Chapter Sixteen

Adele

Watching Dante leave with his fiancée feels like having a hole carved in my chest with a blunt knife. Unnatural and brutal.

As he guides her up the steps, I notice Dante's usually loose-limbed gait seems forced, his shoulders tense under his tailored jacket while Alina strains to get nearer to him. It seems obvious to me that he doesn't return her affections, but then again, that might be the stupidly hopeful part of me thinking that.

Whatever the case, though, Dante is committed to her. He's marrying her. He wouldn't even spare me a glance while she was there.

Suddenly, I understand why he was so conflicted the last time we were together. Why he needed to smoke so badly. Why he told me never to come back.

It had nothing to do with the Outfit's so-called war with the Irish or our roles in the Martelli trial. It's because he was engaged to Alina.

The man was just being nice, and I threw myself at him, pushed his buttons, and even flashed him my legs.

Really, what did I expect from Dante after I did all of that?

And now, there's nothing more to do than leave him alone. The pulsing beat of the club suddenly feels suffocating, the flashing lights disorienting.

"Well, Kira," I say, forcing a wry smile and slipping off my stool. "As far as dramatic ex reunions go, this was soap opera gold."

"Addy," Kira's hand stops me with a hand on my arm. "Dante won't marry her. He's just biding his time until he can break things off."

"Oh please, Kira. I don't need any platitudes here. I'm a big girl," I say, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Trust me, babe, that's not what I'm doing. Dante Vitelli only does one thing: What he wants to do. And he clearly doesn't want Alina."

No argument there. Still, I'm not about to stick around for crumbs. Coming here was a big mistake in the first place. "Well, good for him. I'm leaving."

"You're going back on a fifteen-hour drive to Boston now?"

"No, of course not. I'll find a motel, and come back at dawn when you finish up. And I promise I'll be fine, don't worry," I say to reassure her when I see her brows knit with concern.

Kira throws her arms around me. "Okay, babe. Thanks. For everything. And I'm sorry. I just thought that if you saw him again, you'd get some clarity on the . . . situation."

"It's okay, Kira. I understand. You're an amazing DJ, by the way," I whisper, my chin resting on her shoulder. "Way, way better than your idol, Zedd."

She chuckles, kisses my cheek, then steps back and lets the tattooed man guide her away. The man inclines his head to me in a gesture I can only interpret as respect before he leads Kira away.

As soon as the duo disappears into the throng of gyrating dancers, I get the urge to escape and breathe. Maybe cry a little too. I need to process everything that just happened tonight.

I grab my purse and turn to leave.

But I don't even make it two steps before a large hand clamps down on my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

"Not so fast."

I jump and almost scream in alarm, and then I see it's none other than Hulky. His massive frame towers over me, his grip firm but not painful.

"For fuck's sake, get a real job, Hulky. Manhandling women is about as classy as a fart in church," I spit, my free hand balling into a fist at my side.

His grip on my arm remains like a vise. "Says the woman who bites like a rabid chihuahua," he retorts, his face impassive save for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Anyway, Boss wants a word with you."

"Oh really? Well, tell Boss that he can go fuck himself."

Hulky doesn't budge, his stance as solid as a mountain. "His instructions were to wait."

"To wait for him while he gets his rocks off with his fiancée?" My nostrils flare with rage, and I jab my finger into his chest. "Even you must know that's a little excessive. If you're allowed to form an opinion, that is."

Hulky's eye twitches, but his face is otherwise impassive.

Instantly, I regret what I just said. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"Save it," Hulky snaps, rubbing at his chest in a way that makes me wonder if I have ice picks for nails. I double-check just to be sure, but nope, they're smooth and buffed into blunt ovals.

"Can you at least let go of me?" I ask. The warmth of his hand on my arm is becoming uncomfortable.

Hulky instantly drops my arm as if I'm on fire, then steps back. "If you try to leave—"

"What, you'll take my shoes and knock me out cold?" I cross my arms over my chest, shifting my weight to one hip.

"—you won't get very far, I meant to say. But now that you mention it, that could work too."

I sigh, my shoulders sagging in defeat. It's no use. Hulky won't let me leave. I'm trapped here until that jerk returns. Seeing no other choice, I return to my bar stool.

