Page 43 of Dante

“You know that the purpose of our union was to symbolically consolidate the Italian families in the United States.”

“Yes,” I force myself to say. After everything we shared together, Dante obviously meant to say ‘original purpose.’ I forgive him forgetting that all-important word.

“The Petrovs are a new threat,” he continues, his voice thickening with anger. “The most violent, most ruthless Russian mob we’ve ever faced. And because they’re so new, we don’t know what they’re capable of.”

I nod, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as his intense gaze pins me in place.

My robe suddenly feels too skimpy and revealing.

I swallow hard. “They followed Angie and me to...to provoke you?”

Dante edges closer. His crisp white shirt stretches across his chest with each breath. His calloused fingertips tilt my chin up to face him.

The touch sends electricity racing to my nipples when his thumb moves slowly to my lower lip.

“Yes. By following you, the Petrovs tried to prove they can reach what is mine. I won’t allow that to happen.”

“What happens next?”

Dante’s expression darkens. “Not your concern. But until then, you need protection. From now on, you don’t leave this house without a bodyguard.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “Who will it be?”

“Remember the man who drove you home after you visited the club? That’s Thomas. He’s young, but a good soldier. Sharp. Always on his toes. He’s proved his loyalty. He’ll be responsible for you. You go nowhere without him. Understood?”

I nod.

“Good. Did your father ever show you how to use a gun?”

I shake my head. “No. He crunched numbers for a living.”

Dante frowns. “Have you ever seen a gun?”

“Only in movies.”

“Well then. Here’s your first lesson.”

Standing, he takes a handgun from his waistband. “This is a Beretta Jetfire. It’s saved my life dozens of times. You’ll need to use it if you want to stay alive. Now come stand here.”

I join him near the mirrored wall in the living room.

Dante positions me in front of it. Except for my white robe, we look like the cover of one of Alice’s mafia romances.

Me, wide-eyed and uncertain. Dante, dark and unyielding behind me.

“Look at yourself,” he says. He places the gun in my right hand. Cold, heavy. “Hold it steady.”

His hand closes over mine, adjusting my grip. His chest presses against my back. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Good. Fear keeps you sharp. But you can’t let it control you.”

I stare at our reflection. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, anchoring me against him. “Lift it,” he says. “Aim at your own reflection.”

I raise the gun, my hand trembling. He moves with me, his arm guiding mine. “Steady. Breathe.”

His hand tightens over mine. I inhale his scent of cedar and smoke.