Chapter Twenty-Eight

Adele

Rage explodes inside me, hot tears blinding my vision. "Abso-fucking-lutely not, you bastard!" I slip off the island, my bare feet hitting the cold tiles with a slap, the chill sending a twinge up my hip. "I will not let you destroy my life like that," I yell as I head for the door, my heart shattering with every step.

"Where are you going?" Dante calls after me, his voice echoing in the vast hallway.

"Away from you!" I shout, my voice cracking as I throw open the door and step into the large, unfamiliar space. Unsure of which way Aydin and I came from, I take the next right, fully expecting Dante to follow me. But he doesn't.

A winding staircase down and two right turns later, I find myself lost, the labyrinth of corridors seemingly endless. What kind of house is this anyway? I mutter, as I start to retrace my steps, my fingers trailing along the cool, smooth walls. Most doors have no handles, only sleek black handprint panels that mock me with their inaccessibility, a reminder of the world I'm not privy to.

The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of my bare feet on the carpet and the pounding of my heart. Where is everyone? I strain my ears, thinking I hear faint sounds—a deep chuckle, maybe—but I can't tell where exactly they're coming from.

Finally, sick of it all, I crumple to the carpeted stairs, my body shaking with sobs. It seems like ages ago that Kira talked me into going to Resin nightclub, a distant memory from another life, a life that was falling apart but a life nonetheless.

"Addy." Dante's voice is gentle as he suddenly appears beside me. His hand reaches out to comfort me, then he thinks better of it and lets it drop to his side. "Tesoro, I'm not destroying your life. I'm saving it."

"It doesn't feel that way, Dante."

Dante moves to the door opposite the staircase and places his palm against the sleek black panel on it. It swings open. He holds out his hand to me. "Come on, let's talk about this."

Seeing no other choice, I follow him into the room. It's a large space with a seating area off to the side where a rich gold velvet chaise longue sits. A pool table dominates the center of the room, with cue sticks lined up along the wall.

Dante leans against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes never leaving me as I drop into the velvet chaise lounge. "Until I know who was behind the blast, Addy, it has to be this way."

I shake my head, trying, and failing, to clear the fog of irritation. "But you said Kira knows the truth. Why can't my dad be told too? He may be a liar, but he doesn't deserve this." I remember the sheen of tears in his eyes the last time I was home. No matter what, he was still my father for eighteen years. "He'll be devastated, Dante."

"No doubt he will be," Dante agrees, but there's a hard edge to his voice. "In fact, the entire Boston Irish Mob will be devastated. Although vengeful and bloodthirsty is a more apt description of how they will react."

My spine stiffens as I welcome the familiar buzzing in my ears, that white noise that signals to me that it's time for me to bail, to leave a conversation I don't want to face. But this time, Dante seems to pin me in place with his piercing gaze, his eyes intense and unwavering, and I'm unable to move a muscle, my body frozen under the weight of his stare. It appears I am being forced to confront the truth that I refused to face the last time I spoke to Dad.

Still, I balk, my mind grasping at straws, desperate for any way out of this reality. "Dante, I'm talking about my dad, and you're going on about some Irish Mob. I don't see what one has to do with the other." My voice wavers, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears.

Dante's stare remains unwavering, his eyes boring into mine. "Baby, you do. Your father masquerades as an accountant, a paragon of morals, but deep down, you've always known. Tell me that even before finding out about the counterfeiting, you didn't know there was a darkness in him."

"I-I . . ." My voice trails off, my throat constricting with emotion.

"Benjamin O'Shea is not only a high-ranking member of the Boston Irish Mob. He's the second in command." Dante's words hang in the air, the truth of them settling over me like a heavy blanket.

I stare straight ahead, frozen to the spot as my world turns over again for what seems to be the tenth time in the past twenty-four hours. My heart races, my palms go slick with sweat as I try to process this new reality. After a few moments, I feel the seat dip as Dante sits next to me and pulls me into his arms, his warmth enveloping me like a protective cocoon, the scent of him both comforting and overwhelming.

