Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DANTE

Six Months Later

A hefty yawn spreads my lips, and I let it drag out, loudly groaning after it’s over. Stretching my hands to the roof above, I arch my back off the seat of the Range Rover and feel my back pop in multiple spots.

“The drama with you,” Lorenzo jokes, and I sigh.

“Well, we’ve been here for fucking six hours. I don’t know why we had to come so early if we know girls are getting snatched after two a.m.

“We had to come here at the time our boss stipulated. You want to tell a man who’s on the edge already over his wife who’s due any day now with their first child that you don’t want to carry out his orders?”

I swallow. “No thanks. What time is it?”

“Just after midnight,” he says, and I groan and get out of the car.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to stretch my legs.”

Something softens in his eyes. It’s likely the realization that I have enough metal in my leg to join the Autobots if Optimus Prime ever truly lands on Earth. It’s not causing me pain currently, however.

The new hardware in my left leg only bothers me when it rains.

The night is clear and chilly as I step out of the Range Rover and wander across the street. I lean against a lamppost, out of sight, and blend in with the shadows surrounding it.

It dawns on me that this is probably how they do it, the ones stealing all the unsuspecting girls off the streets as they make their way home.

The light hitting the Range Rover in the window makes it look like someone’s in the back. Memories flood, reminding me of the best night I’ve ever spent in that car with a beautiful blonde woman in a fucking onesie.

I smile despite the ache in my chest.

God, I miss her.

As I think about her, I always do the same thing. I whip out my phone and text her.

Thinking of you.

My iPhone makes its usual wooshing noise as the text shoots off to Alyssa’s phone. I thought these texts would work for the first few weeks and I’d wear her down.

She ran.

Things got complicated, and she was hurting, and she did what she does when she’s hurting.

I went through endless weeks of physical therapy, accompanied by doctor’s visits and rehabilitation appointments, after all the doctors finally deemed it safe enough to wake me from the medical coma.

Slate quickly retaliated and dealt with Don Romano to get both families to agree on a ceasefire.

The docks are now shut down and off limits, other than to Ricci family members, but that hasn’t stopped the influx of abductions happening nightly, sometimes right in our territory.

We have men stationed all over our areas, waiting to catch whoever is taking these girls. Last week, an eighteen-year-old girl was walking back from her grandma’s house to go home, and vanished.

Whoever it is, they’re not being picky on who they snatch. Likely, it’s someone selling girls based on their looks, which isn’t uncommon in trafficking rings.

I watch the message for the longest time, praying that this is the time she answers. The tag below the message says delivered, so at least I know she hasn’t blocked me. There’s still hope.

At least, that’s what I let myself believe.

My feelings for her are still overwhelming most days, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get over her.

Even though she chose to leave, unlike Anna, I can’t let it rest.

I love her.

I sigh, pocketing my phone and shoving it back as I head toward the car.

I open the door and slide back into the passenger seat, staring off through the windshield as ringing silence greets me.

“You know where she is. Go get her ass and drag her back.”

I fight a smile. “What good would that do, Lorenzo?” I turn toward him, catching the tail end of his shrug.

“I don’t know. I mean, Slate kept Brynne hostage there for a bit; look how that turned out.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips free. “That’s an entirely different situation. Brynne shot Slate if you remember correctly. She wasn’t afraid of him, nor the feelings that could come because of him. Alyssa is scared. Fear only heightens when someone’s pushed beyond their limits. She needs time.”

“It’s been six months, Dante.”

“I know.”

Fuck, for a girl like her, I don’t know that she doesn’t need a lifetime to get over the shit she’s hanging onto.

My phone rings after a moment of silence, causing me to jump.

“Hey, Boss,” I answer, mainly to let Lorenzo know who’s on the phone.

“Hey. We’re headed to the hospital. I need you away from there and back at the offices. Can you do that?” Slate says breathlessly.

I can’t imagine a man like him being good in this type of situation. I’m certain Brynne was the level-headed one when she realized she might be in labor.

