Page 61 of Murder & Mayhem

“She probably can’t lift her finger with that thing on it,” Enzo chuckles, earning a dark glare from Dante as I stifle my own laugh. “What, man? I told you she wouldn’t wear it.”

That comment only seems to infuriate Dante. Not that he lets it show, but the sudden snapping upright of his spine and the pushing back of his shoulders, combined with the sense of danger that oozes out of him, has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. At this moment, it’s undeniable just how lethal of a weapon Dante truly is. Any casual observer wouldn’t blink twice. They’d see his impassive expression and just think he was closed off, but unlike most men who, when they get angry, it’s all hot and aggressive, Dante’s fury is cold and terrifying. Without another word, he snaps the lid of the box closed and turns on his heel, striding out of the room.

In the wake of his departure, I cock a brow at Enzo, the lightheartedness from a moment ago snuffed out. He just shrugs a shoulder. “He’ll be fine. Let him cool off.”

“What do you think of all this?” I ask, referring to Dante’s continued insistence to get married. I have no intention of going through with it, but I am curious to get Enzo’s opinion on the matter.

He takes his time answering as he moves around the counter until he’s standing beside me. His close proximity has me tilting my head back so I can look up at his face.

“I think I never wanted you involved in any of this.” His words are cryptic, and I don’t understand what he’s implying. That he didn’t want me involved with Dante or caught up with the Antonellis? There’s a sadness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, and he reaches out to run a finger along a strand of my hair, toying with it in a distracted, absentminded way. “You look amazing.” His fingers move to trail along my collarbone, and the light touch makes me shiver. “But this isn’t where you belong. In this world, women are nothing more than arm candy, a decorative accessory. That’s not you. You were made to challenge men and fight alongside us, to rain down hellfire and set the world to rights.” Lifting his hand, he gently cups my chin as his gaze, which had drifted to follow the path of his fingers, returns to mine. “You aren’t meant to be caged, which is exactly what this world will do to you… But it’s too late for you to escape. Dante will never let you go, and honestly, I’m not sure that I can either.”

His fingers tighten over my jaw as he dips his head. The unexpected, light brush of his lips over mine makes me gasp, and a tingling starts up along the seam of my lips. He doesn’t push further, instead standing to his full height and giving me a final, longing glance before following after Dante.

***

Without all the testosterone in the room, I was able to get a coffee and half an hour of peace before the two of them returned, and we left to go see Giovanni. I didn’t put up much of a fight, just enough not to draw suspicion. As fucked up as this whole situation is, it’s the opportunity we have been looking for—our chance to get close to Giovanni and his top officers. Unfortunately, it won’t be as simple as slitting his throat today, but playing the part of Dante’s fiancée would enable me to gain intel which I can then feed back to the Rejects, and they can make a plan of attack.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I stare out the window, watching as the countryside slowly gives way to the city outskirts, becoming more and more built up with every passing minute as we get closer to the heart of Antonelli territory.

“My father’s apartment in the city.”

I tear my gaze away from the window to look at Dante, who is sitting in the back seat beside me. “Your father lives in the city?” Cain and Oliver have been trying to find out where Giovanni and his men live. He always travels with decoy cars, and we’ve found it impossible to track him home so far. It had gotten to the point where we assumed he and his men resided outside the city. It seems crazy that he’s been right under our noses the whole time.

“Not according to anyone outside of the three of us and his closest advisors.” There’s a thread of warning in Dante’s tone, letting me know I’m not to go sharing that information with anyone, and it takes me by surprise that he’s even confiding in me. He could easily have blindfolded me, and I’m not sure what it means that he trusts me. The niggle of guilt that I’m going to betray that trust, especially when I’m certain he doesn’t offer it to many people, sits uncomfortably in my stomach as we head further into the city until Enzo stops the car outside a modern-looking skyscraper. Unlike the rest of Black Creek, the Antonellis’ territory is clean and well maintained. The building in front of me shimmers in the sunlight, making me feel like I’m a million miles away from home. I guess, in a way, I am.

Dante doesn’t immediately move to get out. Turning slightly toward me, he again holds out the stupid, black velvet ring box. “You have to put it on. Appearances matter to my father, and we can’t give him any reason to doubt us.”

Instead of taking the box from him, I flick my eyes up to his face, searching his gaze for a second before asking, “Why are you doing all of this for me?”

