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Dante didn’t say anything, because he didn’t know her. But he wanted to know this girl with endless strength. He knew she was gentle, he knew she smiled big, he knew she had the most unique, beautiful eyes that the artist in him admired, and he knew she probably didn’t know her own strength. He had seen tough men break and seen their mind splinter, sometimes having been the one to break them. However, her three days at the hands of her captors, with the torture they put her through, hadn’t destroyed her. Beat her, yes, but she was still there, alive and visceral, vibrating with a force she probably didn’t realize she was eman
ating.
“She’s the one who told me to give you cookies years ago, you know,” her mother smiled. “I told her about your mama’s death and that’s what she said – to give you sweets. I never thought of it before that. You were just a young boy too. And somehow, she saw it. Her heart has always amazed me.”
Dante remembered the first time Zia had come to him with cookies. He had been surprised and a little suspicious, but by the last bite, he’d felt better than he had in years.
And she’d done that for him, that slumbering, broken girl.
Yeah, she was important alright. Perhaps, she always had been and Dante just hadn’t seen it. He was just realizing that.
‘Fate is always weaving its threads, Dante. We just don’t see them until our eyes open.’
His mother’s words came back to him, a smile on her face as she said the words looking out at the sunset. He didn’t know if anything like fate existed beyond the books. But standing there, he could feel his eyes opening, thin threads stretching out from him and going beyond the room, hooking him to the sleeping girl inside.
Dante sat in front of his father in the study, keeping his face clear of all expression except a little smirk. While he let Lorenzo Maroni think he was on a leash, behaving like the good son that he was, that little smirk was his middle finger to his sire.
“Your brother is being moved. There was a fire at the home, so they’re relocating,” the bastard said, his eyes gauging Dante’s reaction. If he thought Dante was unaware of anything happening with his brother, the man was dumber than he’d given him credit for.
“Where?” Dante asked, leaning back in the chair.
As much as he hated his father, he had to admit the man had class. The older Dante grew, the more he realized he liked classy things, and this study was a prime example of that. Polished wooden furniture that matched the wooden panels behind his father’s chair, a bookshelf on the opposite corner filled with books he doubted his father had ever read; windows to his left with patterned draperies that somehow went with the stone and wood theme, and a huge desk that dominated this corner of the room. Cherry on top were the small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Classy motherfucker.
Dante hated that he got that from him, at least on the outside. Deep down, it was his mother who’d taught him class.
“Another location,” Bloodhound Maroni told him, holding that piece of information for leverage. Information, as his father had taught him, was the key. Dante smirked, already one step ahead of his game.
He could see that the smirk bothered the older man before he shook it off. “The girl, is she going to be a problem?”
Dante felt his shoulders tighten at the words. No way was she getting in his father’s crosshairs. She already had enough shit to last a lifetime.
“I don’t think so,” Dante informed him casually. He’d learned over the years that dealing with his father was pretty simple – appease him, stroke his ego, and let him stay complacent on his throne. Those made him overlook anything under his nose while outright rebellion honed him in.
“Who took her?”
“Still looking into it.”
His father nodded. “Pay off the mother and the girl to keep their mouths shut. We don’t want our enemies on the ground thinking they can pick anyone off the compound. Keep an eye on her.”
Yeah, they were keeping it low-key. Surprisingly, not many in the underworld even knew there had been an abduction, at least not to his knowledge. Or maybe, it wasn’t that surprising. Her last name wasn’t consequential enough. He frowned slightly, trying to remember if he even knew her last name.
Dante nodded, swiftly getting up from the chair and straightening his suit jacket.
“Oh, and a woman is coming into the fold,” his father informed him, taking his phone out to show him the photo of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. “Her father used to be a soldier before he folded, and she’s been making some waves lately. Her name is Nerea. Keep an eye on her too.”
Dante narrowed his eyes, his senses tingling. This was off, very off. There was no way his father was just letting a woman come into the fold because she was ‘making waves’. An equal opportunity believer his father was not. Women were whores to him. This absolutely did not go with his personality, even if she was sleeping with him. There was no way she could talk her way from his bed into the Outfit.
Nevertheless, he nodded, striding out of the room and into the corridor, taking his phone out. Dialing his only partner in crime, he put it to his ear and went out of the mansion.
“Where are you?” he asked as soon as the call was answered.
“Out,” came Tristan’s succinct response.
Dante rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”
There was silence for a second before he said, “Lincoln’s. 205.”
