Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

ALYSSA

“ N o. I’ll be fine in a hotel, I’m telling you!” I argue back at Brynne, and Slate rolls his eyes at me.

“Don’t worry, I’ve found you accommodations until the apartment I have a few blocks from here is cleaned and furnished,” Slate says, biting his slice of pizza over the box, dripping grease from the cheese down his chin and into his tightly trimmed beard.

“What accommodations? I’m not a puppy, you know? I don’t need a sitter,” I sass back, and he looks at Brynne, exasperated with me.

The fact that he doesn’t give me shit back means he respects me as her friend, and that means more than he knows. Any other man would’ve lost his cool with me already.

Dante would’ve spanked me and thrown me over his shoulder.

I shiver, and Brynne eyes me warily.

“Are you getting sick?”

I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance and a bit of embarrassment. “No. I’m fine. Where am I staying tonight?”

A knock at the door signals my answer, followed by Dante breezing inside and darting his eyes between us.

“Oh, fuck no! I’m not staying with him!” I shriek, pointing my finger at Dante.

Only Brynne knows what’s gone on with Dante and me, and I intend for it to stay that way. So, when Slate asks, “What happened between the two of you? Has my enforcer done something wrong to you? I’m partial to keeping him, but if so, say the word; he’ll be nothing but dust mixed with concrete by the end of the week,” Slate says, eyes narrowing as he grinds his teeth.

Fuck, he’s serious.

I sigh, looking at Brynne for help.

She gives me a smug look, all while Dante has taken a slice of pizza and sat down at the island, unphased by everything going on around him.

“Yeah, did I do something to you, minaccia?”

Slate shifts his eyes toward Dante from across the island, still hovering his pizza over the box. “Calling her menace every time you turn around can’t help matters. I need you to fucking behave. Brynne and I have a lot to get done in the next week. Can’t you handle this one thing for us?”

Dante rolls his eyes, finishing his pizza and licking his godforsaken fingers that I came on this morning before we left for the meeting.

“I can behave myself, Boss. I swear. I won’t call her that anymore if that’s your order.”

Slate looks between the two of us, looking to Brynne for help. She only grins.

“That’s my order, then.”

Dante nods, grabbing a napkin off the island and finishing off the grease from his fingers.

“See it done. Oh, and I have secured a priest and a venue for the wedding. So, check that off your list. I texted you the details.”

Slate checks his phone, and something odd passes over his face as he looks back at Dante. “You went to St. Andrews? Are you alright?”

Dante shifts uncomfortably. “I’m fine.” He swivels his bar stool. “Are you going with me or not? I’m exhausted.”

I fiddle with my watch on my wrist. It’s nearly eight. It had been a long ass day. “I’m going with you. Let me get my bags.”

Brynne follows me down the hall, and Slate’s murmurs to Dante fade as we get into the guest room.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this? We want to know you’re alright, but also...”

“Need privacy, I get it, girl. Don’t worry.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Slate what happened? At the very least, you could say you’re uncomfortable staying with a man.”

I laugh, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. “I’m a big girl. Besides, Dante and I should probably talk it out and finalize this. I don’t need it looming over me this week; it’s too important.”

Brynne beams, looking down at her glittering engagement ring. “It is an important week.”

I tip her chin up. “I’m so fucking happy for you guys.”

Her face softens. “Thank you, Lyss. And thank you for being here, for upending everything to be beside me.”

“Hey, if you’re running away with the mafia, so am I. You don’t get to have all the fun without me!”

She laughs, and we hug before she helps me out of the room with my bags and toward Dante.

He takes two of my bags and leads me into the hall. “Come on, tesoro. Time to go home.”

Great, a new nickname.

His apartment isn’t far from Slate’s and is equally as breathtaking. We get off on the penthouse floor, and he leads me inside.

I look around, astounded at his place’s clean look and feel. The floors look as though you could eat off them. Near the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living space, there’s a grand piano—one I’m sure he can’t play a note on.

“The guest room should be clean and ready for occupancy; it’s down this way,” Dante says, leading me down a hallway dimly lit by a plug-in light.

The floors are black marble, and the walls are a deep burgundy.

Oddly enough, it feels like Dante.

Like a warm, dark space—a safe one.

“Here we are,” Dante says, pushing into a door at the end of the hall on the left. He switches a light on, and my eyes roam over the space. “There’s an ensuite bathroom with toiletries the maid keeps stocked. The towels are below the sink, and I think that’s it. A television comes out of here; the remote is in the bedside drawer,” he tells me, kicking a box at the very end of the bed.

“How on brand of you,” I tell him.

Who has a television that comes out of the end of their bed? Scarface , that’s who.

He grins. “There’s food in the fridge, and my room is across the hall. In case you get scared of the dark and want me to hold you.”

I purse my lips and shake my head.

As he shoves his hands in his pockets and makes for the door, I call out to him.

“Dante?”

He turns, crisp blue eyes looking a little darker tonight—a little more burdened.

“Thank you for letting me stay. Even if I was a pain in the ass earlier.”

He nods. “Good night, tesoro.”

I sigh, turning back to the room. As I shower, dress for bed, and brush my teeth, I remember what Slate said about the church, how he’d asked Dante if he was alright.

Part of me wonders if I should check on the man. What if St. Andrews was where his wife’s funeral was? He could be hurting at the expense of helping his friend and boss plan his wedding.

But I also know I want to maintain the separation between us—or start to. We most definitely got off on the wrong foot when we met, and I need to backtrack now.

Everything with Dante Ricci feels too raw and too honest all at the same time, and it’s not something I can deal with right now.

Not when my best friend’s wedding is right around the corner.

I unclasp the door handle, back away, and get into bed.

