Chapter Forty-Seven

Dante

I pull into the driveway of my beachfront home, relishing the grounding weight of Addy's hand on my thigh. I used to think I was the one who couldn't keep my hands off her if she was within two feet of me, but now I'm not so sure which of us is guiltier. As I kill the engine, I catch her stifling a yawn.

"Tired?" I ask, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. "Mm, just full. I ate my body weight in pasta. And dessert," she adds meaningfully.

I chuckle, remembering how she'd practically moaned over her linguine alle vongole, and then struggled to stifle her moans at said dessert. "You certainly indulged."

"It was . . . torture." A flare of heat burns in her green eyes no doubt remembering her silent orgasm.

"I enjoyed watching you," I say.

"I bet you did." Addy chuckles, and I can't help the shit-eating grin on my face as we make our way inside, silently making it a point to do it again—and soon.

Addy immediately kicks off her flats as soon as we cross the threshold. I watch her walk barefoot across the hardwood floors, the short red dress she'd worn swishing around her thighs. Even after all this time, the sight of her in our home, so at ease, so . . . mine, does things to me.

"You're staring," she calls over her shoulder, a smile in her voice.

"Can you blame me?" I move to join her by the windows overlooking the shore. The last rays of sunlight dance across the water, and I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder.

She leans back into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. "Do you really have to go to Philly tomorrow?"

I sigh, tightening my hold on her. "You know I do, amore. The leftovers and stragglers have gathered again. It's time to put them away for good."

"But does it have to be you?" She persists, turning in my arms to face me. "You have more than twenty soldiers under you, not to mention Capos. Why do you always do the heavy lifting?"

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "You lead from the front, tesoro. That's how it's done."

Addy groans, but I can see the understanding in her eyes. "Besides," I add, my voice dropping lower, "this is personal. You were married to him."

It doesn't get more fucking personal than that.

"Sean Hall is dead, baby," Addy points out gently.

As if I need a reminder.

The mention of Hall's name makes something twist in my gut. The image of Addy, my woman, saying vows to that motherfucker . . . it makes me see red. Those are words I want her to say to me, and only me. Vows I want to hear from her perfect, pouty lips more than anything in this world.

Yeah, I'm jealous. Sue me.

Addy must sense the shift in my mood because she rises on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. "Hey," she murmurs, "I'm here. With you. Always."

I'm about to show her just how much I appreciate that fact when the crunch of tires on gravel catches my attention. Headlights sweep across the room as a car pulls up outside.

"Are we expecting company?" Addy asks, peering around me.

I shake my head, already reaching for the gun I keep in the entryway drawer. "Stay here," I tell her, moving toward the door.

But as I take a look outside, I relax. It's only Nico's Lambo.

What the hell is he doing here without calling first?

I open the front door as Nico steps out of his car, the cool evening air rushing in. His face is unreadable, which immediately puts me on edge. Something's up.

"Fratello," I greet him, stepping aside to let him in. The familiar bergamot scent of his cologne mingles with the crisp breeze. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Nico's eyes scan the room methodically, a habit ingrained from years of cautious living. His gaze lands on Addy, who's hovering uncertainly by the windows, her silhouette framed by the last rays of the setting sun.

"Addy," he sends her a warm smile, his usual stern demeanor softening slightly. "You look well."

Addy's hand instinctively moves to her barely visible baby bump. "Thanks, Nico. How's Sophie?"

"Exhausted, cranky, and beautiful as ever," Nico replies with a fond chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, as if remembering why he's here, his expression sobers. He turns back to me. "We need to talk."

Addy starts to move toward the stairs, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. "I'll give you two some privacy—"

"No, it's alright," Nico interrupts, surprising both of us. His eyes flick to mine, seeking confirmation. I give him a slight nod, curiosity piqued. "Stay, please."

I watch as Addy's eyes widen slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She's pleased, I realize. Pleased to be included, to be trusted. It warms something in my chest to see it, to witness Nico's acceptance of Addy into our inner circle.

We move to the living room, the soft lights casting a warm glow over the space. Addy and I settle on the couch, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. Nico takes the armchair across from us, half-reclining.

The room settles into a momentary silence, broken only by the distant lapping of waves against the shore. I absently trace the solitaire ruby of Addy's ring, grounding myself in its familiarity.

"It's been a while since you came here, Nico," I comment, trying to gauge his mood.

My mind wanders to the contrasts in our living situations. Nico's main home, a penthouse in the heart of Chicago, is a marvel of luxury—sleek lines and modern amenities—while I prefer the endless open space of the beach.

