Page 109 of Dante

When I pull up outside Dante’s club, he’s waiting, along with his men.

He steps out before I fully stop the car. His face is darker than I’ve ever seen it.

He reaches the door and opens it, scanning my face and body. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head.

His gaze drops to the Beretta on the front seat next to me.

“You fired.”

“Yes.”

His jaw tightens. Then he pulls me out of the car and embraces me, one hand firm at the back of my head.

“You did exactly what I taught you,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

“Thomas is hurt,” I tell him.

Even as I speak, Dante’s men busy themselves taking him out of the car.

“He needs medical care!” I add.

“Yes. On the way,” Dante assures me, hugging me even tighter.

Standing there, pressed against his chest, I realize something irreversible has happened.

I pulled the trigger today.

I killed two men.

There is no going back to the person I was before.

And I think Dante knows it too.

CHAPTER 42

DANTE

The next day, I push open the door to my office and freeze.

Silvio sits in one of my leather chairs, his back to the window, leaving him silhouetted against the light.

His presence hits me like a slap. My secretary knows better than to let anyone in without my permission. Especially not my uncle.

But I’ve seen how her hands tremble when he walks past her desk. How she suddenly becomes absorbed in her computer screen.

She fears him more than she fears unemployment. Hell, most people do.

I close the door behind me with a soft click, my hand lingering on the polished brass handle.

Silvio doesn’t bother to stand up. This should be standard protocol since I’m a mafia don, even if he is my uncle.

He’s also drinking espresso from my personal porcelain cup. A clear message.

I remove my jacket, draping it over the back of my chair with slow, measured movements.

Then I fold my hands on the polished mahogany surface between us and look him straight in the eyes.