“I wish it were that simple.” I huff out a laugh, then go quiet. “I hate to say it, but Dante would know what to do.”
Sighing, I lean my head back against the cabinet. I can feel my sister’s eyes on me.
“He’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he?” She passes me the bottle, and I take another drink.
“I never knew I could hate someone and love someone so much at the same time,” I tell her. “But I feel like I ruined it before it even began, thanks to all this Rico bullshit.”
“Maybe,” Charlie says, holding her hand out for the wine. “Dante’s kind of an asshole, though. No offense.”
I have to laugh. “You’re not wrong. The thing is…I know it sounds hard to believe, but before Rico came out of the woodwork, it felt like Dante and I—we were becoming something real.”
“Oh?” My sister cocks a brow, watching me take a greedy drink from the bottle.
“Don’t get me wrong, Danteisan asshole,” I admit. “A huge asshole. But…I don’t know. At first, all we did was butt heads. But at some point, I realized that we both seemed to enjoy the…challenge of each other. And then the work I did for the winery—it earned me his respect, too. Because even though I had to fight him every step of the way, I was good at the job.”
“You were great at the job,” Charlie points out.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I proved myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have had to, but I did. And it made Dante trust me. As for the physical stuff…we’re compatible in that way also.”
Charlie giggles. I don’t elaborate. My cheeks are hot enough, and not just from the wine.
“Anyway,” I go on. “The point is, when I married him, I went into it thinking I was just doing what I had to do. Going through the motions. And now…everything’s different. I had no idea what he would become to me. What we would become.”
Charlie nods. “At least you knew who he was when you married him. There wasn’t any love clouding your vision. I married Clayton because of love. I mean, I don’t regret it, but…” She looks down at the bottle in her hands, giving it a swirl. “It’s really hard not knowing where he is when he disappears for days and weeks on end. And it’s even harder not knowing if he’s going to come back. Trusting that he isn’t doing something terrible. Knowing he probably is.”
“I get it. I do.” I’ve had the same thoughts about Dante.
“He says he’s never killed anyone, but…” She trails off, her eyes clouding with some distant memory. But then she snaps to and takes another drink. “I love him anyway. He could probably kill a hundred people and I think I’d still love him. Can you believe it? What the hell does that say about me?”
“I’m sure Dante’s ordered his fair share of hits,” I tell her. “It comes with the territory. Doesn’t change how I feel about him, though.”
“Dad really screwed us up, didn’t he?”
“That he did.”
Charlie laughs, and I join in. I feel like we’ve never been more connected.
She salutes me with the wine. “To shady men, and the women who love them.”
Then she takes a swig and passes it to me.
I hold the bottle up in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”
14
Dante
Dinner is a tasteless necessity.
All I can taste is Frankie. The residue of her skin is full on my lips and tongue, and my mind is on a loop replaying the scene in the kitchen in excruciating detail, down to the way she felt in my arms, around my cock, the scent of her hair, her lustful moans.
Until today, I’d been haunted by the last time we slept together. How she’d been wrapped up in my bed sheet like a Greek goddess, cheeks flushed with sex, her eyes glowing. Thanks to her unexpected visit today, now all I can envision is her long legs in those tall riding boots, her curvy ass hugged by tight jodhpurs. Her eyes flashing bright with anger. She’s always the best fuck when she’s angry…God, I hadn’t been able to help myself. And when I’d slid my fingers into her hot—
“Dante?”
I look up to see Marco and Armani staring at me. That’s when I realize I’m holding my fork in a death grip, even though the table has been cleared and dinner is over.
Apparently, judging by the looks on my brothers’ faces, it’s time for serious discussion. Alain makes a quick round at the table, pouring us all cups of coffee and setting out dishes of sugar and heavy cream. I take a deep drink of mine, black and steaming, wishing it would scald Frankie right out of my memory.
