Page 39 of Bound in Promise
“You were upset. Liam was a part of your life before me. I can’t change that, Victoria.”
“It wasn’t because he was dead,” I retort. “I mean, it was. A man was shot next to me, and I knew him… It just didn’t feel real. I didn’t want him to get hurt, but it doesn’t mean I wanted him.”
Dante lets his eyes drift away from my face. A sense of hopelessness fills me, the loss of his attention as devastating as a ship at sea losing its anchor. He grounds me. I’ve been relying on him so heavily, and it isn’t a smart idea. Especially when he’s planning to dump me across the pond and leave me there—alone.
Maybe that’s why I’m so scared.
Or maybe it’s because you’re falling in love with him.
“Dante, about the plan,” I finally say, breaking the awkward silence. “Are there no other choices?”
“I’m afraid not.”
I drop my head. I’ll miss Ellie. I haven’t even texted her since leaving Rochester. I trusted her with my life. But I don’t want to risk pulling her deeper into this mess, or risk someone like Angelo convincing her that helping him would be helping me. To be honest, it’s a miracle she hasn’t called in the cavalry to hunt me down.
“Where will you go?” I ask despite not really wanting to know. But I’ll need something approaching closure. I know we’re not in France yet, but I want to know he’s going to find a way to be happy.
“Home,” he states flatly. “Back to Portofino.”
“Is it nice there?”
“Beautiful.” He leans over and plucks a piece of paper off his desk, handing it to me. “My contact, Enzo, can get you a passport, but you need to change your identity. You can never be Victoria Waldorf again, princess.”
His words don’t register at first as I stare down at a handwritten list of names in Dante’s no-frills print. The letters dance in my vision, blending together until they don’t make much sense at all.
“Are you changing your name?”
The scratch of his beard against the top of my head accompanies a shake of denial. “No. I’ll be safe in Portofino. No one can touch me there, not with my connections.”
“You should,” I retort softly. “If I have to.” I glance up at him, finding him already looking at me with strained features. “That way, you won’t have to look over your shoulder forever.”
“I’m more worried about you.”
And just like that, he has a hold of me again.
It doesn’t matter how much I fight it or tell myself that this won’t end the way I want it to, I desire him. I’m pulled and dragged toward him like a compass needle pointing to true north. I can feel my doom approaching, preparing to burn down my whole world, but I have no choice but to accept my fate.
No amount of reason can break this spell. No amount of self-talk or preparation will make me believe that I’m better off without him.
“Pick a name,” Dante stresses. “I need to let him know ASAP.”
Begrudgingly, I look back down at the paper and read the names.
“Glenda?” I choke out, almost outraged until I feel Dante’s body shaking. I steal a quick glance up at him and see he’s doing his best not to laugh. Too late. “Who in the world is still named Glenda?”
Dante lifts his shoulders in a goofy shrug. “Someone, I suppose.”
Returning to the list, I squint my eyes in a glare. “Mora? Dante, please?—”
“They get better, princess.”
“I am not going to waltz around Paris with a name like Olga Birth.” Dante’s body shakes even harder, and this is ridiculous. “Oh, Moxie Morrow sounds nice.”
For a stripper.
These names are absolutely, without question, God awful.
“I like Lucy,” Dante chimes in. “It means ‘of light’. It suits you.”
