Page 119 of Vow Of Fire

Iwas happy, I realized with a jolt, as we drove the few blocks to Valentina Marcelli’s luxury penthouse. For the first time in my life, I was actually happy.

Dante had made that happen.

It was crazy, given there were men after me, my gallery was a disaster waiting to happen, and I was working with an organized crime syndicate, not to mention sleeping with a man who could kill me with his bare hands if the mood struck him.

On paper, it should have been a shitstorm of mammoth proportions, but instead… I had never been happier. Even Chloe had noticed it.

“You haven’t stopped smiling all day,” she’d said before I left work. “Does your dangerously hot new boyfriend have something to do with that?”

He sure did, but I didn’t tell her it was probably due to the multiple orgasms I’d had last night, or the fact that I’d woken up with Dante cupping my breast and spooning me, before giving me one more sleepy, delicious orgasm without having to change position.

I was sexually satisfied beyond my wildest dreams, and while his conversational skills still needed some work, he was slowly opening up and sharing more about his life. Mostly pillow talk, but I’d take what I could get.

I figured it was only fair that I reciprocated, so I confided things I’d never told anybody else. About my parents, my upbringing and how much the gallery meant to me.

When he wasn’t frowning, Dante could be quite amusing. I was discovering he had a dry, wickedly dark sense of humor that often caught me by surprise. He said it was because in the military they’d used humor to cope with the horror of what they saw and did on a daily basis.

I couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, but he’d yet to tell me anything more specific than that. He never spoke about the bullet wound on his forearm, or any particular incidents that had occurred while he’d been a Ranger.

And I hadn’t pushed. I knew some things were just too painful to share.

He’d also surprised me with an impromptu gift. A gold watch. I studied it now, glinting on my wrist. It was delicate, elegant, and unobtrusive. Very classy, and very me.

“Il Lupo is going to be there tonight,” Dante told me as we sat in Manhattan traffic. I’d suggested walking, but Dante wasn’t a fan of us being out in the open. Not right now, with the threat from the cartel still hanging over me.

“Il Lupo?” I arched an eyebrow.

“My grandfather, Leo Marcelli. Il Lupo is what he was called when he was Don. Probably because he was so feared—but also revered,” he added quickly.

“The wolf?” I ventured. My Italian was practically nonexistent.

Dante gave a tight nod. “He’s retired now. Doesn’t often get involved in family business. Prefers to let Valentina handle it.”

“And you four,” I added.

He grunted. “These days, Leo spends his time drawing and painting. Used to be a hobby but has become a bit of an obsession.” He glanced over at me. “He’ll be very interested to talk to you.”

Dante didn’t normally talk this much, and I realized he was nervous. This was the first time I’d be meeting his entire family together.

If I said I wasn’t just a little bit anxious, I’d be lying. But after surviving Dante, then Valentina, and meeting Nico and Izzy—albeit briefly—I was sure I could handle the rest of the family.

Sure, they’d be scrutinizing my every move, wondering if they could really trust me. Looking for flaws in my character, in what I was saying. Testing my alliances. I was prepared for that. It was expected, since I was living with Dante and helping them execute their diabolical revenge scheme.

One thing I’d come to realize was that there wasn’t any love lost between the Marcellis and the Malakovs, so I knew to tread carefully there. I was curious what had brought about the great rivalry, but then maybe just being opposing crime families was enough.

That was another thing Dante didn’t speak about, but to be fair, I’d never asked. Maybe I should, since now I was caught between the two.

“It’ll be fine.” I reached across and squeezed his hand.

He flinched but didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, grasped mine, and lifted it to his lips, where he pressed a warm kiss to my palm.

God help me, the man knew how to get to me.

“I know you can handle it,” he murmured, “but I’ll be right there if it gets heavy.”

“Always my protector,” I whispered, a smile playing on my lips.

His hand felt warm and a little bit rough around mine. I wanted to stay like that, my hand engulfed by his larger one, but holding hands was not something we’d managed yet. Nor did it seem we ever would. Not with the way things were. Although, I had to admit, the lines were becoming increasingly blurred.