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This is what I signed up for, though, I guess.
Unhinged possessive men with way too fucking much testosterone.
Lord, give me the strength.
“You took her,” Dante says, his words finite and damning.
“Dante—” I start, but his head whips back to me, the venom for me too, apparently.
“You’re next, Delilah.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, blinking my eyes indignantly, a hand moving to my chest. He turns to me fully before he starts to speak.
“You disappear for fucking hours, I hear nothing from you, then you try to walk into my club like nothing happened? Yeah, you’re fucking next, Delilah.” I look around, noting a few of the girls watching with interest but no men other than Roddy, who’s got a bored expression.
Seems he also knows this will be his life from now on.
“You better rethink the way you’re speaking to me if you ever want to be sneaking in my bed again, Carmine Dante Romano Carluccio.”
And there it is.
The flare of heat in his eyes, the slightest tip of his lips.
He fucking loves this side of me.
I raise my eyebrow at him and he just shakes his head, turning back toward Marco. I’ll call that a win.
“You leave with her, give me no fucking heads-up, don’t tell me anything, and you take her to our fucking rivals?”
“Our rivals. Not hers, Dante.”
“She’s a Carluccio.”
There must not be anyone he doesn’t trust here today because it seems Dante doesn’t care who hears what, standing in the back of the club and speaking without much nuance.
“She’s also a Russo, man.”
“I don’t give a shit. She’s mine.”
Should that give me a flutter both in my heart and my pussy?
This, too, I guess, is my life for now on.
“Guys, come on, let’s—”
“You sorry?” Dante asks, tipping his chin to Marco, his back stretching as he crosses his arms on his chest, and it’s then I know.
I know this will end in blood.
Because Marco, the dumb ass he is, smiles.
And then he shakes his head.
“Not even a little.”
And then Dante winds up, stepping forward and pulling his fist back, punching Marco in the jaw.
His stumbles back, and Dante stands there, his jaw tight.