"I can't believe . . . How is this my life?" My words are muffled against his chest. But deep down, I know Dante is right.

"Baby, this has always been your life. You just weren't living it." As if to emphasize his point, Dante's fingers graze the scar over my hip, the touch sending a shiver down my spine.

My mind reels with the implications of his words. "How long have you known all this?"

Dante's fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Addy, haven't you wondered why every time you've stepped into Chicago, the Irish Mob goes crazy? That day you came to Ecolab, the Irish showed up because of you."

I shake my head, clutching at straws, but the memories come, hitting me hard and fast. Dad's lies. His instructions to stay away from Chicago and the warning that there was much more he needed to tell me.

"Why? Why would they follow me around?"

"Your father's orders, I imagine. Remember when I told you that we and the Mob don't get along?"

I nod woodenly, recalling how he'd pulled the car over to tell me this. His eyes had bored into mine, his expression so earnest, as if he'd expected me to understand.

Dante continues, "After that night we broke up, a war broke out between us and lasted for months, until Benjamin came to draw a truce."

"My dad came to see you?" I sputter, my eyes wide with shock.

He nods. "He wanted to negotiate new terms of peace. He also told me to back off because you were his daughter and that you were promised to someone else."

For the longest time, I can't say anything, my mind struggling to process this new information. Finally, I find my voice. "He lied. I'm not engaged to anyone."

Dante doesn't look convinced. "Yes, an engagement would require that you know about it. But your father and his goons are not the most transparent sort. If you were promised to some mobster, there's a good chance he won't tell you."

"Come on! What's he going to do, blindfold me and take me to the altar?"

Dante says nothing and his silence feeds my frustration. "So, what happens now?"

"Now that you're dead at the hands of Italians, you mean?" Dante's words are blunt, the reality of the situation hitting me like another gut punch, but I nod wearily.

"Now, we go to war."

I drop my head into my hands, my fingers tangling in my hair. "Oh God, no. You can prevent this war by simply letting my father know that I'm alive."

"No. No one can know that just yet."

"Dante, I don't want a war. Guns, bombs, innocent people getting killed, their lives destroyed . . . so many people dying just to save one person. It's not worth the chaos—"

Dante cuts in roughly, his eyes flashing. "Don't you ever say that again, do you hear me? You don't dictate how much value I place on you. If I want to go through a thousand lives to keep you safe, it's my prerogative."

"Well, it's my life," I snap, my chin lifting.

"Sure, and that's my child you're carrying."

Dante's heated words hover in the air between us before descending straight into my core.

We stare at each other, at an impasse, my eyes brimming with angry, frustrated tears even as I start to throb with arousal. I want to smack his gorgeous face, almost as much as I want him to fuck me again. Desperately.

Which is my cue to run.

"Oh, fuck it. I'm tired. I'm going back to bed. Alone." I stand abruptly, my legs shaking as I storm off toward the door. "And I don't want to see you for the rest of the day," I throw behind me, more to my raging hormones than to him.

"Okay, Addy." Dante doesn't even spare me a look. He only leans back on the chaise, his head thrown back, eyes closing as if getting ready to take a nap. Jerk.

I push the door open with more force than necessary and step out, my heart pounding in my chest. And then I freeze. I don't know where I'm going, and I can't go back inside because the door has no handle, only a handprint scanner. Somehow, I don't think it'll recognize mine.

With a maneuver a stunt artist would be proud of, I slam myself back into the door before the final inch closes and fly back inside the room. I move back to Dante, my eyes narrowing as I take in his relaxed posture.

"Need something, baby?" Dante is still reclining on the chaise, hands knitted behind his head. His big torso is on display, his shirt stretched taut under rippling muscles. His gaze is literally ripping my shirt into shreds right now, and I feel my body respond, my nipples tightening and my core clenching with need.

God, it's too unfair for him to be this attractive.