In typical Dante fashion, he doesn’t answer me, but the way he looks at me almost feels like an answer in itself. His dark brown depths seem lighter, softer, and with a gentle touch, he reaches out to clasp my hand in his, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it on my ring finger. It weighs a ton and sparkles in the light. It’s large and gaudy. Not something I’d ever choose for myself, but with my hand in Dante’s, sitting beside him, I can see why he picked it. It suits him; it fits in with his lifestyle, which I guess is what we’re aiming for.

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. With a nod in Enzo’s direction, Enzo gets out of the car, opening Dante’s door for him. It seems like a weird move, given how familiar and easygoing they were with one another yesterday and this morning. Once he’s out of the car, Dante moves to open my door and offers me his hand as I slide across the back seat. Placing my hand in his, I climb out, craning my head back as I take in the skyscraper.

Dante’s warm palm on my lower back gets me moving as we walk toward the front door, Enzo trailing behind us. I turn my head to glance back at him, but Dante stops me. “Don’t,” he orders in a low whisper. “When we’re here, Lor is my bodyguard. It will be better if you just ignore his presence.” I carefully mask the anger that flares at that statement, but I nod in confirmation. From watching them together last night, I know that Enzo is more than just Dante’s bodyguard, but obviously, in front of his father, Dante must have to pretend they are nothing but professional colleagues.

As we approach the front door, a doorman pulls it open. “Good morning, Mr. Antonelli,” he greets, bowing his head in a sign of respect to Dante, and we step inside an expansive foyer.

Dante leads me over to a bank of elevators, ignoring the security guard behind the reception desk, who practically falls off his chair when he spots us. “G-good day, sir. I wasn’t aware Mr. Antonelli was expecting you.”

“He’s not,” Dante responds curtly, pressing the button to call the elevator. “However, I have some urgent business to discuss with my father.”

“O-of course, sir.”

A light turns on above one of the elevators as a ping sounds to signal its arrival, and the three of us move into the confined space. Dante presses the button for the penthouse, but it’s only when he uses the built-in retinal detector to scan his eye that the elevator responds, the doors closing before we start to ascend.

I chew nervously on my bottom lip, my heel tapping against the carpeted floor as we climb higher and higher. The whole time, Dante’s hand stays glued to my lower back, and despite being incredibly confused about Dante and my feelings for him, I take some comfort from his touch, using it to steel my spine. Although I don’t dare look back at Enzo, I can feel his presence behind me, further bolstering me, and just before the elevator doors open, his arm brushes against mine in an act of reassurance. My Reaper mask is firmly in place by the time I step out into a lavish living room, and I’m more than prepared to face Giovanni. If only I had a weapon on me.

I barely have a chance to take in the ample open space, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fact that you can see the entire city sprawled out beneath you from here before Giovanni himself steps into the room, his domineering presence immediately increasing the tension in the air.

“Son, I didn’t know we had a meeting scheduled for today.” His derisive tone says everything about how displeased he is with our unexpected appearance. I’ve only ever seen a picture of Giovanni, and it doesn’t capture him at all. If he looked intimidating in his photo, it’s nothing compared to the hair-raising effect he has in real life. His tall, slim figure cuts an impressive image, with his pristine suit, similar to the one Dante is wearing, and his short, styled, obsidian hair, with a touch of gray around the temples. However, it is the calculating look in his eyes and his baleful glare that truly hit you in the chest. It’s in that cold, hard stare that I know he would destroy you, your family, your loved ones, everyone you’ve ever met or come into contact with, and not think twice about it.

His eyes roam over me, taking his time as they slowly climb up my legs, taking in my short dress before finally resting on my face. “And you brought a guest.” Straightening his suit, he strides toward us. “A pretty one at that.” With one last flick of his eyes down my body, he directs his attention to Dante. “What is this about?”

“I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m engaged.”

Giovanni’s face is unreadable, except for the slight raising of his eyebrows. “Is that so?” His gaze flicks back to me, this time focusing on my face, noting the vibrant red of my hair. His lips pinch. “Is this the whore you’ve been known to frequent recently?”

Without even looking, I can feel the anger radiating off Dante at those words. It’s a struggle to maintain my own impassive mask and act like his words don’t affect me. He’s close enough that, if I had one of my blades on me, I could just whip a hand out and drive it into the side of his neck, cleanly slicing his artery. That’s the thought I choose to focus on until the murderous rage dulls to a simmer, and I can once again focus on the conversation around me.

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