Page 139 of Dirty Game
My blood cools. "What does she want from beyond the grave?"
"Nothing. She left everything to Dante. But there was this, addressed to you."
It's not a letter. It's a photo—Dante as a baby, maybe three months old. On the back, in Sienna's handwriting: "He was always meant for better. Maybe that's you."
For a split second I think maybe she wasn’t as awful as I thought, but if I know anything about Sienna, it’s that there is always a game to play, and a dirty one at that.
I stare at it for a long moment, then walk to the fireplace.
The photo burns quickly, Sienna's last attempt at manipulation turning to smoke.
"No ghosts," I tell Varrick. "No shadows. Just us."
He pulls me back to bed, where Dante has fallen asleep, sprawled between us.
"Rosa?" Dante mumbles sleepily.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Will you be my mama now? For real?"
I look at Varrick over Dante's head, see the same love reflected there.
"For real," I promise. "Forever, as long as you want me to be."
"Good," he sighs, already drifting back to sleep. "Mama Rosa sounds nice."
"You know what else sounds nice?" Varrick asks quietly. "Rosalynn Bane. Dante Bane. The Bane family."
"It sure does," I agree.
I hated my life before Varrick, but now, all I feel is power pulsing through my veins.
He turned me from a broken mouse, into a queen, and for that I’ll forever be grateful.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Varrick
Villa Serenita, a private villa on Lake Como, looks like something from a billionaire’s murder mystery—white stone, terraced gardens, cypress trees standing at attention, every window squared and gleaming.
I picked it for the security. Rosa picked it for the view.
She hasn’t seen the outside yet.
She’s sequestered herself in the north suite, door locked, curtains drawn, as she gets ready for the day.
Our wedding.
They say it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.
I say fuck luck, but I respect tradition when it serves a purpose.
I stand by the balcony, watching the boats crawl past, watching the guards reposition every hour on the hour, watching the distant hills for anything that moves.
My suit is black, cut like a second skin, shoulders armored with just enough Kevlar to slow a 9mm at close range.
The tie is burgundy, knotted perfectly, the shirt white enough to show every drop of blood if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t.