The room is dark, and the sounds of the city outside aren’t something I’m used to, so I grab the remote from the drawer and push buttons until the television pops up from near the foot of the bed.

Clicking through show after show, I settle for my old favorite, Stranded , and nestle into the plush feel of the bed. I know I won’t last long; I’m exhausted physically and mentally, but I give it a good go and glue my eyes to the television. All the while, sleep tries to tug me under.

The Television is still on when I wake up to light spilling through the room and stretch. I shut off the screen, which wants to know if I’m still there, and toss the covers back.

I know Dante has money, but this bed is the picture of luxury, and I haven’t slept that well in my entire life.

I ignore the part of me screaming that it’s all because of who’s sleeping across the hall from me.

The smell of food and the aroma of coffee brewing wafts up my nose. I move through dressing, brushing my teeth, and putting on the barest amount of makeup to get me through today’s wedding planning with Lorenzo and Antonio.

I have a feeling those two will fight like cats and dogs.

I pad into the kitchen, hearing the low hum of appliances in greeting.

“Good morning, tesoro.”

I nearly snarl at him but decide to be cordial and smile. I haven’t asked Slate what my new nickname means, and I don’t know if I want to this time.

“Good morning. May I?” I ask, waving toward the coffee pot.

“Go ahead, I brewed it for you.”

I try to ignore the kindness and pour a cup, adding cream and sugar after Dante instructs me where they are.

“I got some pastry from the bakery a few doors down and scrambled some eggs up.”

He’s reading the paper, and it looks so mundane, like a fifties sitcom character come to life before me.

“Thank you.” I peruse the pastry, landing on a croissant. I add some eggs to the plate he left out for me, then sit next to him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, donning slacks and a button-up, and already smelling like pure fucking sin as he perches his ankle over his muscular thigh and scans his eyes over article after article.

“I didn’t think you the voracious reader,” I say, trying to grasp at straws to make small talk.

“Well, you don’t know me, now, do you?” he tosses back, and I can’t ignore the sting his words cause in my chest.

For a few moments, I eat and remain silent.

“Thank you for letting me stay here. Brynne said it will only be for a few days.”

“I know.”

Alright, then.

I don’t honestly know what crawled up his ass and died, but I’m going to rise above it and choose not to get baited into whatever game he’s playing—even if I want to smack the paper from his hands and force him to tell me what his problem is now.

“I’ll be working late. Slate has some things I need to tie up for him. I left a key on the island for you,” he tells me.

I turn and look, finding the key with my eyes as I nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, tesoro.”

I grind my teeth before I realize his game is working and force myself to stop.

“I’m sure I’ll be late as well. I have to plan the wedding details with Lorenzo and Antonio, and they don’t seem to get along too well just yet.”

“They’re from two very different families. There’s going to be growing pains while the men settle.”

Something about the way he’d said it had my stomach knotting. Their life is wholly different from what Brynne and I are used to. And though I’m confident we’re going to make it our bitch, I know it’s going to be trying at times.

“That’s understandable. I guess I’ll go easy on them.”

His shift in mood is throwing me off, and I don’t like it. I get up and collect my dishes, taking them to the sink as I wash them.

The rush of water from the faucet covers his steps, and I nearly scream and drop the mug in my hand when he presses into me from behind, skimming his lips over my ear.

“You’re much more amenable this morning, tesoro.”

I can’t fucking breathe.

My eyes flick down to where his tattooed hand is gripping the edge of the sink, white-knuckled with veins popping on its surface.

He loves to cage me in.

“Lost your voice?” he taunts as I try to keep my bodily reaction to him at a minimum.

“No.”

“Put the mug down,” he orders, and his voice holds so much command I almost instantly listen before I think better of it.

“I’m washing it,” I counter.

“I pay people to do that. Put it down.”

I continue to wash the mug and place it gently in the drying rack to the right of the sink, reaching to shut off the water.

Once it’s off, Dante twirls me around to face him. Tipping my chin up with two fingers, he scans my face as if trying to riddle me out or pull himself together before he speaks. “Tesoro, having you here is setting me on edge. It would be a good idea for you to listen to me.”

“Why?” I breathe. “What’ll you do if I don’t? Spank me?”

He doesn’t laugh, and there’s no amusement on his face. “Do you know what I do for a living, Alyssa?”

The deathly tone of his voice and how it doesn't waver has me shifting on my feet.

“I know what you do, Dante.”

At least, I think I do.

“If you did, you wouldn’t want a man like me to feel uneasy. You’d do everything you could to make him steadier.”

I open my mouth to give sass back, and that’s when I see it, sadness.

There’s a lurking darkness in his eyes that he can’t hide for long, and he let it dull his usual shine momentarily before he stowed it as he spoke.

“Dante.” I reach up and cup his cheek.

I’m ready for him to react negatively. To push away and storm out of the apartment.

He doesn’t, however.

He closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

“Her service was at St. Andrews, wasn’t it?” I ask him, steeling myself for his reaction.

His eyes open, and they’re glassed over with tears on their surface. He nods.

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s the thing that pushes him away, and he shoves away from the counter. I grab his hand and tug him back.

“This thing you’re doing for Slate and Brynne, even if only Slate knows how big it is, is so amazing. It takes a strong person to be selfless to such a magnitude, Dante. Thank you. On Brynne’s behalf, thank you.”

His lids cover his beautiful, sad eyes again, and two tears drip down his cheeks. I capture them both with my thumbs, lean on tip-toe, and seal my lips to his.

It’s not hot and all-consuming like the kisses we shared before. It’s a little inky and heavy.

He breaks his lips away and heads for the door without another word.

I don’t know what state things will be in tonight when I get back, but I know that Dante Ricci might be the best fucking man I’ll ever know.

It’s a damn shame I can’t be the woman to sweep him off his feet because he deserves it.