Chapter Thirty

Dante

The harsh chords of heavy metal music blare from the speakers, a much-needed distraction and an anchor to my slowly unraveling mind. Because Addy is driving me insane.

The last twenty-four hours have been like a sledgehammer was taken to the shackles in my mind and now I'm left reeling with the dark satisfaction that I've broken every rule. Crossed every line.

I've always sensed this tantalizing part of Addy and have been inexorably drawn to it without fully understanding why. Now her cravings are another matter entirely. Fucked doesn't even begin to cover what I am at this point.

"Was that too much, tesoro? " I murmur against her skin as I massage the jagged scar on her hip.

"No, it was . . . good." She finishes in a throaty whisper that tells me just how good it must have been for her.

"And my weight?" I ask just to distract my wayward mind from conjuring hundreds of other ways to deliver on the pleasure-pain edge she loves, but it's the wrong thing to focus on because the thought of her delicate frame under my two hundred pounds of muscle triggers a fierce sense of protection . . . and another wave of lust inside me

"You are heavy." Her fingers stroke down my back. "But your bed is glorious. It feels like being pressed into fluffy clouds. Although I think my ears are bleeding. Do you need to have it on so loud?"

"Yep. I was going a little bit mad. I'll turn it off as soon as you stop gripping my cock so tightly, and it's safe to pull out without risking a penile degloving."

She giggles. "Ew, Dante, your pillow talk needs serious work if you think that was even remotely romantic."

I trace the thin scar between her breasts. "You don't do romantic, tesoro . You're a fucking cesspit of a thousand ways to die."

Addy's chuckles dissolve into full-on belly laughs, the sound vibrating from her small frame and through me.

"You ever think that something in your subconscious sensed that your life with Benjamin O'Shea was a lie? That maybe you need for answers may have led you down this forensics path?"

She nods, although her eyes appear shuttered. "For as long as I remember, I've had nightmares. They seemed so real, so graphic. I just didn't understand why I kept having the same dream. In time I accepted it. Embraced it even."

Addy lifts her gaze to meet mine. "Then I started to wish they'd go on for longer, so that I'd see more details, like the face of the masked man. Or glimpse the title of any books covering an entire wall. The woman had red hair like me, you know. I used to think it was the blood that made it red, but now I know."

I turn onto my back, taking her with me so she's sprawled on my chest, her ear against my pounding heart. "That was too much to deal with at that tender age."

"I know. I was about six or seven when I told my dad about the woman and the masked man in my dreams, but he brushed it off. He showed me pictures of my mom—a blonde woman—and my dad—a ginger like him. And in time, I started to see more photos around the house, and then we visited gravestones every year . . ." she trails off.

I shut my eyes against the rage churning inside me. What kind of sick bastard treats a child like that? I want to kill him almost as much as I'm grateful that he saved Addy's life.

She shrugs as if it's not a big deal and changes the subject. "Seriously though, Dante, do you have the music on so loud so people wouldn't overhear us? You didn't even scream all that much. I mean, yes, you yelped now and again, but on the whole—"

"Yelped?" I ask, suppressing a chuckle.

"Fine." She sighs. "I'll tell the truth then. It sounded more like screeching."

Suddenly, I shift her to the bed, rolling her to her stomach. Then grabbing her wrists in one of mine, I smack her ass. Hard. She yelps, glaring at me in mock indignation, but I already caught the lust swirling in her eyes the moment my palm hit her ass.

God help me with this woman.

I spank her until her ass cheeks are red with the imprints of my palms and she's moaning into the pillow, then I let go of her wrists and start to stroke the sting away.

"I sometimes need the music to anchor me, keep me from spiraling out of control when things are a little . . . tense."

She goes still, then turns on her side to look at me. "Is it like Kira, you know how she has a hypersensitive sense of hearing, smell, and touch? Do you feel too much sometimes?"

"It's not so much how I feel as how I sometimes process information."

"I have no clue what that means, Dante."

"I know, tesoro . I'll explain later." I glance at my wristwatch. "Right now, I need to go. Work calls."

I press a tender kiss to her neck, then reluctantly stand. As I shut off the speakers and dim the lights, I feel Addy's eyes following my movements. "You should get some sleep, Addy," I call over my shoulder, heading to the bathroom.

When I return, shrugging on a fresh shirt and carrying my suit jacket, Addy's still awake. She turns to watch me, her brows furrowed in concentration, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Something's bothering her.

"So, I trust I won't see you for the rest of the day," she says, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile.

I can't help but smirk, "No, you won't. I wouldn't dream of boring you to death, so I'll go home after work."

"Where's home?" She sits up straighter.

"I told you it's a little place up on Shorecliff beach. Sunsets are awesome. You'll like it."

She hesitates, then asks, "Will you be alone?"

I go still, shocked that she feels the need to ask that. "What do you think, Adele?"

She shakes her head, looking away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Talk to me." I move closer, perching on the edge of the bed.

She takes a deep breath. "It's stupid. It's just . . . Alina said something, and I wondered if you had a thing for redheads . . . women, in general."

Fuck.

Heat crawls up my face, a sensation so foreign I almost don't recognize it. I haven't blushed like this since third grade, when Mrs. Radcliffe caught me passing a note to some girl and read it aloud to the class.

Still, I don't hide my reaction from her. "I have a thing for you. Just you. And no woman has ever seen the inside of my house."

Addy's shoulders relax, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Really?"

I nod, holding her gaze. "Well, one did come close once, but she ran off screaming."

"Why did she run?"

"Something about the Halloween decor spooked her, I think. Although she's still intrigued, and she's now begging for a second chance to see it."

Addy's eyebrow arches. "Really? And you'll let her?"

I shrug, a playful glint in my eye. "Only if I know she won't run again."

