Page 42 of A Murder of Crows

I shouldn’t be surprised when the door knocks a minute later. Dante looks irritated when I pull it open. “I do not have elephant feet.”

“Good to know,” I deadpan. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He taps his phone. “I know. I have strict instructions.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, I seize the phone and stare down at the message. My traitorous enforcer has indeed sent him a message.

She’s not sleeping again. Make her.

And above that—

“Memes.” My voice is disbelieving.

Dante yanks the phone away from me, and a hint of color flares high on his chiseled cheekbones. “Do you always scroll through people’s private messages?”

I squint at him. “You and Dom are meme buddies. Muddies.”

They might be visual interpretations of all the ways they’d like to see each other die, but it’s almost… sweet.

“What the fuck is—you know what? Doesn’t matter. Bed. Now.”

He grabs my wrist, not so gently, and starts tugging me towards the bedroom.

“Woah, Tarzan,” I mutter. “Could at least take me to dinner first.”

Dante turns to me, confusion drawing his eyebrows down low. “Are you drunk?”

I click my tongue. “High on life, I’m afraid. Also, let go of my wrist, or I will snap it.”

“That’s better.” He sounds relieved as he pulls me through the bedroom door and loosens his grip. “Now get into bed.”

He points at the covers like he actually expects me to get in. The smirk spreads across my face as I lean against the door. “I’m not tired.”

He crosses his arms. “The purple smudges under your eyes suggest otherwise. They seem to have grown to the size of a small country.”

I examine my nails. “Thank you for that completely unwarranted and borderline rude offering. Most people bring agiftwhen they turn up to somebody’s home unannounced. Feel free to leave now.”

When I look up, he’s only a few inches away from me. “Who says I don’t have a gift for you?”

Blinking, I look around me obviously. “If you do that thing where you announce that you’re the gift, I will never find you attractive again. Just to say.”

The half smile on his face grows. “So youdostill find me attractive. Good to know.”

I feel like I’m losing control of this conversation. The lack of sleep is hitting me hard. Pushing my tongue into the side of my mouth, I debate how to respond.

Dante moves closer still, until he’s caging me against the door. His voice drops to a whisper as he leans in. “Why don’t you let me take that edge off for you,tentazione? I hear that several back-to-back orgasms work wonders for a good night’s sleep.”

I can’t say I’m not tempted. But my heart still stings from the memory of his vicious words. The way he called me a whore with his scent still clinging to my skin.

“I don’t fuck men who call me a slut one day and then expect me to crawl into bed with them the next. If you want to play the protector, Dante, be my guest. But you have no right tome. And if you want to know who’s responsible for that, go and look in the fucking mirror.”

He pulls away from me like I’ve physically landed a blow, and I duck out from under his arm, moving to stand by the door.

He twists to look at me, and for the first time, he looks… uncertain.

“I didn’t mean it,” he breathes. “Surely you know that.”

I wrap my arms around me. “But you still said it. So the question is, doyouknow that?”