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“I can’t tell you everything right now, Lilah.”
The safe, protected Lilah starts to fall back, the new, sword-slinging bad bitch pushing her aside.
Funny how I’ve let the sweet one out more when he’s around, willing to let him be the protector. Now I need the stronger version again. That backbone. The hellfire and poison version. The siren who destroys.
“Isn’t it strange that you want me to trust you with every fiber of my being, confess my life and my plans to you, and you can’t tell me . . . uhm, anything? That you want me to tell you yes, I’m here to tear down your family, but you can’t tell me fucking anything. You couldn’t even tell me your damn name. And yet you expect me to just . . . trust in you? Trust in this?”
He pauses, looking my face over, taking his sweet time answering my questions.
As usual, when he does, he surprises me.
“Fucking glorious,” he says in a whisper. “Don’t lose this, ever. Never fucking back down, Delilah. Be the fucking queen; take no shit from anyone. Surprise them at every turn.”
“Don’t back down, unless it’s a Carluccio heir who wants to fuck me into submission?”
“God, don’t you see it?” he says then dips his head, running his nose up my neck. Even in the shorter heels, we’re more even in height. “I’m the one that submits to you, Delilah. I’m the one who is a fucking peasant, kneeling at your altar and begging you to give me a fucking chance to fight alongside you. To be a knight in your war.”
My breathing comes heavy, and I try to ignore the burn running through me.
“But you won’t tell me what your plan is? I have to reveal mine, show my hand, and hope you won’t use it against me?”
He groans, but not the good kind. Not the kind he does in my bed when I ride his cock, the kind he makes when he enters me for the first time of the night, like he’s finally home.
It’s one of pain and anguish.
“I need you to trust me.”
I want to.
God, I want to so bad.
Moments lapse as he looks at me before he whispers words.
“I have what you need.”
“What?”
“I have the hit he put out on Arturo Russo. It’s coded, but I found it in Johnny’s apartment. Other shit was there too, things he was planning to use against us.”
Does he know? Know who I am? Who Arturo Russo is to me? Or does he just think that’s the evidence I need?
“Are you telling me you have written proof that members in your family told Johnny Vitale to kill Arturo Russo?” I sound like a narc, a wired con man, using full names to catch Dante in the admission of a crime.
He knows it, of course.
I’m sure it’s been used against him, wired men trying to ease a sentence with an admission from a higher-up.
But Dante doesn’t seem to care.
“Yes. That my brother was to blame. That would clear Tony's position in the family and any of the men loyal to him, probably take down Paulie and his men.”
“And your father? You have proof of his role in this?”
And there it is.
A tiny wrinkle in his forehead—confusion.
“My father didn’t—" He shakes his head like it doesn’t matter, that wrinkle clearing. “I have what you need and more, and I’ll give it to you. I’m serious, Delilah. I have a plan. You have your own, but our end goal—it’s the same, baby. You need to trust me.”