Nico's lips quirk in a humorless smile. "Too long," he agrees, his eyes briefly scanning the room again. "It's a little . . . quiet here though."

I know he's commenting on the absence of background music, loud or otherwise. "The waves are loud enough," I say, "And so is Addy."

Addy elbows my side in mock outrage, and I send her a wink, but she seems to miss my meaning. Nico, on the other hand, catches it. A soft look enters his eyes and he smiles at her.

"Good to hear, fratellino ," he says, then his gaze shifts to Addy again. "How are the wedding preparations coming along?"

I grind my teeth, forcing myself to stay seated. What the hell is on Nico's mind?

Addy answers with a polite smile. "Um. It's going really well. The wedding planner is just as great as Sophie advertised."

"So," I say, cutting through the ensuing silence before Nico can ask another pointless question, "you mind cutting the crap? What's brought you here?"

I feel Addy tense beside me, but I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Dante," Nico begins, "no one is going to Philly tomorrow after all."

I furrow my brow, leaning forward slightly. "Why not?"

Nico takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion. "Because three buildings collapsed in Philly earlier today. They happened to be places housing a number of Shadow gang stragglers and sympathizers. It's being chalked up to some bullshit about poor structure and inappropriate load."

He pauses, letting the information sink in while my mind races with the implications.

Three buildings don't just collapse. This was deliberate, calculated. There's another player involved here. It couldn't be the Mob retaliating for Benjamin O'Shea's death—Nico wiped them out the same night I got Addy out of Philly.

"Most were killed," Nico continues, his voice low and grave. "Including, unfortunately, our inside man. Which means, for the next few hours, we have no intel apart from the bullshit the media feeds us. One of which is that no hostages were found."

I hear Addy's sharp intake of breath beside me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. I return the pressure, my thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. My own heart races with anger.

"Who did it?" I ask, though I have a sinking feeling I already know the answer.

The silence stretches, and then Nico's eyes meet mine, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I wondered the same thing, fratellino, until Quinn called me over to the docks half an hour ago. Said he had a special package for Sophie."

"Quinn?" I frown, caught off guard by the unexpected development. "I thought he was roasting his ass off in Havana. What's he doing here?"

"Apparently not," Nico grates. "He showed up in a luxury prison of a truck, with a friend of his who looks just as batshit crazy."

Nico leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "Dante, the psycho had sixteen women in the back of the truck. Cold, scared, barely speaking English. And unhurt."

The weight of his words hangs in the air. Sixteen women. Victims of the Shadow gang, no doubt. My mind whirls with the implications. We're no saints, but trafficking? That's a line we don't cross. And now, thanks to Quinn's intervention, we're entangled in this mess.

Telling Cade about the Shadow gang was like dangling meat in front of a predator.

Addy's grip on my hand tightens. "Oh my God," she breathes, "Sophie's brother went and rescued all those women from the Shadow gang?"

Nico nods grimly.

"So, why didn't he just let them go? Why bring them to you?" I ask.

"Because they're badly shaken and have nowhere to go. Most of them actually want to go back, if you can believe it."

I can, if they're anything like Mezhen, the woman Addy met while she was trapped there. I lean back, my mind racing. Cade Quinn decimating the Shadow gang? It doesn't add up. "Since when are we and Quinn on the same team?"

Nico scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "We're so fucking not. He's just a demented meddler and show-off, that's what he is."

I can't help but smirk. "I take it you didn't say thank you?"

"Hell no," Nico growls, his expression darkening further at my amusement. "What I desperately wanted to say was a giant ‘Fuck off'."

"But you didn't?" Addy breathes.

He glances at Addy. "No, I didn't. I couldn't."

Addy lets out a breath, her face lighting up in relief. "Thank you so much, Nico." The warmth in her voice makes me want to roll my eyes.

The fucker gets my woman's eternal gratitude just for not telling some schmuck to take a hike?

"You're welcome." Nico smiles back, then sighs. "I don't suppose you'll pitch in an explanation to my wife as to why I couldn't say no to sixteen former sex slaves taking up residence in her favorite house? In a way that doesn't end with me sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future, that is."

"Sounds like fun," Addy chuckles, her eyes twinkling.

I snort. "If you weren't too busy grinding your teeth, Nico, you might've asked Quinn for a manual on ‘How to Look After Trafficked Women 101.' But it's still not too late to have a chat with him, let him walk you through the home installation."