"What's your name, anyway?" I ask, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress.

"Hulky Hulk," he replies with a straight face, and I can't help the chuckle that bubbles out of me.

"That's a good, strong name," I remark.

"Thank you," he replies. As if those words were a secret code, Hulky visibly relaxes. He takes a step back, widens his stance, and folds one hand over the other. I'm pretty sure I only said ‘thank you' and not ‘at ease,' but something tells me there's no point trying to figure out Hulky.

As he shifts, I catch a glint of gold on his ring finger. A wedding band. Huh. Why does the fact that Hulky is married surprise me?

"He cares for you." As soon as the words tumble out of Hulky's mouth, he stiffens, his jaw clenching as if he wants to snatch them back. I'm about to dig into what he just said when I see Dante approaching, and my stupid breath catches again.

Dante's eyes—like embers of smoky quartz—hold mine captive until he comes to a stop right in front of me, his thighs brushing the front of my knees.

He's close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his spicy cologne mingling with the scent of expensive whiskey on his breath.

His gaze slowly sweeps over me, taking in my dress, my hair, and my face until I can almost taste the tension crackling in the air between us. Despite my irritation, a throb begins between my legs.

"I'll take it from here, Pietro," Dante says, still not taking his eyes off me. He looms over me, making me feel small and vulnerable.

"Boss." Hulky—Pietro, apparently—nods and moves a few steps away, but I notice he doesn't leave. His footsteps fade into the background noise of the club.

"Let's go talk," Dante murmurs, and the low rumble of his voice vibrates through me.

"I think we're way past talking," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to school my face into a mask of fury. I fail miserably, but at least my voice doesn't waver. "Why don't you go back to your . . ." I wave a hand dismissively toward the VIP lounge, ". . . fiancée?"

Dante ignores my question and instead continues to sear me with his gaze. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking visibly. "Now, Addy," he commands.

"Fuck off." The words come out as a hiss between clenched teeth.

Something flashes across his face, and then he leans over me, bracing both hands on the bartop, caging me in and closing the gap between us. The nightclub disappears as my world contracts, and all I see is him. My gaze travels up his muscled chest and neck before finally meeting his molten silver gaze.

He's too close. His heat surrounds me, his breath fanning against my lips. I raise my hands to his chest to push him away but somehow get distracted by his nearness, so they hang uselessly on his lapels, the fabric smooth under my fingers.

"What are you doing?" My hands finally cooperate and push against his muscled chest, but whether I haven't applied enough force or he's too stubborn, I can't tell because he doesn't budge. His body is like a wall of solid heat.

He bends his head, letting his lips trail along my temple before he whispers into my ear. "I want to talk to you. Alone." His stubble scratches lightly against me, raising goosebumps on my skin.

The last dredges of my anger evaporate as my body completely betrays me. My nipples harden into painful points as my fingers find their way into his partially open shirt, running against the warm inked skin beneath. But even while his big body forms a warm cocoon, I'm not completely lost on the fact that there are other people sitting at this bar.

"You're making a scene, Dante," I say in a hushed tone.

"What, you're worried your boyfriend will get jealous?" His breath tickles my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"He's not my boyfriend. And you should be more concerned about your own fiancée. You know, the woman you're going to be married to in a few weeks, jerkhole." I push against his chest, trying to create some distance between us.

He rears back and looks at me with an unreadable expression. Then his arm snakes around my waist, and he drags me off the stool and right against his body. I'm still trying to tug down my hem when he grabs my purse and steers me away from the bar without letting me go.

Bodies part as he walks us toward the door, my body plastered against his side.

"Stop fidgeting and smile for the cameras," he bends to whisper in my ear. "We'll be all over the internet by morning."

And that's when I notice the raised phones.

How is this even happening to me right now?

The moment we get outside and the cool night air hits my flushed skin, I snatch my purse from him and wrench myself out of his arms. "Get off me, Dante. I have a life and job, you know?"

I notice Pietro has followed us outside, his hulking form stands guard a few feet away.

"It's not a crime to be photographed with a man, Addy," Dante says.

If only he were just a man. "I know that. I'm just not prepared to deal with unnecessary online speculation."

And if what my dad said is true, whoever is out to get me shouldn't know that I'm in Chicago right now.

