Page 18 of Dirty Behavior

Ivy

“Where the hellhave you been?” Folding my arms across my chest, my foot snapped out to the side. “You've been gone for hours—I thought something bad happened.”

He wouldn't look at me. Slumping his shoulders, he stepped inside the house and unbuttoned his coat. Closing the door, Dante slipped the jacket off his arms, draping it over the chair, just staring blankly at the floor.

His cheeks were sunken in, dark circles stained the skin under his eyes. He looked nothing like the man who left me only hours before.

What the hell happened?

“What, you're not going to answer me?Seriously, Dante?I've been waiting for you for five hours! You said you'd be back in two! Are you okay?” Stalking forward, I grabbed his arm and twisted him to face me. “After everything we've been through, you can talk to me, you know that.”

Lowering his head, his lips scrunched up as he just shook his head side to side and shrugged his shoulders.

“What happened?”

His hands flew up, capturing my face, holding me steady. His eyes flickered, catching the glow of the lamp. Gold ignited behind his dark brown eyes, bursting in small bright pops.

My heart skipped a beat, thumping long notes against my ribs. The way he looked at me, the love in his eyes. . . It took my breath away.

We stood there like that, just looking at each other. He wasn't speaking, his hands massaged my cheeks, fingers tickling the base of my head. I wanted him to say something,anything.

I hated the quiet between us, I couldn't stand it anymore. “I can't have you—”

His lips crushed mine before I could utter another word, his eyes open and breathing me in. My muscles went loose, body leaning in and curving against his chest. Pressing my palms against the firm muscles of his stomach, I spread my fingertips over his corded abs.

How does he do this?

How does he make me give in with just a kiss?

The kiss was long and sensual, filled with a tenderness that melted my insides. As Dante pulled away, his hands stayed firmly on my face as he finally started to speak. “When I was fourteen, my father came home one night with a box.” His eyes glazed over as his thumbs caressed my jaw. “He held that box in his arms, just staring at me for a long time.”

His hands slipped free, falling to his sides, dangling lifelessly. I wasn't sure where the hell he was going with this or what he was about to say. But he went silent again, so I tried to keep him talking. “Okay, he had a box. What was in the box?”

Stroking the stubble on his chin, Dante walked to the fireplace. I wanted to follow him, touch his back and soothe whatever he was feeling right then. He seemed so lost.

But I didn't. He needed to get out whatever memory was suffocating his brain, and I was going to listen. I had forgotten in the midst of all the shit we were living in, that Bane was still his father.

That had to weigh heavy on him. While he was reeling with his anger about Remo and what he had done, he was also feeling that loss.

Despite the man Bane was, there was still that piece of him that had raised Dante. There was the man who put food on the table, who clothed his children, who loved his family.

Whatever evil lived beneath the surface, it wouldn't just turn off that slice of who he was. I could see that, the pain in Dante's eyes and the change in his stance was so visible.

I should have gone with him to the funeral regardless of what he said.

Talking to the mantle, his voice sounded distant, even though he was right there. The memory was happening in real time in his head, he was living it all over again.

I knew the feeling, it happened to me every night.

“My father always spoke to me like everything he was about to say was the most important thing in the world, and my job was to listen. So that's what I did, I waited and listened. I didn't ask him what was in that box, I didn't try to sneak a peek, I just waited for him to tell me. Everything he did was a lesson, there was always a lesson or some type of test he had for me and my brother.” Lifting his head to the ceiling, he turned back to face me. “Sesto, he always just seemed to get it. He never had to struggle with our life, with the things we were expected to do. That's why he was my father's favorite.”

“Dante, I don't think any parent really has a favorite. I don't know what happened with your brother or in your past. I have a good idea about what you probably went through, but it doesn't matter, your father loved you too.”

His tongue danced behind his lips, a grin lifting to his ear. “You didn't know my father, Ivy.” Leaning against the brick, Dante fiddled with the cuff on his shirt and went on with his story. “So he held this box out and nodded at me to come and take it. It was light, but something was moving around inside. Then my father says to me,'Dante, tonight we're going to see how much Pisani blood really flows through your veins.'Stepping forward, Dante's hands replayed each word, manifesting his memory in shadowed movements.

My stomach twisted, confusion strangling my brain, making me fearful of what his next words would be.

I might not have known Bane the father, but I had seen Bane the boss; it wasn't inviting or calming. I wanted to think that his story was about loss, about not knowing what to do with the feelings inside.

---