"Maybe if you stop scaring her, she'll stop running away." She leans forward, a challenge in her voice.

"Not a chance." I stand, straightening my jacket. "Anyway, I'll be here tomorrow morning. Then you can tell me all about how you managed to do what you did back there without throwing up all over me despite being four weeks pregnant."

"Six," she corrects, her hand unconsciously moving to her belly.

"No, tesoro , we had sex four weeks ago. Do the math."

Addy starts to chuckle, the sound warming me more than I care to admit. "Oh my God, Einstein, that's so not how the math is done."

My brows furrow as I shrug on my jacket. "Do you know how many we're having yet?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She sits up straighter, eyes widening.

"Just saying. Enzo had six. Nico's having two. Might be something in the weed we smoke."

"Dante!" Her voice rises in alarm. "You still smoke?"

"Not unless I'm losing my mind." I walk over to the hidden compartment and take out two loaded guns, securing one in my waist and another in my ankle holster. When I turn back to Addy, I notice how the tension seeps into her shoulders, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

"This work you have . . . what's it about?" Her voice wavers slightly as she cradles her still-flat belly.

I finish adjusting my suit jacket, weighing my words carefully. "Just a meeting to discuss last night. Someone's probably going to catch a bullet. Usually happens when a war is brewing."

She groans and puts a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes briefly. "Do you think the same ‘meeting' is happening in the Irish mob at the moment?"

"Without a doubt. Even if the cops haven't notified them, your tracker would have gone offline at Resin, and they would have heard about the bomb blast. Put two and two together."

Her eyes snap open, disbelief etched across her face. "My tracker? Are you saying my dad—Benjamin, would have a tracker on me?"

"You are a mafia princess, Addy. His hostage. I'd expect no less." I keep my voice gentle, knowing the weight of my words.

She swallows hard, her next words coming out in a rush. "Dante, do you have any idea who my real father is?"

A slow smile splits my face. " Tesoro. Believe me when I say it's not a discussion you want to have today. Certainly not right now."

Her eyes flash with determination as she throws off the covers. "Then you should let me leave. I want to confront that liar."

"Not this again, Addy—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"You can't keep me here forever. I can't stay in this world," she says, her voice trembling, each word a struggle. She wraps her arms around herself, as if physically holding her fractured pieces together.

I move closer, caging her between my arms, my palms pressed on either side of her head. Her breath hitches as I lean in, our faces mere inches apart. "I'm the scariest thing in this world, and you handle me."

A ghost of a smile touches her lips, but the fear lingers in her eyes. Her gaze searches mine. "Do I, though?"

"Like a fucking pro."

She closes her eyes, her brows knotting as she wrestles with the overwhelming reality pressing down on her. "Dante. You're so . . ." she trails off.

"What?"

"Bossy. Pushy," she says in a soft exhale. "I feel like you're nudging me down this path."

I nod. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she breathes so softly I almost don't hear it. When she opens her eyes again, they're ablaze with a fierce mixture of desire and desperation. Her fingers weave into my hair, tugging me down, her lips crashing into mine. The kiss is frantic, like she's trying to lose herself, to forget the fear in the familiarity of our connection.

With a final lingering touch, I break the kiss and pull back, my thumb tracing gentle circles on the delicate skin of her wrist.

"I know it's a lot to take in," I murmur, locking eyes with her, grounding her in the truth I see there. "But I meant what I said, Addy. You'll be fine."

"Alright." Her voice is breathy, her half-lidded eyes raking over me. She stops at my crotch, looks away, and promptly looks back as if she can't help herself. Then she sucks her lower lip between her teeth.

My gaze drifts over her full breasts and rosy nipples down to the trimmed red bush at the apex of her thighs. But it is the sight of her scars that triggers a fierce streak of possessiveness in me—as if the universe itself has marked her as mine.

Slowly, almost tentatively, Addy trails a hand from her belly upward until she cups a breast, rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. The action is both sensual and desperate, a silent demand for connection, and I feel my cock jerk in my pants.

"Fuck, Addy, what are you doing right now?" I ask, my voice rough with desire.

"Nothing. You should go. You have a war to plan, don't you?" Her eyes and body are begging me to do the opposite.

She doesn't want me to leave her. And she doesn't want this war.

I huff out a breath, then lean over to remove her hand from her breast and bring it to my lips, dropping a tender kiss on her palm.

Addy is using sex as a coping mechanism, a way to ground herself in the disaster that has upended her life. So much has changed for her in the past twenty-four hours. Her past and future are irrevocably altered. Our connection might be the one constant she can cling to. I see her struggle, and my heart breaks for her.

"I see you, Adele." I brush back silky wisps of hair from her forehead. "I promise I'm here, and I won't stop fighting until you feel safe—in every way a person can be safe. Okay?"

She nods, her eyes glazing with a mixture of desire and exhaustion. "Okay."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "Get some rest. I've pushed you hard enough for today."

Addy nods, turning onto her side as her lids flutter closed. Within moments, she's snoring softly, the rise and fall of her chest hypnotic in the otherwise silent room.

My attention is drawn to the three linear scars that mar the otherwise flawless expanse of her back. They're a testament to the violence that has haunted her past, a reminder of the incredible strength and resilience she possesses.

She's survived the most impossible odds as a child. And while others were having playdates, she was enduring hospital appointments, multiple surgeries, and relearning how to walk.

And now, she's being targeted once again. But I'll be damned if I let them harm a single red strand of her hair this time.

Now she's mine. To protect, to love.

With a final glance at Addy's sleeping form, I quietly exit the room and head to the conference room, anticipation heavy on my shoulders as I imagine the fallout with Orlando De Luca and, inevitably, the Irish Mob.

How the hell do we fight on two fronts and win this war?