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He wants to open the door for me, to walk me up the front stairs, to probably follow me to wherever the fuck Dante is and make sure I don’t rip his head off.
He probably feels guilty, since he thinks I’m most mad that he is not my friend but my bodyguard.
And yeah, that part stings, knowing I felt like I had one person who liked me in this crazy fucking family, one person who saw me as a human being instead of an asset or a puzzle piece.
Until a few hours ago, I thought Dante felt that way, that he saw me as an equal, that we were working toward the same end goal—no matter how secretively. But more and more, it seems like I’m in the same protective state I fled months ago, just with a different handler.
So instead of waiting, I open the door and walk up the stairs.
“Jesus, Lilah!” Marco yells, standing beside the car, clearly unsure what to do.
“Go away, Marco. Go make sure Roddy and the girls are good,” I say, giving orders as if it’s my place.
“I gotta ask Dante, princess, you know that.” I’m looking over my shoulder at him, reaching for the front door when his eyes go wide, and even though I’m not looking, I know.
I know he’s there right in front of me, that electricity snapping in the air between us.
I look at him, and his eyes are on the man behind me.
My fucking bodyguard.
“You’re good, Marco. Go,” he says, and then a door slams, and Marco drives off.
Then I’m looking up at Dante, hands on my hips, fuming as his eyes watch the car leave. Standing in the entryway, he’s an extra six inches taller than me, and I feel small.
I hate feeling small.
Small makes you feel like there’s a reason people are protecting you.
Fuck that.
I walk past him into the house.
“You’re home early,” he says, and the door shuts behind me, the lock snicking in a way that feels final.
“A bodyguard?” I ask, venom in my words.
I could elaborate.
I almost do.
But there’s a moment—a millisecond—where Dante’s eyes register shock.
It’s gone before I can even decide if it’s real.
“Marco is not your bodyguard, Delilah.”
“Don’t lie. He told me. I know.”
“Not in the sense you think,” he continues as if I didn’t even speak. “Marco was to keep you as his main priority while at the club. You’re beautiful, Lilah. Any man sees you, he’s drawn to you, but you’re mine. I don’t want anyone to touch what’s mine.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
And then something clicks in his mind. It happens and I realize instantly I lost the edge in this argument. Any high ground I had starting out is gone as Dante realizes that I wouldn’t know I had a bodyguard if there wasn’t a reason for me to find out.
“What happened?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine.
Now I’m at a crux.
