Page 78 of Murder & Mayhem

The lines on Dante’s forehead have deepened the more I talk. “So I should give her a job to do.”

“That would be a good start.”

He gives a curt nod. “I’ll think about it.”

Well, I guess that’s all I could ask for. “You’re also not going to form any sort of relationship with her if you aren’t around. You’re getting married in three days, and then what? Imagine how this must all feel for her. She’s marrying someone she doesn’t really know, all because you forced her hand.”

I don’t say anything more about the wedding. Honestly, as the day approaches, more and more questions arise. It’s evident Sawyer doesn’t want to marry him, yet she hasn’t tried to run or talk Dante out of it. I know it’s not because she’s scared of Giovanni and hiding behind Dante for protection. That’s just not her style.

But instead of raising my concerns or asking Sawyer what’s going on, I’ve kept my questions to myself. It’s all purely selfish. I don’t want to destroy what I’ve been working so hard to build these last few weeks, and that’s precisely what would happen. Honestly, I’m secretly hoping she’s maybe just starting to see this unusual setup for the good thing it could be. The situation may not be ideal, but it’s got to be better than the life she was living in that tiny apartment, living paycheck to paycheck. I know Dante is hard work, but he’ll come around eventually, and when he does, the three of us could have a nice life. We’d take care of her brother, and she wouldn’t ever have to worry about food or money again. I’m sure Dante could even be convinced to let her continue her reaping. And if he can’t, I’m more than happy to sneak out in the middle of the night with her.

“She’ll get used to it,” is Dante’s less than stellar response. He’s used to living life his way and expecting everyone around him to bend to his will. Even I rarely fight him, but Sawyer won’t cave that easily. She’s going to give him hell, and he doesn’t even know it.

I don’t bother arguing with him. He’ll find out in due course. I’m more than happy to sit back and watch as my little Spitfire completely tears apart his life and makes him confront all those feelings he’s got locked up inside himself somewhere.

“Any new issues?” I ask, changing the topic.

“Nothing. Was just checking on the men’s assignments. I’m still trying to find someone to replace Alex. Franny’s threatening to quit every day if I don’t find someone ASAP.”

I snort. “She’ll never actually do it.” Franny is like a fucking institution at Belle Donne. In her heyday, she used to work the floor, but when her youthful beauty started to fade, she moved to work in the back office. She’s a hard-ass, old crone, but she gives a shit about the girls that work there, which is more than can be said for a lot of the other clubs under our purview. Franny might run the back office, but numbers are not her thing, so I can only imagine the grief she’s been giving Dante.

“What about the Reaper Rejects?” I ask, changing the subject. With spending my days with Sawyer, I’m out of the loop more than usual, and Dante has been running point on finding the culprit of the club explosions.

“It was definitely them.”

I purse my lips. “What are we going to do about it?”

“No one crosses us and lives.”

The ringing of his phone cuts him off, and the look he gets every time his father calls flashes across Dante’s face.

“Yeah,” he answers, the word barely more than a grunt. “We’ll be there.”

“Father wants to see us at Paradiso,” he states, hanging up.

I glance down at my watch, frowning. “Now? It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

Dante just shrugs, not knowing any more than I do. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to jump to his father’s orders as his focus returns to the computer, and I take the opportunity to ask, “Do you honestly think marrying Sawyer will stop your father from going after her? You know what he’s like when he doesn't get his way.”

The infuriating thing is that it’s got nothing to do with Sawyer or who she is. His father just wants to ensure he keeps Dante underhiscontrol. Dante spears me with one of his signature terrifying looks that would have lesser men’s hearts sputtering to a stop.

Neither of us has ever spent much time dwelling on Giovanni. We’ve both just accepted that this is our lives until he has the common decency to die. Then Dante would be in charge, and the plan was that I’d be at his side. Together we’d rule the Famiglia our way. But that’s no longer the case. Other than the day he agreed to make Sam his Consigliere, we haven’t discussed it, and now I have no idea what the game plan is. I have no doubt Dante has been trying to find some way out of it, but I’m not sure he’ll find one. Those vows are binding—as are all in the Antonelli Family. It’s why Giovanni never agreed to make it official when Dante told himIwas going to be his Consigliere.

“I won’t let him touch a hair on her head.” The mix of vitriol and certainty in his glacial tone knocks me back. The sheer, unadulterated anger pouring off of him is so out of place for Dante that it takes a minute for me to wrap my head around it. Of course, anger is the most common emotion Dante identifies with, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it to this degree. Sawyer really brings out the darkest part of him. Dante has always been a terrifying force to be wary of, but he’d be capable of just about anything for her.

“And if he does?”

Dante’s hatred for his father has solidified over the years. I’ve stood and watched as the awe-inspired look he had in his eye as a young boy slowly faded, until his father snuffed it out altogether with one savage cut-down after another. He thought he was molding his son into a colder version of himself, and in one respect, he was. But in doing so, Giovanni destroyed any loyalty Dante ever felt toward him. I can see it clear as day in his eyes now. Dante may have been happy to sit back and obey his father’s orders, but he’s reached the end of his rope. If his father pushes him any further, he’s going to start pushing back. And if he so much as looks at Sawyer the wrong way, he’ll experience first-hand exactly what Dante is capable of.

“I’ll kill him.”

As much as I’d love to watch Giovanni meet his end at his son’s hands, today is not that day, and if we put him off any longer, he’ll only get pissy, which in turn will aggravate Dante. Something none of us needs to deal with right now. So, Dante finishes up his work, and we head over to Paradiso.

“Ah, son, good of you to join us,” Giovanni greets us with his usual cold smile as we step into the club. There’s an uncharacteristic glimmer of excitement in his eyes which has the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. “I was worried you were going to miss the show.”

My eyes dart around the room before narrowing suspiciously on Dante’s father. We have to come to this fucked up boys club once a month, but Dante and I never partake in the sameentertainmentas the other men. Unlike these sick fucks, we don’t get off on tying up unwilling girls, choking them into unconsciousness and fucking their lifeless bodies, or whatever other fucked-up shit they need to get off.

However, Giovanni has never ordered a meeting here in the middle of the day, and as I study the men around him—his closest and most loyal advisors—something feels off. Seats have been set up around a makeshift stage, and instead of the usual explicit scenes, every man has his dick firmly tucked away in his pants.

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