Page 17

Chapter 17

DANTE

I press my fingertips into the mouth shaped bruise on my collarbone and shiver. A week’s worth of filthy memories assault my brain and make my skin feel too hot and tight stretched over my body. I’m still having mixed feelings about my choices, about the ring on my finger and using the Moretti name as a shield instead of facing all this down by myself, but it’s getting easier and easier to convince myself that Salvatore was right. The smartest fighters use whatever tools are available to win, and that’s what I did.

Whoever was following me for Don hasn’t had the guts to make any more moves, so I guess my plan is working. Salvatore has even had people keeping an eye on my apartment in case they come back. Not gonna lie, I was hoping they’d be dumb enough to do it. At least that would be one less person to worry about, and with Don’s release date creeping closer, I could use the win.

And if I enjoy the perks of this marriage in the meantime, there’s no harm in that, right?

I stop prodding the bruise and turn on the sink to splash some cold water on my face. The faint smell of coffee tickles my nose as soon as I step out of the bedroom. As annoying as having Luca as my constant shadow is, the man brews a damn good cup of coffee. If he ever decides to leave the Mafia and go legit, he has a real future as a barista.

I’m focused on my mission, not even glancing towards the living room as I shuffle into the kitchen. I hate that the marble countertops and all the stainless steel are starting to feel more comfortable and homey. I’ll never be able to afford an apartment like this myself unless I start actually being nice to the grabby perverts at Wild, so getting used to it is only going to make me resent my own apartment later. I’m already starting to think my ceilings are too low now I’ve spent a week here.

I grab a mug out of the cupboard. Luca is really slacking this morning. Usually, there’s a cup already made for me by the time I drag my zombie ass into the kitchen, but today he couldn’t even be bothered to get a mug out for me? Maybe I said something to offend him. I think back over all of our interactions this week. I called him an overeager puppy, threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t back up a few inches to give me some fucking space, and never missed a chance to make a bodyguard joke… I can’t see where any of that would cause him to revoke my barista privileges.

I pour myself a cup and add a little bit of half and half, then take a sip. I sputter as soon as the first drop hits my tongue. This shit is strong enough to strip a driveway, and it’s missing the little hint of cinnamon I’ve gotten used to Luca adding.

“What the fuck, Luca? Did I do something to piss—” I spin around with the mug in my hand, my face still wrinkled with disgust. The words die momentarily on my tongue when my gaze lands on the man sitting on the couch. “Who the fuck are you?”

The dude is wearing what I’ve been thinking of as the Official Moretti Uniform, a dark suit and expensive Italian shoes, but he’s definitely not Luca. He’s lounging on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, some finance channel playing on the TV. It takes him a long second to look away from the screen and lazily turn his head in my direction, like I’m some kind of inconvenience.

He drags his gaze over the part of me that’s not hidden behind the island counter with a dismissive flicker, his lips twisting into a hint of a snarl.

“Antonio. I drew the short straw,” he says.

I arch an eyebrow and, without thinking, bring the cup to my lips again to take another sip. I cringe again and set the mug down on the counter more forcefully than I need to, coffee sloshing over the rim to make a ring on the counter.

“What the hell does that mean? Where’s Luca? By the way, you make vile coffee.”

He scoffs. The sound is as dismissive as his look was, making my hackles rise defensively.

“Luca had somewhere else he had to be today. And apparently I did something to piss someone off since I was ordered to waste the day babysitting Salvatore’s stripper whore husband .” He doesn’t have to physically make air quotes around the word husband for me to hear them.

I rear back like his insult is a physical slap right across my face.

“Fucking excuse you?” My hand twitches towards the coffee mug again. Is it hot enough to scald him if I march in there and throw it in his face? Maybe it would be worth it to ruin his suit anyway, even if I can’t leave him with any serious burns.

“Don’t need to be excused, sweetheart. This whole thing is a fucking joke and I’m not going to pretend to take it seriously. But boss told me to get my ass over here and make sure nothing happens to his pet, so here I am. Now, shut the fuck up.” He turns the volume up on the TV as an extra ‘fuck off.’

My body flushes with a rush of fury, my fingers curling instinctively into fists and my heart pounding so loudly in my ears I can barely hear the man on the TV droning on about stock prices. I have no doubt this prick is strapped. The question is, can I vault over the counter and beat him to death before he can pull his gun? I don’t like my odds.

If I called Salvatore and repeated the insults Antonio just spewed at me, would he leave whatever meeting or shady dealing he’s currently in the middle of to race home and rip him to shreds for me? However I feel about fighting my own battles, the thought is pleasantly warm and comforting, like a hug. It’s enough to keep me from testing Antonio’s quick-draw skills… for now, anyway.

