Page 62 of Murder & Mayhem

“Dancer,” Dante corrects. “And yes.”

Giovanni laughs a cold, harsh, bitter sound that rubs me the wrong way, like nails on a chalkboard. “Son, you know better than that. You can’t marry someone like her.” When he next looks in my direction, it’s with a superior sneer. “Girls like her are for fucking. They aren’t wife material. Get yourself a proper girl, and you can keep this one on the side.”

All I can think about is ripping out this asshole's tongue and stuffing it down his throat ‘til he chokes. It takes everything in me to just stand there and let him spew his hateful words. It’s only Dante’s next words that clears the red mist that had descended over my vision.

“I’ll agree to your choice of Consigliere.”

The way his father perks up, it’s obviously something he’s interested in. Oliver and Cain explained Italian Mafia terminology to me, so I understand he’s referring to his second in command. Even though I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, I get the impression this is a pretty big concession on Dante’s part.

Piercing his son with his cold, dead gaze, he remarks, “It wasn’t up for debate, but I really don’t care what whore warms your bed at night so long as my empire is thriving.”

“So we have a deal then?”

Sighing, like he’s been massively inconvenienced, his father spares me a final derisive glance. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent on her, but fine.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Sam will be your Consigliere when you take over my position, and in exchange, you can marry the whore.”

Dante gives a sharp nod of confirmation. “I want to be married within the week.”

I balk at those words before I can stop myself, but thankfully his father doesn’t notice, laughing casually like Dante just told him a joke. I’m not sure either of them is capable of joking.

“A week? Not a chance.” He thinks on it for a moment. “A month, today. It’s the best I can do.”

By the tense set to Dante’s jaw, I'm guessing that he’s not happy about that, but he accepts it anyway. “Fine. A month today.”

I release a silent sigh of relief. A month I can work with. That will give the Rejects and I time to figure out what we’re going to do and takedown Giovanni and his men before I have to marry Dante. I’m acutely aware that that means Dante and Enzo will be going down too. Instead of getting married, Dante will be meeting his maker, with Enzo at his side. The thought doesn’t sit well for me, but I choose not to dwell on it for now. I’ve plenty of time to sort that out and figure out what I should do.

“Stop by someday this week, and we’ll get an agreement drawn up,” his father states before dismissing us. Dante’s hand once again finds my lower back as we head back to the elevator, and just before we get in, I glance over my shoulder to find Giovanni watching us. Catching me looking, he smiles, and it’s the scariest thing I’ve witnessed in a long time. Forcing back a shiver, I get into the elevator and I don't feel at ease again until Enzo closes the car door behind me.

Chapter 22

“We need to talk,” Enzo spits out between gritted teeth when we get back to Dante’s home. Dante gestures for Enzo to follow him with a nod, and the two of them head toward the home office. I decide to leave them to it as my rumbling stomach sends me on the search for food.

I rummage around in the kitchen until I find everything I need to make a sandwich, and with that and a fresh cup of coffee in hand, I head out to the back porch. I’m surprised to find the door unlocked, but no doubt I probably can’t leave the property without setting off some sort of alarm—not that I’m going to run. I’m exactly where I need to be. By sheer luck, I’ve been given the opportunity we so desperately needed. I’m not about to waste it.

Violent, vengeful ideas run rampant in my head while I polish off my lunch and look out over the beach. It’s a stark contrast to my dark thoughts. So calm and peaceful, without a soul in sight. It’s a far cry from the noisy, busy, gray city I’m used to. At odds with the brutality I’ve come to live with. It’s jarring, and instead of relaxing into the quiet peacefulness, I find myself feeling more jittery and on edge. I’m not sure if I could live all the way out here permanently. I feel like the lack of noise would drive me insane.

My thoughts return to Dante and Enzo, wondering what the problem is now. None of us said anything after we got back in the car, but I could feel the tension coming off Enzo and Dante like it was gasoline, just waiting for the slightest of sparks. I can only assume by Enzo’s apparent anger that the position of Consigliere was meant to be his when Dante took control after his father. If that’s so, then why did Dante so quickly agree to give the job to someone else so that he could marry me? He must realize there’s no way I will go through with this wedding. I don’t even understand why he’s pushing it. It was one thing for him to intervene at the club yesterday, and even to fool his father into thinking we’re going to get married in order to protect me, but to negotiate and yield to his father’s terms? It just doesn’t make any sense to me. Sure, I’ve noticed the way he watches me. There is undoubtedlysomethingthere on his end—okay, I feel that pull of attraction, too—but there’s a big fucking difference between lusting after someone and marrying them.

