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Fuck. She's worried that a man who has killed more men than we can count won't like her simply because he's my uncle.
How can someone so perfect be meant for someone like me? It's incomprehensible that fate or destiny or God would tie an angel like her to a man like me, and yet it's far too late for them to take it back now. I spent all day watching her sleep, refusing to leave her side because I promised her that I wouldn't. Not even the cartel showing up on our doorstep would have dragged me away. But I have even less desire to leave now that she's awake. Every word she says drags me a little deeper into obsession. I feel it bubbling in my veins, changing me on a cellular level.
"You don't have to worry about that, Magic," I promise, confident that Dante will fucking love her. She's far too much like Devin. They're both gentle souls, though my little sister can be a menace, too. Snow is everything right in the world.
"If you say so," Snow says doubtfully.
I chuckle and rap on Dante's door.
"Come in," he growls.
Snow slips her hand into mine, clinging like I'm a lifeline as I push the door open to the elaborate study. Dante's behind his antique desk, his tie undone and his shirtsleeves rolled up, with Belle on his lap. Judging by the way she's blushing and her messy hair, they've been up to no good.
"Snow, this is my uncle Dante and his wife, Belle. Dante, Belle, this is Snow Buchanan," I say, introducing everyone.
"Dimitri," Dante growls, his eyes running over me before they shift to Snow. His expression softens as he studies her. "Hello, Snow. It's nice to meet you."
"Hi, Snow," Belle says, smiling at her. "It's lovely to meet you."
"Hi," Snow squeak, squeezing my hand. "Thank you both so much for allowing me and my dogs to stay here."
"You're welcome here anytime," Belle says, sliding from Dante's lap. She pads across the floor toward us, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, her pregnant belly gently rounded. "Do you mind if I take a look at you, sweetheart? Dimitri told us you've been living in the woods for a while."
Snow looks up at me, a question in her eyes.
"Belle is a doctor," I explain quietly. "She wants to look you over and make sure you're doing okay."
"Oh," Snow whispers before turning back to Belle. She nods, holding out her left arm. "Um, I scraped it up last night."
"I see that," Belle says, taking her hand. She leads her toward a table set up beneath the window and helps get her settled before pulling out a first aid kit to bandage her up.
"How's Constantine?" I ask Dante. I haven't seen him since we got home last night. Belle sent him to his wing to recover after she stitched him up.
"Fine," he grunts, a shadow passing through his eyes. He's not thrilled that Constantine got shot last night.
"The bullet passed straight through," Belle says. "He'll be sore for a few days, but he'll be perfectly fine."
"He was shot?" Snow asks, guilt stamped all over her face.
"It wasn't your fault," I tell her, my voice firm. "You're the victim in all of this. Any responsibility rests with Delilah and the Carmonas."
She nods doubtfully, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Speaking of which," Dante says, shooting me a look before he turns to Snow. "Snow, do you know how your stepmother got involved with the Carmona cartel?"
Snow shakes her head. "I thought she hired them to kill me."
"Not quite," I say. "Apparently, she's been helping them out with some of their business. In exchange, they were supposed to deal with you for her."
"Oh," Snow whispers. "What kind of business?"
"Drug trafficking," Dante says bluntly.
Snow pales slightly. "My dad owns...owned...a small shipping company. When he got sick, she took on a lot of the responsibility." Her shoulders hunch as if she's trying to make herself smaller. "It's one of the reasons she thinks his money should go to her instead of me."
"Is she still running the company?"
"Yes. She runs the company and oversees my trust until I turn twenty-one."
"Jesus Christ," I growl. No wonder the psychotic woman wants Snow out of the picture. With her gone, she gets the trust, the company, and whatever cut the cartel is giving her to help them move their product in on Snow's company's boats.
"She gets to keep everything and the drug trafficking money if I don't make it to twenty-one," Snow mumbles, reaching the same conclusion.
"What made you run, Snow?" Dante asks. "What happened?"
"My dad died six months ago," she says, staring at the carpet. "Cancer. Since I was still a minor, Delilah assumed custody of me. It's what my dad wanted. He always hoped we'd learn to love each other, but she's always hated me. I don't know why." A sad frown twists at her lips, as if it genuinely hurts to talk about this.
