Chapter Forty-Eight

Adele

It's been two weeks since Nico's unexpected visit, and I've spent every single morning like this—awake and watching Dante sleep while my mind races with plans and possibilities.

My gaze follows the steady rise and fall of his chest and the way his dark hair fans out on the pillow. He's kept it long since middle school because he and Nico could pass for twins. It was his way of asserting his individuality, I suppose.

I trace the lines of his face with my eyes—the strong jaw, the straight nose, and the eyelashes I might seriously consider killing for. But that's where the sophistication ends. He's one of the most dangerous men alive. Because he breeds and nurtures danger.

I think of Sal, who Dante trained, becoming not just a made man, but a Capo, at twenty-four.

And me. What on earth is he turning me into?

Nothing that wasn't already inside you.

Even in sleep, there's an intensity about him that takes my breath away. His mind never truly rests, always working, always planning the next move. It's part of what makes him who he is—brilliant, unpredictable, and utterly captivating.

As if sensing my gaze, Dante's eyes flutter open. His gray irises are soft with sleep, but there's also a glint of something primal. "See something you want to fuck, tesoro? "

His words hit me like a bolt, sending a wave of heat straight to my core. Even after all this time, his sudden intensity can catch me off guard, leaving me breathless and aching.

"Jesus, Dante," I manage to croak out. "Do you ever turn off?"

"I used to," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. "But that was before you broke the switch."

I can't help but smile at that. My fingers, of their own volition, start to trace his more rugged features—the intricate tattoos on his chest, some cleverly placed to hide his scars. I run my fingers down the wicked-looking veins that snake along his bulging biceps and forearm. Then I'm feeling the hard calluses on his palms and knuckles.

"You are so beautiful." I murmur.

Dante's grin widens as he pulls me closer. He drags up the hem of his t-shirt, my preferred sleep and lounge wear, then cups my lower belly with his large hand, his fingertips playing with the short curls on my mons.

"I think you might be biased," he teases, tugging lightly on the hair. "I did just buy your dream house yesterday, after all."

My heart skips a beat, and I gasp, both from his touch and the reminder of yesterday's surprise. "My God, Dante. I still can't believe you did that!"

Since Nico offered me the job I've been frantically searching for places large enough to comfortably house dozens of people, a pit stop for struggling women until they can get their lives back on track.

"For two weeks, Dante, I kept showing you all those listings, and you didn't spare them a glance."

"I glanced," he says, nibbling a path across my jaw.

"Yeah, for all of a millisecond, and all you had to say was ‘Huh'," I mimic his baritone. "Then it was always back to Tommy Martelli's family business. I didn't even think you heard any of what I was saying."

His fingers continue their maddening caress. "I'm always paying attention, Addy. Even when it doesn't seem like it."

Despite the heat building inside me, I can't help but shake my head in wonder. "That's the thing, though. Your mind . . . it blows me away."

Dante laughs outright at this. "My mind? Are you sure about that?"

"Not the dark, twisty, and torture-y parts, thank you very much. I mean the way your brain works. How you can juggle so many problems at once and hyperfocus on tasks. It's . . . fascinating. Can be annoying sometimes, but mostly, it's . . . intriguing."

His expression softens, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "You're talking about my ADHD?"

I nod. "It's not a disorder. Not for you, Dante."

He's quiet for a moment, considering. "Growing up, it was hard to cope with a mind that worked a little differently. I was generally a nightmare."

I link my fingers with his. "Yet you've managed to turn what others might see as a weakness into your greatest strength. At the risk of sounding like a complete simp, I think you're pretty awesome."

Dante pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I fucking love you, too."

We lay in comfortable silence for a while, but my mind wanders, as it has for the past couple of weeks. Mezhen and the rest have such gory stories to tell and I just wish I could help them heal.

As the weight of their experiences presses on me, an icy chill runs through me despite Dante's warmth. I can't help but think what would have happened had Dante not shown up exactly when he did that night.

I might have killed Sean Hall, but the consequences of that would have been unspeakable. Without doubt I would have been way worse off than these women.

This realization only strengthens my resolve to help these women who didn't have someone to save them. To see that they reclaim their lives and their power back. Maybe, in a way, I'm also reclaiming a part of myself that was almost lost.

"Sophie's going to have the babies soon," I murmur, trying to distract myself from darker thoughts.

