Page 62 of Devious Kingpin
It seemed like a different lifetime. I hadn’t thought at that moment we’d ever become connected. Not by Wynter’s marriage, and not by my own.
The two of us walked down the dark hallway, bypassing the open floor where people drank and gambled. A certain thickness permeated the space. The deeper into the building we went, the more the atmosphere smelled of money. The men in expensive suits played exclusively back here. Higher stakes. Higher debt.
Dante’s hand was on the small of my back, and even through the thick pullover, I could feel the warmth of his touch. He guided us left, then right until we came to stop at a heavy metal door.
He knocked five times.Thump-thump.Thump-thump.Thump.
The door swung open and a man stood across from us. The moment he spotted Dante, he moved to the side, letting us pass.
Dante guided me down a red-carpeted hall as my first visit to this place flipped through my head.
It didn’t take long to arrive at his office, a perfectly spaced square room with a simple blue couch and carpet, a mahogany desk, a few leather chairs, and a minibar. There was a single piece of art on the wall and it reminded me of the Mediterranean. The sapphire-blue water sparkling behind an old town.
“It’s the little village where my father took us,” Dante explained, noticing me looking at the painting. “The Ionian stretching behind it.”
I glanced at him, but his attention wasn’t on me. He was already seated behind the desk and his attention was on the computer.
Then something registered. Both times he mentioned the vacation, he only mentioned his father and brother. Never mother.
“Did your mother not vacation with you?” I questioned him.
A bitter chuckle vibrated through the room, but he quickly stifled it. I studied my husband as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe there was more to Dante than he let on.
His shoulders tensed and his strokes fell on the keyboard harder. Louder.
Finally his gaze lifted, burning into mine. I knew Dante wouldn’t be an easy man to get to know. Very much like his cousin Basilio. Except with Basilio—or Bas, as Wynter affectionately called him—I never had the interest of getting to know him.
Until now, I thought the same was true with Dante. Yet now, I found myself wanting to know him. Needing to know him.
Because for better or for worse, I knew there was only one way out of this marriage.
Death.
“Dante?” I breathed, then waited. He wasn’t one to hide, but I knew firsthand how hard certain things were to share. I had one single night that had been festering inside the dark corners of my mind, torturing me. Haunting me. I understood the reluctance to open that part of yourself up, but I could now see how much it helped. “You can trust me,” I murmured softly. “I trust you.”
Dante let out a harsh breath and my stomach tightened with the need to assure him. He was the only person I ever admitted to that I was raped. No matter what, I'd never betray him. He stood up abruptly and walked across the floor of his office.
My eyes followed his tall frame, watched as the broad shoulders under his gray sweater tensed and his ass filled those jeans. He opened the door, his hand on the doorknob paused, then glanced back at me.
“You shouldn’t trust me, my wildling wife. I’ve already lied to you once since we’ve been married.”
I swallowed. “About what?”
“I’ll be right back,” he said instead. “Stay here.”
Then he left without another word.
* * *
I fell asleep on the couch in Dante’s office while he handled business.
What felt like a catnap ended up being three hours of restless tossing and turning. Dante’s revelation, things that I didn’t care to think about, men I was still hunting—it all came knocking on the door.
My husband woke me up with a light nudge on my shoulder. I was slightly disoriented, worried I had drool running down my mouth. Although by the way Dante looked at me, you’d think I just came off the runway.
I blinked, finger-combing my hair in a daze, then slipped my shoes back on.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Come on. My car is waiting.”
