Page 138 of The Enslaved Duet

“You look appalling,” a familiar European accent called out from behind me.

I sighed heavily before turning around, both relieved and anxious at seeing Dante again after a few weeks without contact. We were close but only so much as our jobs allowed.

There was hardly a month I didn’t have to travel for a shoot or walk, and even while I was home, I encouraged my agent to book as many go-sees and campaigns as possible. Idleness was not good for my mental state.

Dante was busy withthe Family.

He’d been in New York City for nearly four years, and he’d already amassed considerable power. He tried to keep me out of the loop on the details, but I knew from Salvatore that he had usurped the old head of the Camorra to become capo just last year.

Things were different for the mafia in 2019. It wasn’t the eighties anymore, and the mafia was much quieter, less showy than their older counterparts. That didn’t mean they were any less powerful. Police and intelligence agencies had diverted resources once aimed at curtailing mafia activity toward the newer, greater threat of terrorism, and Dante operated happily from the vacuum created by that.

He was leaning against an iron lamppost the way he was known to do, his ankles crossed and massive arms folded over his even bigger chest. No matter how long I’d known him or how often I saw him, his sheer size and overwhelming beauty always took my breath away.

It was still early enough in the day that the ink shadowing his hard-cut jaw was only a hint of the half-inch pelt it would become after dinner, and it perfectly contrasted with his full, ruddy lips. They twitched as I studied him, amused by the way I always needed a minute to order my thoughts after being hit with his beauty.

Leaning against that pole in a black suit with an open collar black button-up and his thick hair pushed back from his forehead, he looked especially gorgeous—the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

And dangerous.

So, so dangerous.

I swallowed thickly before smiling at him. “Dante, you know better than to sneak up on me.”

My guilt trip didn’t provide the distraction I’d hoped. His sensual smirk slid through the shadow of his beard as he straightened and strolled toward me, stopping only when we were toe to toe. I had to tip my head back steeply in order to maintain contact with his pitch-dark eyes.

“Tesoro, you know I neversneaklike someteppista,” he chastised me with a roguish smirk. “I called out to you so that you would know I was here, but you were too lost in your waking nightmares to pay attention. What has you looking so wrecked?”

I wrung my hands before I remembered that he knew it was my nervous habit and then awkwardly jerked them to my sides before shrugging a shoulder. “Nothing much. Jet lag.”

He cocked a brow. “Jet lag? From the woman who travels so much, she has trained herself to sleep at the drop of a hat? I do not think so. Now”—he leaned down, his sharp citrus and warm pepper scent filling my nose—“tell me the truth.”

A cab rushed down the street, and I took advantage of it by flagging it down. I pulled open the door, told the driver the address, and then flipped my hair over my shoulder to attempt an innocent smile at Dante. “I’m late for lunch with my family, and you know how they get.”

He stared at me with such warmth and gentle amusement, I felt it in my chest. That was, until he moved forward and pushed me into the cab, following so closely after me, I felt crowded by his big body even in the three-seater space.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m taking you to lunch, and you are telling me what has you looking like someone ran over your hellacious demon cat.”

“Hades is not a demon cat,” I snapped, falling into our old argument. “He just doesn’t like you because he has good taste.”

“Does he?” he asked drolly. “If that’s the case, it seems his mistress doesn’t. You know you love me.”

I rolled my eyes, but Dante’s familiar banter was exactly the remedy I hadn’t known I needed. There was something about my rapport with him that brought me comfort the way no other relationship could. Maybe it was because he had seen the worst of my trials, that he had saved me from Ashcroft and another disciple of the Order at The Hunt, or that he had spent years with my father, years I had missed out on. For whatever reason, he was my closest confidante, myonlyconfidante, and I viewed him like a brother and a best friend.

He shifted closer, his full lips parted in a smile that made my heart skip a beat, and a little voice asked me if my feelings weren’t as platonic as I thought they were.

“I barely tolerate you, and you know it.” I sniffed haughtily, turning away to hide the smile I was sure he could hear in my voice.

His huge hand landed on my thigh, squeezing until I looked back at him.

“Cosi, tell me what’s happened. How can I help if I don’t know who to harm?”

I almost choked on my giggle. “Cazzo, Dante, when did you become such a mob boss? That was like something straight out of an Al Pacino movie.”

“You know I don’t watch those stupid mob movies.” He scoffed. “I’m still recovering from when you forced me to seeGoodfellas.”

“Hey, that’s an American classic.”