Page 25 of The Prices We Pay (Vittori Enterprises #1)

Dante

T hey fucked.

I know it.

The dickhole couldn’t even make it one night without fucking her.

Not that I blame him.

Or her.

But he could make the whole thing a little less obvious.

He’s practically been skipping around the office all morning with a giant smirk on his face.

Not to mention, when they got here this morning, the way they looked at each other was wholly different than it was yesterday.

It’s a look I haven’t seen in years, but one I know all too well.

It’s the I-know-what-you-look-like-when-you-come look.

And I swear to god, Joe was walking a little funny.

Basically, the two of them might as well be wearing neon signs on their foreheads that say, “We fucked.”

I’m not mad they did. Not jealous, really, either. Well, that’s not true. I’m not jealous that they had sex. I’m jealous of the fact that Enzo had the courage to put himself out there. He knew he wanted her from the moment he saw her, and he’s not letting anything hold him back from having her.

What it must feel like… wanting to be loved and knowing you can have it.

With a less-than-positive attitude, I muster up the best smile I can manage as I place a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting on Clara’s desk. Her giant blue eyes look up at me, crinkling at the sides as she gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “Happy Birthday, Gorgeous.”

She stands from her desk, her wide hips knocking into the giant bouquet of balloons sitting next to her desk. Before I can think twice about it, she wraps me in a hug. Well, she attempts to. She has rather short arms, and I’m a rather large man. “Thank you, Dante. Red velvet is my favorite.”

“I know.” She eats one for every special occasion.

Or when she’s sad. Or when she’s on her period.

Or any time she sees a stray animal on her way to work.

It’s not hard to miss that it’s her favorite dessert.

But if it makes her feel special by thinking I paid close attention, then I won’t comment on it.

She takes a step back, knowing I don’t like physical affection for long periods of time. Nodding toward the giant black and green balloons, I ask, “Who are those from?”

“Josephine had them sitting here first thing this morning. Must have had them delivered because they were here before she and Lorenzo got here. Aren’t they amazing?!”

“If you love them, then they’re perfect.”

She claps her hands together excitedly. “I do. I really do. You all spoil me too much.”

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Not nearly enough. ”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She winks before walking back around her desk. Sitting in her chair, she slides the cupcake across her desk and looks up at me one last time. “Thank you. It was really very sweet of you.”

“Anything for the birthday girl.”

I grab the coffee and chocolate croissant I set on the table in the hallway—figuring Clara was going to squeeze me to death and not wanting to spill it all over her—and walk toward Joe’s office.

I knock against the doorframe, and she answers without looking away from her computer, “Come in.”

I’m able to walk all the way up to her desk and set the cup and croissant on her desk before she finally moves her gaze from the computer to me. The weight on my chest lessens slightly as her eyes light up—like it does whenever I’m near her—realizing I’m the one standing in front of her.

“You know you don’t have to get me a coffee every morning. I have that fancy machine over there,” she protests, but wiggles in her seat as she reaches across the desk to grab it and the croissant .

“I know I don’t, but I want to.” And that’s the truth.

The way her eyes sparkle when I drop it off every morning has quickly become my favorite part of the day.

I like knowing I played a part in ensuring her work day is off to a good start.

“You can use that when you need a pick-me-up in the afternoon.”

See… there’s the sparkle. “What do I have today?”

Every morning, when I stop to get her a cup of coffee, I ask the barista, Brandi, to surprise me with a new drink.

Hot, of course, because I know Joe prefers it over ice almost always.

Second to the way she looks when I drop it off at her desk, I love the moment after she tastes her first sip.

Her eyes close, and as she studies whether or not she likes the new drink, she licks her top lip, and if she does, a smile spreads across her face as she moans in satisfaction.

I have yet to miss the mark.

One thing I never change is that I always grab something to eat with chocolate in it.

Clara brought in a tray of brownies on Joe’s second day here, and I heard her mention that chocolate anything was her favorite.

So, worst-case scenario, if she hates the coffee, at least I can make up with it with a chocolate pastry.

“Honey Oat Milk Flat White. Whatever that is.”

