Page 102 of Hearts Of Darkness

“When he was a boy…”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember. He must be mistaken.”

“Bullshit. Youdoremember. Stop dismissing yourself like that. Why can’t you accept that you’re not totally evil?”

“You’re the only one naive enough to think so.” He catches my lips in a brief goodbye kiss.

“I want you to take your knife back, too.”

“No, keep it.”

“Please, Dante. I have so much security. You’re in more danger than I am.”

He considers this for a moment. “Fine.” He picks it up from my nightstand and slides it into his back pocket.

“Return to me,” I say, pressing my palms to his face.

He exhales on the certainty of a promise. “Always.”

Unease isthe only thing lying in wait for me when the front door closes. This isn’t some safe, boring business trip he’s taking. He’s traveling into the eye of the storm to seek out and murder his brother. The more I try and wrap my head around it, the more insidious it sounds.

Somehow, I need to find a way to entice him out of the shadows, to show him that there’s another way. Only then will his bloodlust lessen.

I flick through the pages of a book to distract myself, but I see Dante in every line. It’s his fault. He asked me to meld him with all my fictional heroes, to supplant his own failings with their strengths. But Dante Santiago is too complex a man for that. There is no one, imaginary or otherwise, who can match his beauty, his confidence, his presence. His strengths are too great, his weaknesses too deplorable. He’s the only man I see when I close my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know it’s pitch black, and someone is tapping at my bedroom door.

“Señorita?”

“Hang on a minute, Manuel!” I slip into my panties and grab an old gray college sweatshirt from the chair next to my bed. He knocks again. “Okay. I’m good.”

He enters looking guilty as hell. He thinks I’m about to rip the shit out of him for screwing my best friend.

“Are you hungry? I cooked pasta.”

“What, no hot date with Anna?” I drawl, trying to put him at ease. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but something tells me he’s not fully onboard with that plan. “I asked Dante not to give you a hard time…”

“He didn’t.” Manuel flashes me a quick grin. “But my first priority is you, señorita. Perhaps when Señor Santiago returns—”

The cell on my nightstand starts chiming. I tilt my head to see who’s calling, but the number is withheld. I bet it’s Dante on one of his crazy, high security lines that zips around theworld forty-eight times before connecting.

“Hold that thought,” I say, answering the call. “Hello?”

“Miss Miller?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Eve Miller?”

Something about the caller’s heavy accent makes the skin on the back of my arms tingle, and not in a good Dante-like way. At the same time, I hear a faint knocking at my front door.

“I’ll get it,” says Manuel, heading into the living room.

I smile my thanks at him. “Who’s speaking, please?”

The voice chuckles. “You let that good-looking bodyguard of yours answer the door, Miss Miller, and all will be revealed.”

My smile vanishes in an instant. “Manuel, stop!” I scream, flying from my bed, not bothering to hang up. Every thought and impulse is on high alert. Dread is coating my insides with a chilly blue color. “Don’t open that door!”

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