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Honeymoon resorts. The guy was talking honeymoon resorts. Pigs really had to be flying somewhere in the world.
Dante turned to consider the other man. “You think you’ll ever go on a honeymoon with her?”
Tristan stared out at the lush landscape. “I don’t think she actually expects us to. Not right now, anyway. The thing with the Reaper hit her hard. For now, she’s coping by distracting herself with travel plans after Luna, and I’m letting her. She’s processing.”
Dante felt his lips lift. “You’re whipped.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
Dante grinned, looking out at the cloudy sky. “I’m happy for you, you little shit. For both of you.”
Tristan stayed silent for a beat. “You and Amara doing okay?”
“What, you’re giving me relationship advice now?”
He shrugged. “Communication and shit are important in relationships.”
Dante looked at him in surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with Tristan?”
He saw the fucker’s lips twitch.
The sound of dogs barking had them both turning to see three large German Shepherds behind the glass doors, a giant man walking towards them. Dante rarely met anyone larger than he was, but this guy had a few inches over him, both in height and thickness. Dark black hair wavy around his fucked up face, an honest-to-god eye patch over one eye, the man screamed danger and dominance in ways that had Dante’s predatory instincts come to the fore.
He put on the façade that had served him the best – the suave gentleman whom people tended to underestimate. People expected the Dante Maroni – the Wall of the Tenebrae Outfit, the son of Bloodhound Maroni, and grandson of Iceman Maroni – to be one vicious, arrogant, brutal motherfucker. He was all those things. But the suits, the manners, the charm always fooled them.
The giant guy nodded to them both, extending one large, scarred hand towards him.
“Alpha,” he spoke in a gruff voice, his one eye a dark gold, assessing them both. “Welcome to Los Fortis.”
Dante shook his hand firmly. “Dante Maroni. This is Tristan Caine.”
Alpha nodded to Tristan and waved them both to the covered area on the terrace with bamboo furniture. They all sat down, the dogs inside settling against the glass, watching their master and the strangers.
“Quite a place you’ve built yourself here,” Dante commented, breaking the silence.
Alpha just smiled, only one side of his lips and cheeks moving, the other permanently pulled down by the scar that ran under his eye patch. He was a survivor, this guy, and Dante had immediate respect for anyone who’d gone through shit to come out the other side.
An old lady with weathered skin came out with a tray from the other side of the terrace, carrying steaming mugs of coffee and snacks. She gave all three of them a smile, speaking in her lilting accent. “The coffee is a local specialty. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Leah,” Alpha told her, his voice warming fractionally. Dante wondered for a second if he should drink or refuse, but Alpha told him. “I don’t poison guests, Mr. Maroni. That’s not my style.”
Both he and Tristan took a steaming mug each and sipped. It was bitter but damn if it didn’t taste incredible.
“Did your father finally tell you? Is that why you’re here?” Alpha asked, relaxed in his chair. The fact that he was relaxed, that there was no security, that he and Tristan hadn’t been stripped of weapons before meeting him told Dante exactly how lethal the man before him was. Unlike his father who had relied on his army of security to keep him safe, this man was a warrior king, who had amassed his army by fighting and winning.
“What do you mean?” Dante asked, taking a sip of his brew.
The man’s golden eye sharpened on him. “We share a father, Mr. Maroni.”
Dante’s hand paused on the way to his mouth, his eyes honing in on the other man. “Excuse me?”
Alpha laughed. “The bastard didn’t tell you.”
Dante felt his fingers flex on the mug. He set it down on the table and leaned forward, his jaw clenching. “Explain.”
The other man took pity on him. “My mother was a sex worker in Los Fortis, sending her younger sister to art school and keeping a roof over their heads. Lorenzo Maroni saw her one day on his visit to the city about thirty-three years ago, raped her, and left her pregnant. He also kidnapped her sister and took her with him. He married her.”
Dante felt his heart cracking open, the ground beneath his feet shifting. He looked at the other man, truly looked at him, and saw the similarity – the dark hair, the jawline, the cheekbones, the nose, the build. He was looking at his half-brother.