She’s a little past thirty-eight weeks and miserable, and it’s been driving poor Slate mad.

“We got it, Boss. Don’t worry. Brynne doing alright?”

I hear a blood-curdling scream beside him. “Focus on driving, will you?” Brynne growls at Slate on the other end.

I cough to keep from laughing.

“She’s fine. I might not make it through this, though.”

“Stop being a baby! I’m the one pushing this mammoth, Italian brute of a child out of my body!”

“Good luck, Boss.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

The call ends, and Lorenzo whistles.

“I do not envy him right now.”

I chuckle. “Me either. He wants us back at the offices. It might be baby time,” I tell Lorenzo, to which he nods and turns the Range Rover on, pulling away from the curb.

I haven’t driven since that day with Alyssa, and I don’t know when I’ll be comfortable doing so.

Part of me knows it’s a bit hypocritical of me not to work through my fears when I begged Alyssa to get over hers.

But I can’t help it, either.

Strangely, the accident helped me understand her better. If not her, then the anxiety she harbors.

Slate looks exhausted across the room from me. The labor turned out to be false, but they still kept Brynne overnight for monitoring. I tried to tell him this morning, when he showed up at my door looking like death warmed over, that I could skip this therapy, but he wasn’t having it.

So, now he’s perched in the waiting room, weary-eyed and yawning as we wait for my name to be called.

Once it is, I go through the motions of all my exercises. This week, we’re working on my range of motion with my leg and knee, helping the stabilizing muscles grow stronger around the new hardware in my leg.

The day drags on once Slate drops me at my place, and even though I know I should stay put and rest until Lorenzo comes to get me for the stakeout tonight, I text Pauly and tell him I have somewhere I need to be.

She took a job as an accountant for a very prestigious firm on East 42nd St. Not any firm, either. PwC Accounting is the largest firm not only on the East Coast but also in the United States.

It’s tough to get a job there, and part of me wonders if Slate had a hand in her getting hired. Though, I wouldn’t blame him for trying to help her. Not everyone is cut out for this life, and her move to leave Brynne’s side is one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance all these months.

If she can’t overlook the dangerous side of this life for her best friend, how will I convince her to return to me?

Her hair whips as she steps out of a yellow cab in front of the PwC building. It towers over her like a mountain she has to climb. She pays it no mind, however.

Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she straightens and heads for the revolving door leading her into the building.

She works on the second to the top floor, keeping the books for some of the largest businesses in America.

I’ve looked into her as much as I could without setting off PwC’s systems or putting up a red flag to Alyssa that I’ve been snooping.

I want her to have the illusion I’m giving her space, even if I’m still texting her in my moments of weakness.

She stops just before the door, turning around and scanning her surroundings as if she felt the weight of my eyes on her.

I’m across the street, in the shadows of a massive potted tree. My hat is tugged down enough, and my sunglasses are dark enough that she won’t recognize me even if she spots me.

I haven’t shaved my beard, and I look like an entirely different person than the Dante she crashed with all those months ago.

She has no clue what shape she left me in when she ran.

Though she didn’t run far.

She’s got her little place in Murray Hill Tower. I was surprised she moved out of the townhouse, but she likely knew I had too much access to her there.

But she didn’t move to Florida, I remind myself. It’s the only thread of hope keeping me putting one foot in front of the other lately.

Not much would’ve stopped me from climbing through that window I know never got fixed and pinning her to the bed by her throat to feel her breathing beneath my hand again.

Well, my leg would’ve stopped me.

Out of all the injuries I sustained, ribs, fractured skull, and concussion, the rods replacing the bones in my left leg were the worst.

For weeks, I thought I’d never recover fully. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in that fucking chair. I thought that was why she left.

Even though I know better.

She loves me in her own way and is too scared to say so.