I sit outside, mulling it all over for a while longer, but the only way I’m going to get any actual answers is by confronting Dante and demanding he answer my questions for once. Getting to my feet, I head inside. Dropping my plate and mug in the sink, I wander through the large house in the direction Enzo and Dante disappeared.

From my snooping yesterday, I know there’s an office on this side of the house and can only assume that’s where they went when we got back. Finding the correct room, I press my ear against the door, not wanting to interrupt them if they are still arguing. Not hearing anything, I push open the door, but rather than entering the room, I stand frozen in the doorway. A soft groan reaches my ears seconds before my brain registers what my eyes are seeing.

Dante is lounging in the chair behind the desk with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He’s wearing the most serene expression I’ve ever seen on him—or maybe it’s just because his eyes are closed, so they don’t feel like they are searing into you and uncovering the secrets you keep hidden. He’s removed his tie and undone his top button, and his hands are threaded through Enzo’s hair as he crouches between his thighs. The bobbing of Enzo’s head and the subsequent noises they’re both making are what really catch my attention.

As if sensing my presence, Dante’s eyes snap open, and he holds me captive in his heated gaze, watching me as Enzo continues to work him over. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment, but my feet are glued to the floor. Even if I could get them to work, Dante’s gaze holds me hostage. His guard is down, providing me with my first real insight into who Dante actually is, and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. Desire and lust burn in his eyes, making his usually brown irises appear darker, and even when his breaths turn into short, quick pants as his orgasm nears, he never breaks eye contact.

My cheeks heat beneath the intensity of his stare, and I can admit my own breaths are shallow. I inadvertently squeeze my thighs together as need builds in my core. I hold his gaze, and it doesn’t take long until he reaches his climax, his hands tightening in Enzo’s hair as he grunts. The moment after feels endless as he continues to hold me captive with his gaze, and it’s only when Enzo releases him with a pop that I snap back to reality. Soundlessly, I slip out of the room, closing the door before making my way through the house and up to my bedroom.

When I’m safely locked behind the privacy of my bedroom door, I lean back against it and exhale a long, shaky breath. My mind is still reeling from what I walked in on.Holy shit, that was unexpected… and crazy hot.I knew I’d been picking up on a vibe, but I simply assumed they were close friends. Dante isn’t a trusting guy, so the fact that he’s so casual and open around Enzo is telling enough of how close they are, but I never pegged him as being bi. Nor did I think I’d get so hot and bothered by watching them, butdamn, I can’t stop replaying it in my head. Leaning my head against the door, I groan, fanning my still heated face.Whoa, I need a cold shower.

It’s an hour later—freshly showered and self-satisfied—before I dare show my face downstairs again. I’m dressed in my clothes from yesterday, feeling like I need the extra layers provided by my jeans and leather jacket rather than the thin fabric of the dress. The smell of food cooking draws me toward the kitchen, and I find Enzo in front of the stove, stirring a pot while Dante sits at the kitchen table, working away on a laptop. I can only guess that the two of them resolved their issues in the office earlier. Dante’s eyes dart up to meet mine the second I step into the room, the heat in them scorching my skin, and I quickly glance away, choosing to ignore his presence as I take a seat at the breakfast bar.

“So, you cook?” I ask Enzo, desperate to start up some sort of conversation and erase the way Dante’s attention makes my skin prickle.

Enzo chuckles, the sound surprising me. It’s probably the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from him, and I find myself liking the warm quality of it. “I am Italian, it’s practically in my blood.” He doesn’t look up from where he’s rapidly chopping vegetables like a chef on one of those TV shows.

“Do you cook like this every night?” Somehow I can’t picture him and Dante living in this weird domestic bliss, although after what I walked in on this afternoon, it makes a little more sense… still, it just doesn’t quite gel with the whole mafia, hitman lifestyle.

“Not often,” he confesses, confirming my suspicion. “I don’t usually have the time.” It begs the question as to how he has the time now. Shouldn’t both he and Dante be out doing whatever powerful men in criminal organizations do daily?

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