Page 71 of Crimson Vows

Gia’s gaze is unwavering as she shakes her head. “He doesn’t need us. He doesn’t meet with Amelia until three thirty. He’s just checking in.”

“He’s going to be worried if we don’t answer him.”

“Nico, please. I can’t lie to him. We promised each other, and I’m not ready for him to know Dante is coming here. Not until I have a chance to figure out what has him so upset.”

“He’s going to go out of his mind if neither of us answers,” I argue, torn between my oath of loyalty to Marco and understanding the deep desire not to explain to Marco that Dante is headed here despite his explicit instructions to the contrary.

“No, it’ll be fine,” she says, but her conviction falters. “Once he’s talking with Amelia, he’ll be too distracted by all that to worry about us, I promise.”

“I don’t know.” I hesitate, confident that while Marco may be willing to forgive Gia for not answering his calls, he would not be so understanding with me.

Gia’s eyes urge me not to answer. A silent plea for trust in her judgment. Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to answer Marco’s call, I don’t.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

GIA

My breath catches in my throat when I glimpse Dante’s car pulling up outside on the street. “He’s here,” I say, and a moment later, Nico’s presence is next to me, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my neck.

“About fucking time,” he mutters in annoyance.

We both stand, watching and waiting for him to emerge from the driver’s side. I don’t know what I expect to see, but when he steps out, his appearance seems normal. Nico immediately shifts and moves toward the apartment’s front door. I continue watching Dante until he disappears into the entrance of the building.

Turning back, I lock my eyes with Nico’s as we listen intently for our friend’s approach. Suddenly, heavy footsteps grow louder, and our bodies tense in anticipation. Without hesitation, Nico springs into action, swinging open the door and pulling Dante inside before he has a chance to knock.

Dante’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and wild, as Nico’s hands sling him toward the couch before slamming the door shut and locking the door. “Did anyone follow you?” Nico growls as he looks his friend up and down. He’s doing his best to be a hard-ass, but I can see the concern behind his eyes.

Dante’s lips part, but no sound comes out. His gaze isn’t connecting with either of us, and instead, it appears he’s staring at something no one else can see. “Dante?” Nico repeats louder this time, but still, he doesn’t respond. It’s as if he’s in some sort of trance.

Nico approaches him, and gripping his shoulders, he begins to shake him. “Dammit, Dante, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dante shakes his head as if he were trying to wake from a dream. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” He finally speaks.

Nico releases him and skulks over to the window, glancing outside cautiously. “I asked you if you were followed. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers.

Whatever haunts Dante has a tight grip on him. “Come on,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Sit down before you fall.”

He follows me to the couch, stumbling like his feet can’t quite remember how to work. We sink into the cushions, the filth on the furniture no longer seeming to matter.

“Seriously!” Nico huffs, growing increasingly annoyed with Dante’s state.

“Nico...” My voice is a plea for calm. “Yelling at him won’t do any of us any good.”

Nico doesn’t respond, turning his gaze back outside, scanning the streets once again for danger.

I place a hand on Dante’s leg to anchor him. Tears rim his eyes and then suddenly spill over. He looks like he’s on the verge of shattering. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice so taut with pain it barely sounds like his own.

“What are you sorry for?” I press, heart thundering in my chest. “Is this about what you said to Smitty?”

He chokes on a sob, shaking his head. “No... It’s worse. So much worse.”

Nico snaps his head from the window in our direction. He walks around and crouches in front of Dante, his face as hard as carved stone. “Worse, how? What did you do?” Nico’s voice grows louder with each syllable.

“Hey, why don’t you go in the kitchen and get him a glass of water,” I instruct, sure that Nico’s flaring temper isn’t helping the situation. It’s a side of Nico I am not used to seeing.

His mouth falls open as he looks up at me. I nod, eyes wide, and begrudgingly, Nico complies.

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