"Mmm," Dante agrees, his voice rumbling in his chest. "Any day now."

"I've been thinking about Mezhen and the others."

Dante shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes, now fully alert, study my face intently. "You're always thinking about them."

"I know, cara. "

"Carissimo," he corrects gently, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Carissimo," I repeat, melting again at the way he rolls his r's. "I'm such a slow learner."

His lips quirk up in a smirk. "Oh, I don't know about that. You seemed to pick up 'più forte' and 'non fermarti' pretty quickly last night."

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "Dante! I'm trying to have a serious conversation here."

He grins, unrepentant, but says, "Alright, alright. Talk to me. What is it about those women that worries you?"

I sigh. "To be honest, I'm not sure how we'll cope without Sophie when she's busy with the twins."

His brows furrow. "But she can still help now, can't she?"

"She sure can. But the problem is, those women aren't ready for any sort of psychological help. All we're doing now is letting them get used to being free. Some of them can't speak English. A few simply won't speak at all. And Mezhen still wants to go back."

Dante nods, his expression growing serious. "That's so messed up. Are you worried that when they're finally ready for Sophie, she won't be able to take them on?"

"Exactly. And I don't have the tools to help. Even if I did, sixteen women . . . I'm just thinking—"

"You need to employ professional help," Dante interjects, already knowing what I'm about to say.

"Yeah." I agree. "And not just mental help. They need doctors, legal advice, employment. Some need more education to get a job. One of them just found out she's pregnant. It's a lot for me as one person to deal with—"

"But not for a charity," Dante interjects again.

I roll my eyes. "Dante freaking Vitelli. Are you going to let me speak, or would you like to carry on reading my mind?"

I always want to kiss and strangle him when he does this. I know it's because he processes information so fast it's as if he can't wait for the rest of us to catch up.

Dante's eyes light up as he pinches his fingers together and mimics a zipping motion across his lips. "Go on, tesoro ."

Shit. Now I want to stop talking altogether and do something else. But I make myself carry on. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to concentrate on the women and their needs.

"Anyway, yes, I was thinking of starting a charity. We'd employ all the professionals needed to give them the tools to reclaim their lives."

"I think that's doable. And funding won't be an issue."

My smile widens as excitement builds. "Okay, well, maybe in a few years I'd want to be more hands-off and scale it into a foundation. But for now, just a charity will do."

"What do you want to call it?"

I hesitate. "I thought it could be called Power. Because that's what we want to give them back, right? Their power, their agency."

"True." Dante nods, his eyes focused intently on me.

"And, ah, also because Potenza means power, right?"

Dante's lids fall closed for a few moments. When he opens them, his eyes are stormy, but his voice is steady. "Yeah, it does. Grazie, tesoro."

He reaches out to stroke the scar on my hip. Sensations burst from under his fingers, flooding me with endorphins. He knows just how, when, and where to touch me.

I bite my lip and suppress a moan. Then, ignoring my body's protest, I place my hand over his to stop the stroking.

We should talk about this.

"Dante?"

"Addy?"

"Why haven't you spoken about Pietro Potenza since . . . that night?"

I didn't want to bring it up initially because a self-loathing part of me was afraid he'd blame me. And then as I fell more in love with him, I just wanted him to feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

Dante raises his scarred knuckles. "But I do. Every day. And I already told you, I'm not sorry."

I huff out a humorless laugh. "Three words, babe. Now that's what I call succinct." I turn his hand over, musing.

Clearly, he feels more than just ‘not sorry' if he's still talking to the punching bag. And he cried that night for fuck's sake.

As if reading my mind, he places a finger under my chin and his eyes bore into mine. "Listen. Losing Pietro hurt. It probably always will. But he died protecting my entire world. You. Pietro was the most loyal soldier. And the truest friend there ever was. So I'm not sorry. I'm grateful. And, for the record, I've hit the gym every day since I was thirteen."

God, how does he do that?

A few words, and he says exactly what I need to hear. Still, he gives me space to be my dramatic self, lets me process things my way, but he's always there, solid as a rock. It's both infuriating and perfect all at once.

I grumble. "I'm pretty sure that was still under fifty words, but okay, I get it. Just know I'm going to need at least half a million words before I'm even halfway done processing all this."

A small smile tugs at Dante's lips. "Sure. And I'm here for it whenever you need. Take your time."

"Ugh. Stop doing that!"