Dante takes a step closer. "So why did you come here tonight, Addy? What do you want from me?"

"You think I came back for you?" I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "Please. Don't even flatter yourself."

"What am I supposed to think when you keep showing up uninvited in my house?"

I shake my head, not even willing to dignify that with a response. I simply spin on my flats and start to walk toward my rental car, trying my damnedest not to limp.

His voice stops me. "Adele."

My lids fall closed. It's unfair that Dante Vitelli calls me like that, drawing my name to three syllables. Raspy, musical, provocative. I hate what it does to me.

"What?" I ask, not turning around.

"Tell me you came here for me tonight. That you couldn't get me out of your mind, so you tagged along with Kira, wearing that dress and letting some asshole put his hands all over you to get my attention."

"I didn't come to get your attention."

"Well, you have it now. All of it."

I feel myself melting, so I grit my teeth and stiffen my spine. "I don't want it, Dante. You can shove it up your ass. I'm leaving."

"The hell you are." The next thing I know I'm up in his arms and he's stalking toward a huge black SUV.

"Dante, where are you taking me?" I push against his chest, my hands meeting solid muscle.

"Home."

"Oh my God. You wouldn't fucking dare." My heart races with a mix of fear and excitement.

"I told you not to come back, Addy. What I didn't warn you about was what would happen if you did."

"So, what, you'll keep me prisoner?" I squirm in his arms, but his grip is unyielding.

"No. I'll let you decide if you still want to leave when we're done."

"Done doing what?"

He only smiles, then pulls open the passenger door and unceremoniously dumps me into the front passenger seat. The leather feels refreshingly cool against my heated skin.

"You're engaged, for fuck's sake."

"Did you see a ring on her?" His eyebrow arches as he leans over me.

I violently shove down the hope swelling inside me. "I don't care. You're planning to marry her. You're promised to wed. You already gave your word. You're betrothed. Avowed . . ."

"Are you done with the synonyms or would you like a thesaurus?" He grabs the seatbelt and buckles me in, his hands brushing against my thigh.

"Fuck you," I spit, my hands clenching into fists.

"You will, baby. Soon."

My core clenches at his words. What on earth has Kira gotten me into? I scramble for an excuse. "Seriously, I–I can't go home with you."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?" I sputter in disgust. "You're getting married. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"For the last time, Addy, I'm not marrying Alina. And you should know I've never touched her."

"You did. Tonight," I can't help grumbling, crossing my arms over my chest.

He rears back to stare at me for a full minute. "Well, then since we're being jealous. Why the fuck did you let him put his hands on you?"

"Who, Zedd?"

He cocks his brow. "Whatever the fuck he calls himself. I was that close to snapping his neck."

"Good. Now you know how I felt."

Dante suddenly throws back his head and laughs, and that's when I realize I said that out loud.

Shit. "Look, I need to leave."

His thumb traces my bottom lip slowly, and I have to tamp down an insane desire to suck on it.

"No, Addy, you don't want to leave. You want to spend the night with me buried deep inside you."

My lids flutter closed. That's it, game over. My body had thrown in the towel. But my mind stubbornly refuses to cave, coming up with another excuse.

"I can't. I have to return my car to the agency first thing Monday morning or lose my deposit . . . and Kira—your godsister or whatever—she has some of her things in the trunk. She'll need them. I'll talk to you here, but I can't go home with you."

"Where's the rental car?" He leans close to me, his body tempting me with his nearness.

"It's in section 2B. A black Corolla." I fidget with the hem of my dress, avoiding his gaze.

"Give me your keys."

"Dante, wait."

He simply reaches for my purse and fishes out the car keys. He straightens and tosses the key to Hulky. "Corolla in 2B. Get it returned to Boston."

"Boss." Pietro leaves, his footsteps fading into the night.

"Pietro will take care of it, alright?" Dante dips his head and murmurs against my lips, his breath hot on my skin.

"Dante—"

His lips capture mine in a kiss that I instantly feel all the way to my toes. Teases my lips until my mouth goes slack with need, then slants his lips over mine and shoves his tongue deep inside my mouth in a clear stake of ownership.

