Page 61 of Rescued By the Mafia

Deciding on that gift was, admittedly, a bit harder.

“He’s not expecting a gift, Snapdragon,” Dante said as Iris frowned at yet another display of generic things not likely to appeal to a grown man who worked for the mafia.

“That’ll make it more special.” She scrunched her lips. “All of these are … wrong.” She faced her drastically out-of-place fiancé and blurted, “Does he have hobbies? Something he collects?” It bothered her to realize how little she knew about her team.

As soon as they were back on their feet, if they chose to keep their positions, she was going to change that. Though she suspected Ernesto would be less open to the notion than Carlo.

Dante arched a brow and glanced around the shop they stood in. It was the second one she’d wandered into, in part because she wasn’t familiar with this neighborhood’s shopping district and in part because the first had also failed her. “I can’t say I know about those things,” he replied. He opened his mouth to say more, his head still turned away, but any sounds that followed were lost to her ears.

An unfamiliar body tipped unexpectedly into her opposite side, throwing a lean arm around her shoulders. Even as she stiffened, she processed the glint of the store’s artificial lighting on the blade of a knife suddenly tapping her collarbone. The male kept mostly behind her, angled to keep her head between himself and Dante but not so much that he didn’t have a line of sight. As Dante refocused on them, he laughed. “Yo.”

Iris swallowed, unsure what to do. This was not something she’d expected. This had not been in the plan, ever.

Dante’s eyes narrowed as he leveled a frigid glare just over her shoulder. “You have five seconds to release her.”

Her assailant grabbed hold of her free arm, holding her firmly in place between them. “You got this backward, old man. I’m the motherfuckin’ dragon slayer.” He tilted his weapon so that the blade pressed more firmly against her skin. “I don’t take orders.”

Iris couldn’t help but look down toward the knife, her head spinning. From his choice of words, this man had a clue who Dante was, and still he’d chosen to make a scene. For a moment, she didn’t understand. Then she noticed where her gaze had fixated and something strange happened inside her. The man holding her hostage had a spiderweb tattoo stretching across the knuckles of his hand.

It was the hand she’d seen in that despicable video, just days before. This man was connected to that gang—maybe a key member, even—and was largely responsible for the deaths of at least two of Dante’s people. Of their people. She’d watched families grieve because of this man.

In the back of her mind, she registered Dante raising one arm.

She felt, more than heard, her assailant respond. Noticed him shift the pressure of his blade in a subtle tapping motion against her skin.

She was being victimized again. Used, again, this time against a man she suspected she’d fallen in love with. She was being told to stand there and take it, expected to endure this humiliation just as she had every one that came before. But she was done. She was done letting cowardly men use her to make themselves feel more powerful than they were.

Still, she recognized her weak position. So if he wanted her to play the victim, she figured she ought to play it up. She met Dante’s unyielding stare and willed him to trust her, as she did him, then she closed her eyes and let her body go limp.

He knew she was going to do something the moment she finally met his gaze. The shine of resolution he saw in her eyes both impressed and worried him. She did have a knife to her fucking throat. He wanted to tell her not to do anything rash—that his men were in position and that he wouldn’t let her be hurt—but she’d clearly made up her mind. Then she dropped to the floor, pretending to faint.

It was mildly obnoxious how well the tactic worked. The moment she became literal deadweight, her assailant fumbled her and the knife, staggering under the strain of his burden. “The fuck? The bitch fuckin’ fain—”

Dante made a sharp gesture with one hand and his men closed in. The knife was knocked clear, arms were disentangled, and Dante strode forward to sweep his woman up off the floor. For the second goddamn time in the same goddamn day.

The tattooed gangster attempted to struggle, but it was useless. He’d been depending on hiding behind someone Dante would never harm, and he’d lost his shield.

Iris exhaled and lifted her head, blinking her eyes open. “It worked.”

He frowned at her. “Never do that again.” He gently set her feet on the floor, kept his other arm around her waist, and pulled her into a hard kiss.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Dante straightened, keeping Iris at his side, and turned to see a pudgy man maybe a decade older than himself standing at the far end of the aisle, eyes narrowed and face blotchy red. The man wore a wrinkled, store-branded dress shirt and a pin-on nametag. “Are you the owner?” If this man was the owner, he didn’t know shit about keeping up appearances.

The man’s ping-ponging gaze snapped to him and blew wide a little more. “N-no,” he said. “I’m the shift manager.” He tapped his nametag. “T—”

“This piece of shit over here just pulled a knife on my fiancée,” Dante said, indicating the already unconscious gangster in his men’s grip. “So you need to decide, right now, whether your boss wants to lose this entire business and all of the contracts associated with it because of the lackluster security you offer, or if your boss can swallow losing half an hour’s worth of foot traffic.”

Manager T swallowed visibly, looked around again, and finally said, “I-I’m sure he’ll be reasonable, sir. Please just … consider the other patrons.” His voice became smaller the more he spoke, and before Dante could reply, he pivoted in place and scurried away.

Dante had a momentary urge to roll his eyes. The world was increasingly full of blustering cowards. But he had no energy for that kind of crap, so he turned forward again and found his nearest man’s patient gaze. “Take him to Cristiano. And keep your eyes open. There are probably a few more of those idiots around here—if you find them, grab them and haul all their asses in. Cris knows what I need.”

When the group was in motion, Dante looked down at the silent woman beside him. “I’ll still take you to see Carlo if you want, but we’re done shopping for now. You can get him a gift later. Mikey probably has a file on him you can read through.”

She scrunched up her lips for a second, let out a small sigh, and nodded. “Okay.”

Dante smoothed his thumb over her brow line. “I know it’s not your preference, but until we know more about that gang, we need to minimize risk.”

---