"What?" He murmurs.

"Making me love you more. It's sickening enough as it is."

"I know. We're both done for in that area." His hand resumes stroking my thigh, but he shifts gears slightly. "Now, Aydin Sibel would be a massive help in setting up the Power Foundation. You should call her."

My brows shoot up. "Aydin? But isn't she banned from . . . I thought she'd be . . . I dunno . . . shot, if she got within fifty feet of me or something." I say, still unsure of how to navigate the rules of mafia blacklists.

Dante chuckles, his touch growing more possessive. "Not if you don't want her to be. She just can't have personal access to any member of this family. But you can hire her on a professional level if you want. She does need another job, after all."

"Okay," I nod. "I suppose after being on a billionaire's payroll for decades, a nine-to-five wouldn't quite cut it."

"Uh-uh." Dante shakes his head, then buries his face in my neck.

The idea of the Power Foundation takes root in my mind. It feels right, like the next step in this new life I've embraced—a way to turn the darkness and pain of the past into strength, hope, and love. I think this could really work.

Dante suddenly flips me onto my belly, his hands gliding over my back and ass. His touch ignites sparks along my skin, and thoughts of the Power Foundation scatter from my head like a flock of startled birds. I can't say I'm surprised, though—he's been raring to fuck since the moment he opened his eyes.

He gathers my hair away from my nape, nibbling on the skin there before slipping a hand under me, sliding upwards until he's cupping my breast. I moan into the pillow as he starts to play with my tight nipple. His nibbles turn into hard sucks, then bites, as he simultaneously pinches my nipple harder.

"Dante!" I cry, squirming against him. "Please."

"Please, what?" He switches his attention to my other breast, his hips pinning me to the bed.

I roll my eyes. "Fuck me, duh."

Nestled between my ass cheeks, his cock jerks, and I can't help grinding against his hard length.

"Fuck you where?"

"Oh Lord, here we go." I groan. When Dante gets like this, it means we could be here all morning while he edges me to within an inch of my life. "Dante . . ."

He sniggers. "Well, can you not be a little more specific? What would you like to go where?"

"What is this, a gourmet order? Just make me come all over you!"

"Really!" He stops everything he's doing, then drops his voice to that low, dangerous register that never fails to make my pussy clench with need. "Well, since you're so sassy-mouthed and bushy-tailed this morning, there's this neat little trick I'd like to teach you . . ."

I hear the bedside drawer open, and my breath catches. What new toy has he added to our collection now?

"Close your eyes," he commands.

I comply, my heart pounding with anticipation. I feel something cool and smooth touch my lips.

Suddenly, Dante's phone vibrates on the nightstand, the harsh buzz shattering the moment. He lets out a string of colorful curses, and I groan, burying my face in the pillow. Of course, Dante can't not answer his phone, even if the world were ending. Especially if the world were ending.

Dante sighs, his warm breath tickling my ear as he reaches for the phone. "Text," he mutters.

I peek at him from under my lashes as he reads, watching his brow furrow slightly.

"It's your father. He's picking me up in ten."

I turn to face Dante fully and my gaze immediately snags on the ball gag dangling from his hand and the butt plug on the pillow.

Oh my. A hot flush of disappointment washes over me, quickly chased by anxiety when Dante says, "He wants to go over security protocols for the wedding."

"Again?"

We still don't know who wants me dead. The thought sends an icy shiver down my spine. Moving from the Fortress to this slightly less secure (but still heavily guarded) beach house was one thing. But a wedding with hundreds of guests? That's like painting a giant bullseye on my back and screaming, "Come and get me!"

Dante, being Dante, has maintained his cool about the whole thing, but Orlando . . . well, that's another story.

"Orlando is, um . . . freaking out, isn't he?" I ask holding back a small smile.

Dante's lips quirk into a half-smile. "He's losing his shit a little bit, yeah. Or maybe he just wants an excuse to see you. So why don't you get dressed and give him one of your goo-goo smiles? He's much less prickly when you do that."

I can't help but laugh, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room. "He's nothing but sweet."

"He is not the least bit sweet. He's just crazy about you. No less than you deserve, but, yeah, he's not sweet." Dante gets out of bed, and my gaze runs over his sculpted body. Then he's pulling me up too.

Dante leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. "FYI. We're moving this party to the beach when I return," he growls. "I plan to get you filthy tonight."