"I can't find my way back," I admit, hating the way my voice trembles.

"Do you want to go back to the basement, or do you want to stay in my suite?" He tilts his head, studying me intently. "Don't worry, I don't live here."

For some reason, that revelation crushes me, and I have no idea why. "You don't?"

"No."

"I'll stay in your suite then." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I feel a flush creep up my neck.

Dante uncoils from the chaise with feline grace, closing the gap between us in a few long strides. "Do you want me to take you there?" His voice is low and rough, and I know exactly what he's asking me.

Unfortunately, there's only one answer to both questions, which annoys me even more. "What do you think?" I spin on my heels, not waiting to catch the smirk on his face.

But my pace is no match for his, and within seconds, he's caught up to me in the corridor, his hand slipping through my hair and around the back of my neck in a possessive grip. "The mansion is actually pretty simple to navigate. It's all in a circle, so you can't get lost," he says as we go up a curving staircase, his breath hot against my ear.

He starts pointing out different landmarks, explaining how they connect to the rest of the mansion. "See that painting of my grandfather over there?" He gestures toward a large oil portrait of a stern-looking man with piercing eyes that seem to follow us as we move. "If you take the hallway to the left, it'll take you to the kitchen. And if you go to the right, you'll find the library."

I nod, trying to take it all in and memorize everything, but it's hard to focus with Dante's body so close to mine, his scent wrapping around me like a seductive cocoon.

"And my suite is just down that way." He continues, pointing toward a set of large double doors on the other side of the room. "It's got everything you need, including my number."

"You're assuming I'll want to call you," I retort, trying to ignore the way my heart skips a beat at the thought of having him on speed dial.

He only huffs out a laugh, and the sound sends a delicious thrill through me.

When we reach the double doors, he takes my hand and places it on the handprint panel. I'm shocked to hear a soft click and see the doors swing open. I whirl back to face him, my eyes wide. "How?"

"I disabled it before. You've just reset it now." His eyes are dark and intense as he ushers me inside, his hand pressed firmly against the small of my back.

We step into the room, and immediately, I'm assailed by the brightness and acoustics. Heavy metal rock blares from hidden speakers, the harsh chords reverberating through my body. Dante touches a few buttons on the wall panel, drawing down the blinds and shutting off the music, plunging the room into a soft, muted light.

Like the kitchen, one entire wall is made of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the lush vegetation beyond. Dante's huge sleigh bed is positioned right next to it, making it feel like one is hanging right off into the greenery. I can only imagine how incredible dawn must be here, waking up to the first rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves.

"You said you don't live here. Why is there music?" I ask.

"No, I don't. Aydin sets it whenever I'm in the house." He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay. Well, thanks." I glance pointedly at the door while ignoring the screeching protest in my ovaries.

His eyes roam over my body like a physical caress. "I'll let you get settled in then. Clothes are in the closet."

"Your clothes or mine?" The words are out of my mouth before I can rationalize them. Four words, seemingly innocent, but with the way Dante reacts, they may be the filthiest words ever spoken.

Dante goes still. His eyes widen as a look of feral hunger settles on his face. "Fuck, Addy," he growls, an animalistic rumble that makes my core pulse with heat.

"What?" I ask innocently. I may be melting into a puddle of lust, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying the effect my words are having on him too. "It was a simple and valid question, considering . . ." I gesture at my garb.

In a few long strides, he closes the distance between us. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me flush against his body. I gasp at the contact, feeling the hard planes of his chest pressing against my soft curves, the heat of his skin seeping through our clothes.

"And here's your simple and valid answer: Feel free to wear my clothes and smell of me." His lips score the shell of my ear. "Since you're already wearing me on the inside."

My lids fall closed and I arch into him, my body responding to his words with a desperate, aching need. "Dante," I breathe, his name a plea and a prayer all at once.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his hands kneading my ass through his shirt. "Tell me where else you want me."

My head falls back as I surrender to the sensations coursing through my body. "Everywhere. Now."