Nico sneers. "He's a fucking caveman. The man probably thinks ‘chatting' means discussing the most efficient way to disembowel someone."

"Which would be excellent information for our Associates. Hate him as much as you want. Quinn's not entirely bad company," I quip, earning myself a glare from Nico.

I catch Addy's brow furrow in confusion, her green eyes clouding with questions. Leaning in close, I whisper, my lips brushing her ear, "Associates are men who aren't made yet."

Her mouth forms a silent "Oh," understanding dawning on her face. She bites her lower lip, thinking, then suggests in a hesitant but hopeful voice, "What about them staying in one of your hotels? Like the Marston?"

I glance at Nico, letting him field this one. He shakes his head, his expression grim. "Not discreet or safe enough," he says simply, his feet tapping a restless rhythm on the floor.

Addy straightens from me to face Nico fully. "How about if you bought a place and kept them there?" she asks.

I stifle a laugh as Nico subtly pales.

"Baby," I explain gently, placing a hand on her knee, "we don't keep women." The satin smoothness of her skin calls to me, and I can't help but stroke my fingers across the strip of skin between her knee and the hem of her red dress.

Addy's eyebrows knit again as she looks between Nico and me. "But what does Cade expect you to do with these broken women?"

"He said he brought them for his sister," Nico says blandly. "To fix, or something."

"And what if Sophie doesn't want them?" Addy presses, leaning forward slightly.

Nico pauses, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. "Well, then I guess I'm stuck." Then he looks up and pins Addy with an intense gaze. "Unless you'd like to take them? Dante said you connected with a few of the women."

Addy's eyes widen, and she stiffens beside me. After a moment of stunned silence, she sputters, "Connected?" She whirls to face me.

I shrug, remembering how I'd sung Addy's praises to Nico and Sal. "You can read people, baby. Well, except for the times you choose not to." Like Benjamin O'Shea. Like me, during those three months after we first met at Loyola.

Her cheeks flush a rosy pink as she struggles to form a response. "I don't know what you mean," she hedges.

"Precisely my point," I smile.

The tension in the room breaks, and we all laugh—a welcome release from the heaviness of our conversation.

As our laughter subsides, I look at Nico, a knowing smile playing on my lips. "Now I know why you came." My arm tightens around Addy, and she leans into me.

"We could do some fishing on the pier too, if it would make you feel like I came here for you," Nico retorts.

"Fuck off." I pause briefly. "Now, back to your unexpected guests," I continue, as if the message hasn't been received loud and clear by the relevant party. "You could make them paid employees . . . "

As Nico and I trade increasingly ridiculous suggestions for dealing with the situation, I feel Addy shaking with silent laughter beside me. But when I look down at her, I notice the mirth doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Her brow is slightly furrowed, and she's biting her bottom lip—a telltale sign she's deep in thought. She knows she's just been offered her first assignment as a working member of the Outfit, should she choose to accept it. I can almost see the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders, and a mix of pride and concern washes over me. Is she ready to get involved?

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversation and planning, but Addy's thoughtful expression stays with me.

***

Later that night, with the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains and the distant sound of waves lapping at the shore creating a soothing backdrop, I pull Addy's naked back flush against me and press a kiss to her temple.

" Tesoro . I can still hear the gears turning in your head. It wasn't an order or even a suggestion. In case you wondered, it was a cry for help."

"I get that. I just felt . . . you know . . . honored? That Nico thought I could even do this. And he didn't have to ask me. His wife is a therapist, and she's excellent at handling people. Contrary to what he said, I know Sophie would agree to take them on. So would many of the other Capos' wives."

She suddenly turns to face me, her green eyes searching mine in the dim light, narrowing with suspicion as she asks in a small voice, "Dante, did you ask Nico to be . . . you know, nicer to me?"

Dante chuckles. "I didn't need to. I keep telling you, Nico is nice, Addy. It's just hard to see it under all that scowling and bristling."

"I see. Meanwhile, you're the exact opposite," Addy points out.

"Oh really?" I smile, tracing the curve of her cheek with my fingertips. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm crazy about you."

"Good answer." I pull her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. After a moment of comfortable silence, I add, "You'll figure this out. You always do."

As I lay here, feeling the calming rhythm of Addy's breathing, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of her hair, I'm struck by how surreal this all is. Nico and I, in my living room, casually discussing gang wars and trafficked women with Addy like it was just another Tuesday night.

Well then.

Welcome to your fucking world, Valentina De Luca.