He's rough and demanding, shamelessly sucking, nibbling at my lips, and pulling tortured moans out of me as I feel a rush of wetness coat my panties. Without words, Dante has just told me that he's going to fuck me tonight and I'm going to let him.

I swear there's no man alive who can communicate more eloquently with his body the way Dante can.

And then, as suddenly as the decadent kiss began, Dante tears his mouth off me only to plant a chaste peck on my forehead, a complete one-eighty from the way he's been plundering my mouth just now, apparently because I still need a final mindfuck.

Wordlessly, he steps back, slams my door shut, rounds the car, then gets into the driver's seat while I meticulously pick my scattered brains off the floor.

I'm still catching my breath when the engine roars to life, and Dante backs out of the parking spot. I see Pietro in my rental car already idling at the entrance of the lot.

Just as Dante approaches the waiting Corolla, a deafening explosion rips through the night, its force rattling the SUV.

Dante immediately throws his body against my chest, knocking the wind out of me as the car rocks violently. My ears ring, and the world becomes a mix of reverberating echoes and alarming cars. Heat, smoke, and debris fill the air, and the smell of smoke stings my nostrils.

"Addy!" Dante calls, his voice tight and urgent.

It's only when I feel his hands running over my face that I realize my eyes are tightly shut and I'm screaming. I open my eyes a fraction and nod. "What was tha—"

Before I can finish, Dante swears loudly and throws open the door. "Under no circumstances should you leave this car, do you understand me?" he barks, and then he's out of the car and running, his hand already reaching for the gun in his back holster.

It takes me a moment to peer beyond the smoke and commotion to realize what just happened.

A bomb. But it's not until I undo my seat belt and crawl into the driver's seat, deftly avoiding the deployed airbags, that the full weight of the situation crashes down on me, stealing my breath and leaving me paralyzed with shock and terror.

Smoke billows from the charred metal that remains where the Corolla had been a minute ago. A shoe with the foot still in it lies a few feet from the smoking ruins.

I swallow a wave of nausea as the horrifying facts hit home. Hulky – Pietro. Dante's man. He was inside my rental car.

The car that just exploded.

That should have been me in pieces all over the parking lot.

And then Dante is in my line of vision, striding toward the burning ruins, disbelief etched on his features. He stands close—too close to the smoking ruins, frozen in shock.

Suddenly, he tears off his jacket and launches it at the rubble, then drags his hand through his hair and throws his head back. I can hear his almost-inhuman roar of grief and feel every bit of his devastation and an inexplicable urge grips me.

I need to go to him.

Before I can think better of it, I grab the door handle.

Just then, Kira's tattooed friend appears from nowhere and grabs Dante, dragging him away from the inferno.

"Fratello ," he yells, pleading with Dante, his voice breaking, "Go. I'll finish here."

Dante spins around, his face a mask of anguish and fury, his voice a raw snarl. "Who would dare?" He struggles against the man's grip, and I see his control, always so absolute, shattering before my eyes. It's the most rattled I've ever seen him, the most vulnerable. His gray eyes are glassy with tears and blazing with a desperate fear I've never witnessed before.

Something inside me snaps. I can't just sit here and watch. Dante needs me. He needs someone. Anyone.

I open the SUV door and stumble out, my legs shaky beneath me.

"Dante!" My voice is a choked whisper, lost in the roar of the fire and the panicked shouts of the crowd starting to gather at a safe distance.

He hears me, his eyes widening as he sees me standing there. "Get back in the car, Addy," he shouts. "Right now!"

His words are laced with panic and a terror that chills me to the bone. But beneath it all, I see something else in his eyes. It's not anger. It's terror. For me. He wouldn't be this afraid if it weren't for me.

My heart aches for him, at the raw pain on his face. He looks like a wounded animal, trapped and desperate.

"Red Wine," Dante says to the man holding him, his words clipped and strained. "She goes off-grid effective immediately, do you understand me?"

Just as he's about to leave, Dante pulls him back and looks into his eyes. "She's in your hands, fratellino."

"I understand, Dante."

And without another word, without a backward glance, Dante turns his back on the chaos and strides toward the club, leaving me standing there with a hollow ache in my chest.

The smell of smoke stings my nostrils, but it's the sight of Dante's retreating form that truly burns.