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With the way he’s towering over me, I should feel threatened. I should try to escape, get myself out of his stronghold and get as far away as possible from this confusing man. But I stay immobile, like a rabbit startled by a loud noise, letting Dante’s heat warm my shaking body. His proximity calming the storm inside my head.
“Giving up on what?”
“I’m not,” I repeat, shaking my head as I finally look into his brown eyes, unable to tear my gaze away the second our eyes meet. For once, I don’t see anger inside them. Instead, as his brows draw together, I try to decipher the emotion inside them.
“Will you—Will you tell me, please?” he asks, his tone barely above a whisper.
I’m caught in a trap. A snare, his tentative words and caring actions set for me, making me forget about the angry man who’s been making my life a living hell from the moment I met him. But I can’t seem to get away, and the more my instincts are telling me to run, the tighter the noose of his chocolate eyes gets. I don’t realise I’m nodding my head in reply until his long, callused fingers wrap around my hand, squeezing it in comfort. For some reason, I didn’t expect his fingers to be rough. His polished image and expensive tastes are so at odds with the man I’m seeing right now, standing in front of me.
“I—” My voice is raspy as I try to formulate my reply. If he had asked me the same question a few days ago, I’d have laughed in his face. A few days ago I’d flip him the bird, steal his money clip and walk away, cursing his audacity. A few days ago, I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. So what changed? “I’m going to find out what ties me to Blackwood. I think I’m from here. I think… maybe my parents are still here.” I whisper the last part, having spoken the one thing I have not dared to even think of.
The grip on my hand tightens.
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you want to know?”
Dante clenches his jaw together, an angry muscle ticking just below his cheekbone. “I wouldn’t. I’d have stayed withthe person who took care of me. I’d have stayed in my perfect little life.”
My mouth opens, all sense of trust I fooled myself into believing I felt evaporating. “Perfect?” I half-choke, my mind reeling. As if transferred through his touch, anger pulsates in my veins, directly to the tightening of my chest. Swallowing hard, I grapple for self-control, but there is none. “If foster care was so perfect, why would I have fled at thirteen? You think the streets are any kinder to a young girl with no hope of survival?”
He doesn’t respond. At least not in the way I expected. Those brown depths lighten, his grip on my hand loosening as he takes a step back, shock and disbelief on his face as if I just slapped him.
“What do you mean?” he finally says, his posture rigid, his eyes searching mine trying to catch me in a… lie?
“Exactly what I said, Dante.” I turn away from him.
“But—” He’s back in front of me in an instant, his rough hand on my chin, tilting it until our gazes meet once more.
“But what?” I grit through my teeth. “Not everyone gets to grow up with a family. Some of us have to fend for ourselves. Some of us have no one to take care of them.”
His grip on my chin lightens, his thumb stroking my bottom lip as his eyes cast downwards, focusing on them.
“You’re under my protection now, Alessa.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I snap back. “I’ve taken care of myself all this time and I can keep doing it just fine. I’m not some damsel in distress waiting for a knight on a white horse to show up and save her from the cruel world.”
He chuckles darkly. “I’m not a knight in shining armour, Alessa. I’m the stuff of nightmares.”
“You don’t scare me,” I say defiantly.
He licks his lip, his thumb making his way up, tracing the outline of my top lip. The gentle touch making my lipspart, as an unfamiliar ache starts deep in the pit of my stomach. I want to lean into him, grab his shirt, and pull him closer. I want to feel more of him than just the pad of his thumb on my mouth.
“Youshouldbe scared,” he says, his voice gravelly.
And maybe I should be, but at this moment, all I can focus on is how close he is to me, and how enticing his lips look.
The air between us thickens, stealing the breath from my lungs. I don’t see his head dip, but rather sense it. The scent of his cologne fills my airways, as the shadow of his face falls over me, blocking the morning light. My hand lifts of its own volition, needing to touch him. Needing the reassurance that he is real. This is real.
“You should be scared, Alessa,” he says, his forehead touching mine, his words stopping my hand midair. I can taste the coffee on his breath, feel the air move between our lips as he speaks. I have to fight the urge to grab his shirt and pull him to me to close the distance between us. “Because you may have survived foster care, you may have survived living on the streets,” he continues, closing his eyes for a second as he takes a deep breath. “But I am one thing you will not survive.”
20
ALESSA
As quickly as the words leave Dante’s mouth, he’s gone, leaving me leaning against the cold marble of the kitchen island with my hand suspended in midair. I watch his back as he storms out, his fists clenching and unclenching in anger.
Rolling my eyes, I drop my hand to my side. What even was that? He’s clearly unhinged, teetering on the edge of a scorching hot and angry killer. And just because I find the jackhole alright looking, doesn’t mean I should be throwing myself at him. Although, if he stormed back into this room, all furious and demanding, I know exactly what my response would be. Apparently, after years of avoiding having one, I have now developed a type. Tall, dark, handsome and disturbed.