But if he thinks he’s going to sit on his ass all day and I’ll “shut the fuck up” and make this easy on him, then clearly no one warned him about me. My rage slowly rearranges itself into a delightfully spiteful feeling instead, and a smirk curls on my lips. I’m going to drag this asshole all over the city and make him hold my goddamn shopping bags. Make me feel small, and I’ll make you feel even smaller, bitch.

I dump the coffee down the sink and head back into the bedroom to get dressed. While I pick out clothes and get ready to go out for the day, I amuse myself with fantasies of wrapping Antonio’s tie around his throat until his face starts to turn purple and his eyes get all glassy and bloodshot.

My phone vibrates with a text from Salvatore.

SALVATORE: Morning, Angioletto. I’m thinking about you. How’s your morning going?

It’s not the first time he’s sent me an annoyingly sweet good morning text this week, and my body reacts the same way it has all the other mornings. My heart races and my stomach flutters and twists with too many confusing feelings to sort out. It almost feels like he thinks this is real, like he’s actually my husband, adoring me and not afraid for me to know it. I swallow hard and stare at the text for a few seconds, entertaining the idea of ratting on Antonio while also wondering what it would be like if I responded to Salvatore as if it was real too.

I missed you in bed this morning. I can’t wait to have your hands and mouth all over me again tonight. I’m starting to crave the way your stubble drags over my skin when you kiss the insides of my thighs.

My throat tightens and I wheeze out a laugh. Even all alone in the bedroom with the TV blaring too loudly for Antonio to hear me, I’m embarrassed by how anxious the sound is, high and tight and full of a thousand insecurities I don’t want to put words to.

I tug down the collar of my shirt and snap a picture of the bruise and send it without any words in response. My cock swells a little, thinking about his reaction to the photo. I know there’s a primal part of him that wants to mark me up, as if physical evidence of his claim will chase away anyone stupid enough to try to fuck with me. Another hot shiver runs through me. Maybe that’s why I like the bruise too.

SALVATORE: Are you trying to get my dick hard while I’m working?

I chew on my lip, screwing up my courage, then type a reply.

DANTE: Seemed like the bratty thing to do.

SALVATORE: Brats do it to get attention. Is that what you want, Angel? My attention?

My hands tremble and my cock gets even harder. I think… maybe I do want his attention. Yes, I need his help, and this marriage is for practical reasons, but both things can be true, can’t they? I can need him and want him, can’t I? I’m only human and he is Salvatore . Gorgeous, confident, well-dressed, dangerous in exactly the right ways…

I type and delete a reply three times, unable to make myself send one simple word. Yes . Because if I do, everything changes. Another message comes through while I’m fighting with myself.

SALVATORE: I can practically hear you seething from here. Tell you what, I’ll tie you up tonight and make you come until you’re so drained and oversensitive you’re begging me to stop, and we can pretend like you’re only doing it to keep me happy.

My mouth goes dry, and I swallow down a needy whimper, even though no one else would hear it anyway. I reach for my stiff cock with my free hand just as another text comes through.

SALVATORE: Hands off your pretty cock. That’s mine.

DANTE: Do you have cameras in the apartment or something? That’s an invasion of privacy.

SALVATORE: haha, no cameras, I just know my husband.

I gape at the text for another minute or two and then send an eye roll emoji and stuff my phone into my back pocket.

With my head held high and a fresh sense of confidence bolstering me, I stomp into the living room and grab the remote off of the coffee table before Antonio has the chance to reach for it.

“Get up, asshole, we’re going out.” I click off the TV.

“Nope.” He crosses one ankle over the other on the table like he’s making himself more comfortable and sinks a little deeper onto the couch.

“Fine.” I toss the remote at him forcefully, taking satisfaction in the thunk it makes when it bounces off his head. “I’m going out, you can stay here. I’m sure Salvatore, my husband , won’t mind at all when I tell him later that you didn’t think it was necessary to actually guard me.”

I hear him muttering more unflattering things about me as he scrambles off the couch right as I reach the door. I could be the bigger person here, but where would be the fun in that?

“Good puppy.” I pat his cheek and give him the most sugary smile I can manage.

Several hours and a dozen stores later, I hate Antonio even more. His sulking and bitching are starting to give me a fucking migraine. He was even rude to the barista at the coffee place, which we only had to stop at because he was incompetent at the challenging two-step process of putting ground beans and water into a machine and pressing the start button. The new clothes I’ve bought aren’t even enough compensation for having to spend the day with this miserable asshole.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun, now we’re going home,” he says on our way out of the store, his voice ruining the one second of euphoria I managed to feel about the new shoes I bought.

My petty plan isn’t working as well as I hoped, and at least at home I can lock myself in the bedroom and not look at him again until Salvatore gets home and sends him away. But there’s no fucking way on this planet or any other that I’m going to give him the satisfaction of obedience or even compliance.

“No.” I ignore him, turning back towards where we parked the car, and I keep walking.

