Page 25 of Vow Of Fire

I found a small shelf of books in the living room and scanned the titles. Mostly classics. There was Hemingway, Orwell, and a battered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. I laughed out loud. How appropriate.

I picked it up and sank into the armchair to read. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what else to do. My heart was pounding way too fast, my hands trembled, and I wanted to scream in frustration. But Rocco would hear, and the guy was a sadist. I’d seen it in his eyes. No way I was giving him the satisfaction.

So I tried to read. Somehow, I managed to get through three chapters before the words swam in front of me.

Stifling a yawn, I closed the book. Dante had woken me up around three in the morning, so I’d hardly slept. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

It was so quiet. No traffic, no sirens, no buzzing phones. Just the rustle of trees, and the ever-present weight of Rocco’s shadow shifting past the window like a phantom.

My eyelids grew heavy, and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

The next thing I remembered was the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. I froze, my eyes flicking open. How long had I been out? Without a watch or my phone, it was hard to say. I’d lost track of time.

I stared out of the window. The sky was a deep indigo, which at this time of year meant it was around seven or eight o’clock.

A car door slammed, and then there were footsteps. Lighter than Rocco’s. This stride had purpose. Authority. I knew who it was.

Dante.

And he was alone.

I sat up and stared at the door, heart pounding as I waited for it to open. I heard Dante speaking in hushed tones with Rocco, who grunted in response, and a short while later, the SUV I’d been driven here in was leaving.

I was alone with Dante.

Was that good? Or bad?

My breath caught as the door creaked open. His dark figure filled the space as his gaze immediately settled on me. “I hope you’re comfortable.”

It wasn’t a question. I knew it wouldn’t matter even if I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway. His suit was black, with sharp lines, almost identical to the one he’d worn the night of the gallery showing. The guy probably had an endless supply.

The crisp white shirt clung annoyingly to his broad shoulders, the top few buttons undone. That wolf tattoo peeked over his collar. I wondered what the significance was, but I wasn’t going to ask. The top of his tie hung out of his pocket like he’d pulled it off mid-drive and shoved it in there. He must have come straight from work, wherever that was.

I didn’t stand up, didn’t speak. He wasn’t carrying a weapon that I could see, but really, where was I going to go? Even if I could get past him and make it to the door, we were in the middle of nowhere. Plus, it was dark outside. Only a fool would go wandering around in the woods after dark.

“Why are you here?” I asked, after a long beat had passed.

He shrugged. “Rocco needed some time off. Plus, I wanted the opportunity to talk.”

I snorted, adding a hefty dose of derision. “Haven’t we done enough talking? If you didn’t get what you wanted when I was tied up in a dirty warehouse, what makes you think you’re going to get it now?”

He studied me. “Are you admitting you have something to hide?”

I tensed. “No, I’m saying I don’t. So there’s no point in my being here.”

He walked over to a vacant armchair and eased himself into it. I bristled as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. Had he locked the front door? I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know how much you know about my family,” he said in a deep voice, “but we’re not known for our goodwill.”

“I think I figured that one out.”

He smirked, and the line between his eyes eased. “So if there is anything you want to tell me, now’s the time.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t know about your shipment.”

He said nothing.

“Did you speak with Mikhail?” I asked, to fill the gap.