Everyone knows I come and see her off to work every day, like they know I watch her peruse the fresh markets on Saturday mornings. Slate sat me down on numerous occasions and told me I was punishing myself, turning the torture on myself when I should be torturing for him.

I don’t listen, so they’ve stopped mentioning it.

I don’t work until I’ve seen her; they all know it.

It’s my new routine. My new life.

She’s been inside for over twenty minutes now, so I force myself to push off the tree and head for the car.

Pauly gets out when he spies me getting close and opens the door for me.

“She looked pretty today,” he says as I slide into the back of the Suburban.

I wipe a tear from my right eye, sniffling as I hope he hasn’t seen it. “That she did.”

He closes the door and returns to his seat, driving off without another word.

He doesn’t have to say anything else. His silence says it all.

I can’t turn around and watch the building grow further away as we turn the corner and head toward the office; all I can do is breathe through the stinging in my chest and hope that today’s the day she texts back.

You looked gorgeous today, tesoro.

My text sends, and I glance out the window at passing cars and people. As we hit the morning rush traffic, I knew what to expect.

“You’re torturing both of you at this point,” Pauly says, and I perk up.

He usually doesn’t comment on my activities, not to my face.

“She’s going to be mine, Pauly. I’m wearing her down.”

“Are you, sir? Or are you wearing you down?”

“She hasn’t changed her number or blocked me,” I counter. “That has to mean something.”

“Does it? She’s a busy woman, Dante. What if she’s hoping you stop one day? Just like you’re hoping she answers.”

A burning ball of emotion chokes in my throat, and I try my best to swallow past it.

I’m too cowardly to face or even try to answer that question.

I face the window again, fully aware I’m sulking like a child who’s just gotten into trouble.

“When is the breaking point? When will you hit the point where you finally go up to her office and tell her all the shit you text her in person?”

We’re stopped in a gridlock, allowing me to let my anger boil over the top of the proverbial pot, making a split-second choice to leap out of the car.

Opening Pauly’s door with one hand, I use the other to unholster my 9mm and press it to his head. A scream sounds from somewhere as someone spots me.

Tears flow down my cheeks like two rivers, spilling over my chin like it’s the edge of a waterfall.

“You need to remember your fucking place in this family, Pauly, before I remind you,” I grind out, agony seeping into every word as I get them out.

He’s shaking, his two hands on the wheel, gripping tightly. “Yes, sir,” he bites out.

He wants to say more, but he won’t.

Realization of what I’m doing and how I’m behaving washes over me as if someone’s doused me in cold water, and I shove my gun back in its holster with a shaky hand and wipe the tears off my face.

I pat his shoulder, making him jump. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, Pauly. I’m…” I choke on the words I can’t get out past the new stretching lump in my throat as I close his door and get back into my own.

Traffic begins to move, and Pauly keeps his eyes averted as if the incident never happened.

Long after Pauly goes silent, his words echo around my head like ghosts, taunting me.

When is the breaking point?

When will I give up this folly of making her see that she loves me and move on with my life?

I was happy before Alyssa; I can be again.

The lie settles and sinks through me like a boat with a hole in its hull. Even if I don’t believe it, I know my subconscious won’t.

“We’re here, sir,” Pauly says, culling me from my mind and its darkness.

He gets out and opens the door for me.

I slide out, standing as I straighten my jacket. Removing my hat, I toss it back into the back seat.

“I’ll put them in the glovebox for tomorrow,” Pauly says in way of apology for what he said before.

I clap him on the shoulder, looking ahead so I don’t see the pity in his eyes, and lose it all over again. “Don’t bother, Pauly. I won’t need it any longer. Get rid of the glasses, too.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good day.”

“You too, Pauly,” I mutter, heading inside the building to a meeting I know Slate’s holding for me because I’m late.

This is the point in the game where you either double down or accept your loss. I don’t take defeat lightly, nor am I good at losing. But Pauly was right. They’ve all been right this entire time.

You’ve got to know when to fold ‘em, and I think it’s time.

Dante- 0

Love- 2