Page 14 of Claimed By the Don

Dante

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Three days. Three days of radio silence and curt brush-offs as she avoided me, ignored every call and text and attempt to bridge the frigid distance suddenly yawning between us. Three days of slowly losing my fucking mind, torn between fury and frustration and a gnawing, unshakable fear. As if in the space of a night, a handful of overheard words, I've become nothing to her.

And it's killing me. Carving out my insides with each click of her hanging up the phone, each clipped "Ginetta's not here" from her well-meaning roommate. I didn't realize how essential she'd become to me until she was ripped away, a serrated blade to the most vulnerable part of me. Gone is the sunshine warmth of her smile, the satin heat of her skin, the welcoming of her arms after a long day of death and deals.

I feel like I'm going fucking insane without her. The ugly words she overheard at the gala rattle around my skull, taunting me with their spiteful accuracy. Because they weren't exactly wrong, were they? I swooped in and seduced an innocent, spinning pretty words and prettier gifts, dazzling her with my world while conveniently ignoring the blood staining my hands.

I convinced myself it was better that way, that I was protecting her from the brutal reality of my life. And it allowed me to keep touching her, tasting her, burying myself in her honeyed warmth without tainting her further. Well, I've never claimed to be a good man. Selfish, ruthless, far too possessive for anyone's good - but never good. Never pure.

Until Ginetta. My sweet, brilliant girl, the only spot of true light in my dark and violent world. I wanted so badly to be better for her, to deserve the precious gift of her love. Of her trust. And instead, I stomped all over it with my own arrogant belief that I knew what was best, that omitting the truth was somehow noble instead of utterly fucking dickless.

Dios, what a mess.

I force myself to focus on the papers scattered across my desk, contracts and deeds swimming before my stinging eyes. Running the Russo empire is a full-time job on the best of days and this...this is about as far from my best as it gets. Every instinct is screaming at me to say fuck it all and storm over to Ginetta's place, bang down her door and beg her forgiveness. Grovel at her feet and confess every dark secret, every ruthless deed, until she understands that none of it, not one fucking part of my sordid life, could ever touch the purity of what I feel for her.

What I felt for her before I even knew her name.

But Gallo has been sniffing around my territory like a rabid fucking dog, just waiting for a sign of weakness to strike. And as much as it guts me, I can't afford to show any cracks right now. Not when that bastard would like nothing more than to hit me where I'm most vulnerable - and Ginetta has become both my greatest strength and my Achilles heel.

My cell buzzes with an incoming call and I snatch it up, my heart kicking painfully against my ribs. But it's just Enzo, no doubt with another update on this never-ending pissing contest.

"What?" I bark, not bothering to soften my tone.

"Gallo's crew hit the warehouse on 5th," Enzo says, sounding as weary as I feel. "Shot up a couple of our guys, made off with a big shipment of product. Getting real bold, boss."

I pinch the bridge of my nose against the throbbing in my skull. "Fuck. Okay. Get Luca and Gio to handle it. I want round-the-clock security on all our holdings until this shit is handled, capisce?"

"You got it." A pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. "Boss...not for nothing, but you can't keep doing this."

"Doing what, exactly?"

Enzo sighs. "This whole 'trying to have it all' thing. The legit businesses, the clean money, the civilian girl...it's spreading you too thin. Making you look soft."

I close my eyes, exhaustion and anger a leaden weight on my shoulders. "Don't start, Enzo. I'm not in the fucking mood."

"I'm just saying, Dante. This shit with Gallo, it's only gonna get worse. Man's looking for any weakness to exploit and right now, that pretty little piece has you wrapped around her fuckin' finger, and I..."

"Finish that sentence," I snarl, my free hand clenching into a fist on the glossy desktop. "I fucking dare you."

The line goes heavy with tension, crackling with the unspoken. I know Enzo means well. He's been my right hand since we were snot-nosed kids running numbers in the neighborhood, always guarding my back. But Ginetta...she's my line in the sand. The one thing I won't compromise on, no matter how much blood I have to spill.

"Just think about it," Enzo says finally, his tone grim. "Before you end up getting yourself killed over a piece of tail."

I end the call without responding, too furious to speak. He's not wrong about Gallo, about the bloody war brewing on the horizon. But he's dead fucking wrong about Ginetta. About what she means to me. I'd burn my whole goddamn empire to ash if it meant keeping her safe and happy. In my arms.

And if I don't find a way to convince her of that, and soon...I might just have to.

But first, I need to get my woman back.

***

"Faster. Harder. Come on, you pussy, fucking hit me!"

My trainer, a shredded monster named Vince, grits his teeth and swings at my head with a meaty fist. I duck the blow and come up swinging, catching him in the ribs with a vicious left hook. He grunts in pain and I press my advantage, raining punches onto his torso until he's stumbling back against the ropes.

We're in the private gym at my penthouse, going at it old school in the boxing ring. Forty-five minutes of ruthless sparring and my muscles are screaming, sweat pouring down my bare chest and back. But the gnawing restlessness, the seething whirl of pent-up emotion and impotent fucking fury, it's still crackling just under my skin like a live wire. Threatening to explode.

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