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Dante’s own obsession, though not as mad as Tristan’s, burned just as hot, even if there was a difference. Morana Vitalio didn’t even know Tristan existed, and his girl had existed with Dante in her life for as long as he could remember. Where Tristan’s obsession was a visible thunderstorm, Dante’s was more like the wind – ever-present and life-sustaining but invisible. It could go from a comforting breeze that gave relief to the relentless wind that fanned the flames.
His obsession was born of an emotion he had not thought himself capable of. When it began, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the second she collided into him and fearlessly demanded his attention, or maybe it was when he held her broken body in his arms after searching for her for days, or maybe it was when she looked at him with mindless pain before slumping in relief; or maybe it was when he saw her trying to walk on her hurting feet, fall and push herself up again.
Dante didn’t know when he fell in love with Amara. He just did.
This was exactly why he sat in the Outfit restaurant in his city, watching as the mustached man across him, the man he’d finally located after four years of searching. The man swallowed his food, his eyes nervous. He should be very nervous.
“It was years ago, man,” the jackass said, his eyes shifty. “We just got the order to take the girl. I can’t remember anything else."
Something that had always bothered Dante about Amara’s abduction had been the lack of logic behind it. Had it been a normal kidnapping with the ransom, he could’ve understood that still. But with the level of torture she had endured, and from what her kidnappers had told him before he killed them, he knew she’d been targeted specifically. And it didn’t make sense. If someone had wanted Outfit secrets, Vin had been a better choice to take, instead of the young girl who wasn’t in the fold. Also, the fact that her kidnappers had been professionals, the kind that chewed on cyanide capsules in their teeth rather than give information.
Dante used the spoon in his left hand to twine the spaghetti on the fork, before putting the bite in his mouth, chewing slowly to both enjoy the taste and let the asshole in front of him sweat. They were seated in a corner away from the main part of the restaurant, and Dante liked that. Cleanup would be less of a headache. Although, nobody would dare come to them, not with his gun openly visible on the table.
Swallowing down his bite, he deliberately picked up his glass of wine, a decadent red, and swirled it in his hand, his eyes on Gilbert, the man he’d finally found. What the fuck kind of a douche name was Gilbert?
“I swear I don’t know anything, Mr. Maroni,” the man swore profusely and Dante shook his head.
“See, Gilbert,” Dante took a sip of the wine. Ah, so good. “I don’t like people who lie to my face. I know the hit went from you to those boys. So, I’m giving you one more chance. Who told your boys to kidnap the girl?”
Gilbert slugged down his drink, wiping his hand on his palm. “Look, I really don’t know.”
Dante pursed his lips, indicating the man’s drink. “You know the whiskey you just enjoyed so much? It’s poisoned.”
“What?!”
Dante calmly twined another forkful of spaghetti and continued talking. “It’s an extremely rare blend of venoms. Very hard to acquire, to the point I actually had to hire a very skilled thief to get it for me, especially for occasions like this. But that’s beside the point. Three little drops. I’d say you have five, maybe ten minutes top.”
“What do you mean?” the man panicked, his face sweating.
“Unless of course, you get an antidote,” Dante helpfully pointed out, “which happens to be in my jacket pocket.”
The man in front of him adjusted on the chair, breathing heavily.
“In about two minutes your system will start to shut down,” Dante picked up his glass again, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have a lot of time, Gilbert. If I were you, I’d be singing like a canary.”
“It was a phone call,” the man huffed out, squirming on the chair now. “He didn’t give his name, just transferred all the money and told us to interrogate the girl.”
“Interrogate her about what?” Dante asked calmly as the man tugged at his collar.
“Everything. He said she had some information and we had to break her by any means possible and call him back with the info.”
“And did you?” Dante looked down at his watch. “Call him back?”
“No,” the man started to shake. “She didn’t break.”
Fuck, no, she didn’t break. Not his fierce warrior queen.
Dante didn’t ask for the number. After so many years playing the game, he knew well enough how things worked. The number would be a dead end.
“You gotta give me something if you want to live,” Dante said in a singsong voice, seeing the hands on his metal watch.
“I just know he worked for a group, alright?” the man panted, sweating profusely. “Some kind of guild or syndicate or something. Give me the antidote, please!”
A few patrons in the restaurant looked at the table, at both the men and the gun on the table, before looking away. They all knew this was an Outfit establishment.
Dante chuckled. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Gilbert. You gave your boys the permission to torture a fifteen-year-old kid.” He leaned forward, the rage inside him simmering. “Did you know she was mine?”
The other man’s eyes widened as he sputtered. “No, no. I swear I didn’t know she was yours. I never would have taken the job if I knew.”
