’s well-liked at Couture,” Dante said, trying to dispel Joey’s concerns. “She’s hardworking and dedicated, and she’s become a valued employee. I’ve seen her grow in confidence since she started working there.”

But as Joey listened, Dante couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. Joey had no idea about Club Inferno. A world of sensual exploration and desire, where Emma had ventured out of her comfort zone alongside Dante himself. He knew Joey wouldn’t approve of his sister’s foray into this dark, tantalizing realm. Yet, a part of him argued, it was none of Joey’s business.

“I need to see it for myself,” Joey said.

Dante bristled, a little offended that Joey didn’t trust his word. But he also recognized something deeper driving his friend—perhaps a need to regain control after witnessing horrors during his time in the army. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? If it’s as great as you say, there shouldn’t be a problem with me checking it out. Making sure it’s on the up-and-up.”

“It is,” Dante gritted out, irritation spiking through him. “I just told you—”

“And I heard you,” Joey cut in, his voice level but unyielding. “I want to make sure she’s safe and understand the environment she’s working in. It will be one less thing I have to worry about. Let me do this. Maybe it will give me some peace.”

Dante exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration and something like dread coiling in his gut. He knew that look on Joey’s face. That bullish set to his jaw that said he wasn’t going to budge. Not until he got what he wanted.

“Let me see what I can do.” Getting up from the table, Dante pulled out his phone and walked outside for some privacy. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Colleen’s number and hit the call button, putting the phone to his ear.

She picked up on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Dante grimaced, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. He hated asking for anything. “Colleen. I need a favor.”

“This ought to be good.” Her voice was a purr, rich and indulgent.

“I need a day pass to Couture. For a friend.”

There was a brief pause. Then, “A friend, hmm? And would this friend happen to be interested in our other amenities as well?”

“No. Absolutely not. He’s strictly vanilla.” Dante slid a glance at Joey, who had finished his fries and was now starting in on Dante’s. If he wasn’t vanilla, Dante didn’t want to know about it. “It’s Emma’s brother, actually. He’s in the army, home on leave, and he wants to surprise her at work.”

“Emma’s brother?” Colleen sounded intrigued now. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Of course we’ll arrange a pass for him. Feel free to give him the grand tour.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll let Istvahn know. He’ll have the pass at the security station.”

After the call ended, Dante watched the seagulls fight over some crusts of bread. It would be fine. He just had to make sure Joey didn’t find out about Club Inferno or Dante’s role there. He came back in and sat down. “It’s set. We can head over whenever you’re ready.”

“Let’s go, then. No time like the present.”

Dante stared longingly at his half-eaten lobster dog, but he didn’t argue. “Follow me in your car.”