She shakes her head with a laugh before taking a drink, and I wait anxiously as she goes through her usual routine, unable to fight my smile when a soft moan spills from her lips.

Joe tears off the end of her chocolate croissant and pops it in her mouth. She covers her mouth with her hand as she mumbles, “You’re going to have to pay for my new wardrobe after all these pastries go to my hips.”

I quite literally couldn’t think of anything better. “Worth it.” I shift anxiously on the balls of my feet in front of her desk, torn between wanting to ask her about her night with Enz, but I know it’s absolutely none of my business.

“Just ask me, Dante.”

“It’s not my business. Plus, I don’t need to.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “He’s been skipping around here all morning like a love-sick moron.”

She huffs out a laugh before her smile drops ever-so-slightly. “Are you upset?”

This woman. Sitting down in my chair, I pin her with a rare and sincere smile. “Why would I be upset, Amore Mia? I have no right to be.”

Pausing for a moment, she asks another question, “Am I still yours? All of yours?”

Josephine isn’t a woman who easily shows vulnerability.

She’s strong. Confident. Independent. So the fact that she’s clearly so nervous about what happened between her and Enzo and how it affects her relationship with the rest of us speaks volumes to her openness and willingness to see where this all may take us.

And if she is willing to openly want the four of us and be brave enough to face the truth of who we are and the world that we live in, I should be brave enough to simply want her.

Right?

Sitting forward in my chair, I reach across the desk, pull the coffee cup from her hands, and set it down.

I take her hands in mine, and my entire body lights up as her skin brushes against my hold.

Such a simple touch shouldn’t have such a dramatic effect.

Yet, it’s as if the very depths of my soul have been cold and dark for as long as I can remember, and with just the touch of a hand, she was able to reach in and light the match.

Stroking her thumbs, admiring how small her hands are wrapped up in mine, I answer, “You’re ours, Mama. ”

Just like when I called her Amore Mia the night at the club, the nickname falls from my lips before I can stop it.

But I don’t take it back, and I don’t apologize for it, and judging by the way her breath hitches at my answer, I can tell she likes it too.

Joe nods quickly but doesn’t answer, which is rather rare for her.

Lifting her hands, I place a gentle kiss on top of each one.

“I’ll be staying at your place tonight. Come get me when you’re ready to leave later. ”

“Okay,” she replies.

“Don’t leave without me. Okay?”

“I won’t.”

Taking her at her word, I gently set her hands on her desk and begin to walk out of her office. I’m halfway to the door when I hear one of Clara’s large balloons pop. And in a split second, I freeze and am no longer in Joe’s office but in an abandoned building in the middle of Aleppo, Syria.

The sounds of gunshots and screams of agony rip through the night as I look around the room to find my men, my friends, and my brothers all writhing on the floor in pain.

But what’s worse are the ones I can’t hear.

Those are the ones I know are gone. I will never see some of them again.

I will have to tell their parents, wives, and children that the person they love the most isn’t coming home.

Fuck, my back hurts .

I can feel the blood pouring through the wounds, soaking my clothes. But I can’t force myself to care. I can move my arms. I can move my legs. If I’m not lying on the ground with my brothers, I’ll save the ones I have left and bring the ones I can’t home.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. We had all the intel we needed. What the fuck happened?

The sound of footsteps brings my mind back to the present as I realize I’m our only chance. I don’t know how many of them are coming for us, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is getting us the hell out of here.

I take my first step and let out a scream as the shrapnel in my back burrows its way deeper into my body.

“Dante!” Charlie, our troop chief, yells from the other side of the room. His voice sounds as if he were drowning, but I’ve seen enough death to know he’s not drowning in water but in his own blood.

Pushing through the pain, I run toward him. But no matter how long or how fast I run, I don’t get any closer. I can hear the enemy closing in. Charlie’s screams are becoming more and more agonizing, “Dante! Help me! Please!”

“I’m coming, Charlie. I’ll be right there!”

I’m still not getting any closer. Fuck! Why am I not getting closer?

“Dante! Dante! Dante!” Each time Charlie calls out my name, his voice grows more and more strained until it doesn’t even sound like him anymore. Panic sets in at the realization that I might not be able to save him. That I might not be able to save any of them.