“It wasn’t a question,” he calls after me. “You think Salvatore won’t believe me if I tell him I had safety concerns, and you ignored them? Maybe I tell him you got away from me on purpose, almost like you had someone you needed to meet that you didn’t want me to know about. Wouldn’t be the first time a rat tried to join The Family.”

I stop in my tracks. Would Salvatore believe him over me? Would he take Antonio’s word over mine just because Antonio is in The Family? A surprising amount of certainty fills my gut. I turn halfway back around, just so he can see the relaxed smile on my face as I shrug.

“Tell him and find out.”

People move around us on the sidewalk, unaware of our silent stand-off that lasts less than a minute.

“I’m serious, get in the car or I’m leaving you here alone,” he growls.

“No,” I say again.

Antonio huffs through his nose, then rounds the car to the driver’s side, gets in, and screeches away from the curb, nearly hitting another car in the process and leaving the smell of burning rubber and exhaust in his wake.

“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.

I’m definitely not going back to the apartment while he’s still there. I could take a taxi to my place. The thought makes me shudder immediately though. Fuck, I really am going to have to break the lease and find a new place once all of this is over, aren’t I? Even once Don and his little helper are long gone, that apartment is still going to feel tainted. I consider the idea of texting Sparrow to see if he wants to get lunch or something. Dammit, is this who I am now? Mafia wife spending the day shopping and lunching with other Mafia wives? Gag.

Honestly, after hours with that condescending prick, what I really want to do is hit something… or preferably some one .

The people around me thin out as I get farther away from the shopping district, not really walking anywhere in particular. At least I stuck Antonio with all my bags, so they’re not weighing me down. A few hours just wandering around the city until Salvatore gets home isn’t the worst idea. Definitely better than going back to the apartment and beating Antonio to death with whatever heavy object I manage to get my hands on.

It takes a few blocks before I realize there’s a distinct sound of footsteps a few paces behind me. Huh. Ask and you shall receive, apparently. I pick up my pace a little to check, and sure enough, the footsteps speed up at exactly the same rate. It’s broad daylight though. No one would be stupid enough to try to grab someone off the street in the middle of the day, would they?

The blood in my veins turns icy. Maybe it’s Don’s friend, the one who broke into my apartment and took all the pictures of me. I make a left turn down another street, residential this time, and the footsteps follow. My heart beats faster and my muscles start to tense and tick, trained through the years to react with fight when a predator stalks behind me, thinking they’re stealthier than they really are.

There’s hardly anyone out on this street, everyone away at work in the middle of the day. All the traffic sounds are coming from the shopping district a few blocks behind me now. I reach an alley between two apartment buildings and make a quick turn into it. I take a few steps, holding my breath against the stench of the dumpsters as I pass them, listening for the crafty predator sneaking up behind me. It only takes a few seconds before I hear his footsteps again, a crunch on the gravel, and a low laugh like he thinks he has me now.

“I guess Don didn’t warn you about me, did he?” I taunt, spinning around with my fist already cocked, a move I’ve done so many times it’s pure muscle memory.

“Actually, he did.”

He catches my fist before it can connect with his face and uses the leverage of my movement to wrench my arm behind my back, spinning me around too quickly to get a good look at his face. A flash of auburn is all I see before he has me pinned to the wall, the rough brick abrading my cheek.

“Get the fuck off of me,” I yowl, kicking and squirming, ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder.

The man tuts and tugs on my arm harder, sending a radiating jolt of pain from my shoulder through the rest of my body.

“You’ve been a naughty little liar, Dante. Don just wants the truth to come out.”

“Oh, is he ready to confess to what he actually did? Because what I managed to send him down for was a fucking fraction of what he deserved.” I stop struggling and give in to the weight of my attacker’s elbow in my back, his sweaty hand wrapped tightly around my wrist. “Is he really prepared to go up against the Morettis just to expose my half-truths?”

He chuckles and the heat of his breath makes my skin crawl.

“That was cute actually, he got a kick out of it, and you made a few things a lot easier for me with your little wedding stunt too. So thanks for that.” He wrenches my arm harder again, but eases up the pressure between my shoulder blades, shifting his weight. “Now, just hold still for one second.”

“Fuck the fuck off you cunt-ass piece of shit.” I start to buck again, clenching my teeth against the scream of pain that threatens to explode from my lips every time I try to tug my arm free.

He just chuckles again, and I hear the hiss of a lighter. I barely have time to wonder what he’s doing before searing pain lances through my forearm. Not just the pain of being burned, but of metal searing against my skin, making my flesh boil and melt. I do scream this time. A rage-filled, indignant shriek from deep in my gut as I finally figure out a way to get some leverage, shoving my knee up and using it to push myself off of the wall. He’s startled enough by the move that we stumble back, and he curses as he falls. Another nauseating jolt of pain explodes from my shoulder as we crash to the ground. I can’t fight him with a dislocated shoulder and no weapon.

So, as much as it hurts my pride, I run.