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Breaking into Rico’s home and threatening him ensured that I’d get Emma as my artist, but it hadn’t fixed things. Not really. I remember, with a sudden tightness in my chest, how she’d said that I just made everything worse.
I’d assumed she meant that it had caused tension at work. But that, too, is now reframed in a different light.
Rico might have been forced to relinquish me as a client, but he wasn’t willing to relinquish the money. Everything I’ve been giving Emma has been handed over to him—no doubt extorted with threats about her career.
Anger burns through me in a hot blaze, settling somewhere deep in my gut as I clench my fists. It’s all I can do not to go in there and confront Rico now, but I know that would only make things worse between Emma and I. She’d be forced to see the violence I’m capable of, when I know she’s been trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. She’s already going to be angry enough when she comes out and realizes I’ve been listening in. I don’t regret it, though. I needed to know that this is what was happening.
I’m going to put a stop to it, one way or another. But I’d rather do it when she’s not there to see. I don’t want her to see me as anything other than the man I am when I’m with her.
“I don’t believe you.”Rico’s voice is rough and angry. “He tipped you every other session, except for that first one when you said he hardly gave you anything.”
So Emma withheld most of the first tip.Good girl.At least that helped her, if nothing else. But it doesn’t fix what Rico has taken from her every time after that.
“I’m telling the truth.” Emma’s voice sounds exhausted. “We had an argument, alright? I was ending things, and he wasn’t happy about it. I said that it was better if we were finished, now that the piece was done. So it’s not really surprising that he didn’t tip after that, is it?”
“That’s not my problem.”Rico’s voice is closer now, nearer to where I hear Emma’s, and every muscle in my body goes taut. “You’re going to find a way to get me the money—”
“Let go of me!” Emma cries out, and that’s when something inside of me snaps.
I forget about everything, at that moment, except for the fact that Emma is being hurt. I don’t even bother to try to open the door. I bolt forward, slamming my shoulder into it hard enough that it swings open, and burst into the room just in time to see Emma shoving Rico back hard enough to send him sprawling onto the table next to where they’re standing.
“What the fuck, Rico!” she shouts, taking a step towards him—and then she freezes as she sees me.
For one brief moment, her gaze locks with mine. I see the fear and anger on her face, and that would be enough to seal his fate, but when I see the purpling fingermarks wrapped around her upper arm, my vision goes red.
“You should get out of here.” My voice is cold and flat, the words gritted out from between my teeth.
“Dante—” Emma’s voice trembles, and I know she’s worried about what I’m going to do. But there’s no way in hell Rico is walking out of this room under his own power, after he dared to put his hands on Emma.
I look at her, and the way she shrinks back at the expression on my face sends a dart of pain lancing through my chest. But I don’t have time for regrets, or to think about anything other than the man currently staggering up from the floor next to the overturned table.
“Run, Emma.” The words come out almost as a snarl, and Emma backs up, a small gasp of fear tearing free of her lips before she does exactly that. She spins around, fleeing out of the break room, and I stalk towards Rico.
Rico pulls himself up from the floor, sneering as if the clock on his life isn’t quickly ticking down. “If it isn’t Emma’s knight in a Tom Ford suit. I thought she said the two of you were finished. Guess she was lying about that too, the little bi—”
He never finishes the word. My hand is around his throat before he can, squeezing, all the anger and frustration that I feel running down my arm and into the pressure of my fingers as they sink into his flesh.
“You remember what I told you?” I snarl, backing him against the counter furthest away from the window. “There won’t be a tooth left in your mouth when I’m done with you. But fortunately for you, you won’t be alive to figure out how to repair the damage.”
Rico’s eyes go wide, and he flails in my grip. The terror on his face stirs something in me as I draw my fist back and drive it into his jaw, a feeling of finally being in fucking control of the situation. I’ve spent weeks worrying about Emma, uncertain of what was going on with her, wanting to fix her problems, and not knowing where to begin.
But this—this I can handle.
“I’ve taken great strides to do things differently in my life,” I hiss, bringing my fist down again, a spray of blood and loosened teeth spilling from Rico’s lips. “But every once in a while, the old-fashioned way really is best.”
I’m not worried about the fallout from this, not at the moment. There isn’t a cop in Los Angeles that I can’t afford to pay off, and in my experience, even the ones who want to protect and serve still like the feeling of crisp bills in their hand better than the satisfaction of a job well done.
It’s not until Rico’s battered body is lying at my feet, all of the life choked and beaten out of him, that it occurs to me what the other line is that I’ve crossed.
One that could have much greater consequences.
I’ve killed a man in another don’s territory.
This was personal, not business, and for some, that would make a difference. But Altierewantsan excuse for a war between us. He just hasn’t had the balls to declare it himself.
This would give him the excuse that he needs.
It’s not him that I’m afraid of. He’s exactly what Fontana said—an up-jumped punk with no respect for even the most basic of traditions and no business holding territory with the title of don. What I’m afraid of is what this could mean for my family. For our future.
