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“I trust you, Dante. I love you. I know you would never hurt me; you only want to keep me safe. Now please, god, tell me—"
“I can’t. You can’t know, not yet. It has to be real, fiorella. It has to be real.”
It has to be real. What? The love? The . . . fear?
“I’m doing this for you, baby. Just trust that. I’m fucking insane over you.”
I take a deep breath as his phone stops ringing and then starts again.
“Okay, Dante. Okay.”
“Good. I have to go. That’s Paulie calling.”
“Paulie?” I ask, a foreboding chill running down my spine as I remember the last time I saw the man, drunk and pinning me to the counter before Marco came in, saving me.
“Paulie.”
“Why is Paulie calling you?”
“You trust me?” he asks again, and again, that cold creeps over my skin.
I don’t like this.
I don’t like the look in his eyes, the panic, the unease.
The fact that Paulie is somehow involved in this grand plan of Dante’s is worrying. Paulie is poison, that much I know. His idea for how to move forward with the family is toxic. Greedy.
But still, I answer.
I answer even though I know somewhere deep that if I had to, I’d take down this man before me to get what I need. I know that if he teamed up with Paulie, if this whole thing was a charade, I would do it. I would find a way to use my siren’s song, the song of my body, my lips, my words to crash his boat against my rocks until he was no more.
“Yes, Dante,” I say, and he smiles like he knew I’d answer that way. “But don’t mistake my trust for weakness.” I stiffen my chin as I stare at him, and the man just smiles that proud smile.
“Never. Your fortress is made of diamonds, my queen. Anyone who could look at you and see you as weak isn’t seeing you at all.”
That answer is a good one, so I leave it there. He presses his lips to mine, hard, bruising, before standing up, lifting me, and walking me over to the closet. “Come, you have to get ready.”
And then Dante shows me a gorgeous gown I’m sure he picked out himself before he leaves me standing in the guest room, fully and utterly panicked about what is to come tonight.
Forty-Five
-Lilah-
The two days of peace and happiness are gone, stripped from him, and back is the man that’s tired and worried.
At three-thirty in the afternoon, there is a knock on the guest-room door. My door, I suppose.
The Carluccio compound, I’ve learned, houses every one of blood who is unmarried or unattached and a few others. One of the others is Marco.
When I open the door, I leave the chain on, opening it just enough to see who is there before smiling at the familiar face.
“Smart, princess. Don’t open doors for just anyone.” I close the door, undo the chain, and open it again.
“Marco, your heel to that door would be more than enough for you to knock it down,” I say with a laugh, but he doesn’t even smile.
He stares at me instead.
“You’d lock the deadbolt, hit the panic button, and call Dante.”
