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9
DANTE
Getting Emma out of my head is an impossibility.
I hadn’t meant to take things that far. Hadn’t meant for them to gothere. Not so soon, at least. But she’d been so beautiful, shouting at me, sparks practically flying from her eyes. Her anger had been intoxicating.
I’d lost control when she’d asked how she knew she was safe from me. It was a ridiculous question—as if I’d ever hurt her. And in that moment, I could only think of one way to show her what she makes me feel.
Normally, fucking a woman is enough to take the edge off that initial lust. Even if we see each other again, there’s not that same sense of urgency, that same need. But Emma is different.
All I can think about is seeing her again.
I’ve spent my entire morning in business meetings, and I’m not sure if I’ve retained more than half of what was discussed. Every few minutes, I find my thoughts wandering back to her—the way she tasted, the way she sounded when she moaned, the look in her eyes as she came. It’s distracting in more ways than one—and not at all conducive to the sort of meetings I’ve spent the first part of my day in.
The first was with the contractors for a new high-rise that our legit family business has invested in—all very cut-and-dried and excruciatingly boring. Another was a video call with the partners we work with for the casino and resort that we’re building up in Vegas—a Campano hotel to rival the Bellagio, if we have our way. Stuff that, on the surface at least, is all very much on the up and up. It feels like it’s been a long time since I was shaking down guys for the protection money they owed us or ensuring that deals were held up with the assistance of a gun in someone’s face, and some days, I miss it.
Threatening Rico was almost nostalgic, in a way.
Most days, I’m glad that I’ve started to take our family in a less dangerous direction, since my father’s death. It might be less thrilling, but with the exception of some light money laundering, it’s also less likely to send me or anyone I care about to prison. It also means less money paid out to keep cops in our pocket. We still pay the higher-ups to look the other way, but if we’re not out doing street violence, there’s no need to bribe street cops. Just some police chiefs and judges, to keep the path to our continued wealth smooth.
The final meeting is with my two brothers. Lorenzo shows up early, before I’m even completely done with the video call, walking into my office and pouring himself a drink without a word. He’s only a year younger than me, and sometimes I think he resents being the second-born. He’s neither the one who was picked to take over—a position he would have relished, and I don’t particularly enjoy—nor the spoiled youngest. Carmine fills that latter position with glee, and while we all get along, there’s a healthy bit of brotherly rivalry among the three of us.
“Alfio Altiere is going to be a problem,” Lorenzo says, without preamble, the minute he sees I’ve ended my video call.
“What makes you say that?” I lean back in my chair—gingerly, on account of my still-healing tattoo—eyeing the cognac he’s poured himself. An older man’s drink, in my opinion, but Lorenzo likes to fancy himself the most sophisticated of us three—four, if we include our sister. “Have you heard anything in particular?”
“It’s a feeling.” Lorenzo sits down, his dark eyes narrowed. “Ever since Don Pesci died—”
“A feeling,” I repeat slowly. “You wanted a meeting about a feeling you have.”
“I want the meeting to catch up on business in general. You haven’t been very forthcoming recently—”
“I’ve been otherwise occupied.” I usually wait until the end of the day to start drinking—the bar is more for show than anything else—but now I’m beginning to think an early whiskey wouldn’t go amiss. I stand up, crossing to where the cut-crystal decanters sit in a neat row, uncapping one and pouring myself two fingers. I drop a piece of dried orange peel in it, and retreat back to my desk.
“Let me guess.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “Which of the parade of women has been distracting you this week?”
I wink, sitting back down. “I never kiss and tell.” The truth is that I’m notgoingto tell, because it feels wrong to talk about Emma that way. I’ve spent plenty of time talking about women with my middle brother, but the idea of sharing details about my night with Emma feels like a violation.
I don’t want to think too hard about why that might be.
“That’s a lie—” Lorenzo starts to say, but then the door opens, and our younger brother comes zooming in, his chestnut hair wild around his face, moving fast enough that I almost expect to see smoke trailing behind his sneakers.
“I know I’m late.” Carmine flops down in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk, pushing a messy lock of hair away from his blue eyes. “Don’t crawl up my ass about it.”
“Were you late because of class, or because you were out smoking weed with your ‘friends’?” Lorenzo glares at our younger brother. “Dante has gone to a lot of effort to get our family on the straight and narrow, and if those friends of yours have you dealing—”
“Lay off me, alright?” Carmine narrows his eyes at Lorenzo, but now that I think about it, Idosmell a whiff of weed smoke coming off of his clothes—a grunge band t-shirt and ripped jeans. He looks entirely out of place next to Lorenzo and me in our tailored suits, not at all as if he’s one of the Campano brothers. The truth is, I think he prefers it that way.
Lorenzo is starting to get a pinched look between his eyes. He’s taken up the fatherly role with Carmine since ours passed, a role that he seems to enjoy filling, and Carmine deeply resents him taking on. At twenty-one, Carmine thinks he doesn’t need anyone looking over his shoulder. Lorenzo very much disagrees.
It’s one of the things I’m inclined to agree with Lorenzo on, but I don’t want to deal with it.
My phone buzzes just then. I know I should leave it, but I’m waiting for Emma to text me about scheduling our next session.
Or just about what happened between us, although I know she won’t.
I have Thursday free. If that works for you.
