Page 16 of Depraved
Dante’s warmth washes over me from behind, making my eyes squeeze closed. He’s holding me close—too close. I’m suffocated by all his maleness.
My body pushes against the strength of his unmoving arm, needing to escape his comfort. I can’t think straight when Dante’s touching me. And I need my mind crystal fucking clear right about now.
“Is that who you thought I was when you shot?” he asks quietly from behind me.
Struggling harder against his hold, I release a breath in a rush as Dante’s arm leaves my body, setting me free. My body springs forward, feeling even less centered than before. I wrap my arms around myself, not answering and staring at the bar in the far corner.
Dante spins me around and locks eyes with me, anchoring me by my waist as his eyes search mine. His voice fills with the seriousness of his words. “Whoever that was won’t touch you, Billy. Not now, not ever. Do you understand that? I can protect you.”
My head shakes as I stare at him, feeling an angry heat crawl up my neck.
Dante’s words should be music to my ears. I should cry and fall into his arms, thanking him for being my salvation, my savior. My very own criminal dark knight.
But all I feel is angry. Really fucking angry.
Because I’m not that girl—the one who needshiskind of help. I don’t need another villain disguised as a hero.
I’ve got me. I’m good.
“I told you to leave it. Tofuckingleave it,” I spit, swallowing down the tremble in my voice. “Now you want to protect me?” I huff, pushing his hands off me. “At what price?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he barks as I turn and walk toward the desk, swiping my phone off the surface and making my way to the drawers.
“Exactly what I said,” I answer over my shoulder. Reaching down, I open the drawer harshly. Vincenzo takes a step back, and I narrow my eyes at him as I pull my bag into my arms. “You’re an asshole, too.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Dante beats him to it.
“Concedici un momento. Chiama l’uomo e portalo qui per suturarmi. Di a Matteo di scoprire chi sta cercando di trovare la nostra ragazza. Lei non ci dirà niente. Ma voglio delle risposte, come ieri.”
Give us a moment. Go call the guy, get him here to stitch me up. Tell Matteo to find out who’s looking for our girl. She won’t tell us anything. But I want answers, like yesterday.
My head swings between them, and I suddenly wish I spoke Italian because I know that was about me.
Vincenzo nods and walks past me, bringing a hand to my shoulder and rubbing it gently, before lifting his phone to his ear and rattling off more Italian.
What the hell?
Dante’s head follows Vincenzo out and only turns back toward me when the door closes, leaving us alone.
“Now. Explain yourself.”
Dante’s voice is eerily calm and steady as he leans his hip against the desk and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not asking anymore, not in any form of the word. Whether I like it or not, I have to come clean.
If he was anyone else, I’d lie, weasel my way out of this with a bullshit explanation and disappear, but too much was said in the call. Dante understands the implications. He can read between the lines because he speaks the same language.
I take a deep breath to steady myself, preparing to say the words aloud that’ve been a secret for eight years.
“My father and brother are coming to collect me. Take me back home. But I don’t plan to be here by the time they arrive,” I confess.
The words feel like acid on my tongue, making me wish I could stop speaking and run. I pull my purse farther onto my shoulder, shifting my weight, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin.
His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “Why’d you leave them?”
Because I hate them. Because they sold me as a low-level buy-in to sell heroin. Because they tried to ruin every bit of goodness inside of me.
“Nope,” I answer flatly, watching his expression darken.
Dante motions his head for me to come to him, but I don’t move. I refuse because the way he’s considering me looks a lot like pity.
