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“Come on, princess.”
And because I trust Marco with my life, I follow him, knowing I’m so totally going to get in trouble for it.
* * *
We’re in the car when I finally get the nerve to ask the question I already know the answer to.
“Where’s Dante?”
“He’s not invited,” Marco replies, the words firm. Not angry, just concise.
“Not invited?”
“Nope.” Dante is going to lose his fucking mind.
“Marco,” I say slow and low, “Does Dante know we’re going here?”
He turns to me and smiles.
“Marco!” I chide, knowing that while Dante might get mad at me for leaving, Marco is most definitely going to get it worse.
“You want Dante being Dante when you meet your grandfather for the first time?” His words hit true and I go silent.
It’s not that I don’t want him there—marrying Dante means we share everything now—the good, the bad, the terrifying. But Marco has a point. Dante will be Dante if he comes. It won’t be me, daughter of Arturo, long lost heir who is ready to rule, whether they like it or not. It will be me, wife of Dante Carluccio, heir to the Russo’s rival family.
So after staring at his profile for a few long seconds, I nod.
But because I’m not a complete idiot, I take out my phone.
“I have to let him know, Marco,” I say, swiping until I find his name.
“Lilah—” he starts, slowing at a red light.
“Marco. If I disappear, if he finds out I left with you and I don’t show up at the club at noon, he’s going to go insane. He’s going to worry.” Marco’s head hits the back of the headrest as he looks at the roof of the car, shaking his head. “Look. I trust you. I believe you and what you’ve shared with me. He does too, even if it’s in a different way. But you know as well as I do that shit is weird and tumultuous right now. We’re playing a dangerous fucking game. I can’t do that to him, Marco. I won’t let him worry like that.” He sighs before looking at me.
“Fine. Text him. Tell him you and I are going on a detour then we’re headed right to him. Tell him to expect us before noon.” I type out my text, cherry picking my words to try and make it better, but still, I just know it’s not going to end well.
Don’t freak out. Marco and I are going on a detour before we head to the club. Going to meet the Russos. I need to do this, Dante. I love you.
“It’s done,” I say, and he makes a left, barely moving ten feet before my phone buzzes with a text from my husband.
“Jesus Christ. That’s him, isn’t it? Fuck, is your location on?” I look down at my phone to see Dante’s response in bold, capital letters.
WHAT?
It buzzes in my hand once again.
DELILAH. Where is he taking you?
It rings next, but I don’t answer. God, he’s going to fucking kill both of us, isn’t he?
“Way ahead of you,” I say, a small consolation to my partner in crime. “Turned it off before I sent him that text.” Mostly because I knew instead of sending me angry texts, he’d just track me down, drag me out kicking and screaming, and possibly beat down his best friend.
Marco’s phone rings in the console. I look down at it and see Boss man on the screen.
“Jesus Christ,” Marco murmurs. “You’re lucky you’re worth it, you know that?”
I stare at the man, his stern face just a bit softer with his words. He has full lips, lines around his eyes, and his hair is buzzed short, though he’s always brushing a big hand over it like he needs to keep it lying flat. He’s built in a way that would make most people who don’t know him feel small, but to me, he’s just . . . Marco.
