Page 64 of Murder & Mayhem

Clearing my throat, I lift my head to look at his face, and he meets my questioning stare. “You need to start explaining this to me, ‘cause I don’t understand. Why did you come to save me yesterday? Why are you making compromises with your dad to marry me? You don’t even know me.”

He gives a small, slow, casual shrug of his shoulder. “Because you’re mine.”

Uhh, I’m what now?

A stunned silence fills the small space between us as I attempt to wrap my head around his words. It’s not even what he said but the tone of casual possession with which they were delivered. Like he’s stating it as a fact; something non-refutable.

“I’m what?” I mutter, half in shock.

My eyes dart back and forth between his, attempting to find something in his dark, brown depths that will refute what I think he’s saying, but as he leans in toward me, I see the flames of possession burning within his gaze. He lifts his hand, trailing his fingers lightly along my jaw. His touch is soft and gentle, and I instinctively find myself leaning into it. Reaching my chin, he catches it in a firm hold, ensuring I can’t look away as he repeats himself. “You are mine.”

This time, as he says it, he drops his barriers, letting me see how much he means what he’s saying. They aren’t just words of ownership. Hemeansthem. He believes in them with every ounce of his dark soul. I gasp as the full force of his possession washes over me, hitting me like a hard slap to the face as understanding finally dawns. I think back on each time he came into the club, the way he would sit at the back of the room and silently watch me. Every one of his visits was him marking his territory. Him cementing his obsession and fortifying his resolve to do exactly as he is planning to—make me his.

Part of me descends into a mad panic at that thought, yet I can sense a weird calmness underneath it all. Like at my core, I accept his blatant claiming. Except that makes no sense, because I belong to nobody.

I don’t even know how to respond to his statement, and instead, I end up staring at him, my lips parted in shock. His fingers press into my skin, where he’s still cupping my chin, and he must mistake my silence for acceptance rather than the mind-blowing panic that it is. He slowly leans in, his eyes glued to mine as he closes the scant space between us. His lips descend on mine with confidence, like he knows he has every right to kiss me. The second his tongue sweeps into my mouth, my eyes drift shut, and I moan without really meaning to. God, his kiss is… indescribable. There’s a surety in his touch. It’s assertive and unfaltering, but it’s also leisurely and considerate. It’s somehow both Dante personified and the complete opposite of what I expected from him. Two contrasting sides—hard and soft, dominant and languid, passionate yet nurturing.

I lose myself in it. In him. For a brief moment, I let myself feel what it would be like to be owned by him. There’s no question that Dante is a terrifying man, and he has many faults, but as he claims me with his mouth, I witness a side of him that I never knew existed before. I wouldn’t exactly describe it as a softer side because nothing about Dante is soft, but with every powerful stroke of his tongue against mine, I can visualize more clearly what it means to be his. It wouldn’t all be dominant possession. The way his hand firmly yet gently clasps my chin shows me that he’d care for me. With each languid kiss, he demonstrates how easily he’d worship me, and with the way his large palm squeezes my hip, I know I’d be safe in his arms, protected.

All of these little nuances I never noticed before only surmount to make me realize I don’t actually know Dante at all. In fact, I reckon no one really does, except maybe Enzo. I get the impression that Dante keeps himself so locked down emotionally that perhaps he doesn’t even truly know himself.

My fingers dig into his suit jacket, pulling him closer. I don’t even remember reaching out to touch him, too lost in the mishmash of conflicting versions of Dante fighting for my attention. He responds to my eager touches by shoving my jean-clad thighs apart so he can move to stand between them. The change in position forces me to tilt my head back, and I lean further back in my chair so he’s hovering over me. Letting go of my chin, his hands roam down my sides until he palms my ass. Gripping it firmly, he tugs me in against him.

As I feel the hard outline of his erection pressing against my core, images of Cain and Oliver flash across my mind, making me jolt as I pull back, breaking off our kiss. My heart clenches painfully in my chest at the reminder of them, and guilt niggles at me as I shake off the lusty haze fogging my brain. Whatever crazy effect Dante has on me, it’s not enough for me to give either of them up, which is precisely what would have to happen if I let him truly claim me. He’s too controlling, too domineering to share. My mind briefly flickers to the scene I witnessed in his office earlier, and I can’t help wondering if he would be comfortable sharing with Enzo, but I quickly dismiss the thought. It’s a pointless one, anyway.

His hands are still on my lower back, his hold on me firm and steady as I lift my gaze to meet his stormy eyes, finding his pupils blown with lust. It makes my breath catch at the back of my throat as I look up into his face. He should probably look terrifying. To anyone else, he would, and a week ago—hell, probably even yesterday—I would have agreed. Yet, behind the sharp, granite lines of his face, I see what I couldn’t see before—the quiet desperation and silent struggle that Dante lives with every day. I don’t understand it. I don’t know why he seems to feel so adrift and on edge, but he does.

I almost feel bad as I utter my next words, even though IknowI need to put a stop to this. Ineedto make him realize he can’t just lay claim to me like I’m a possession for him to pocket. “You can’t own me, Dante. I’m my own person. You are not mine, and I’m… I’m not yours.”

His expression hardens instantly, and I’m shut out from all that vulnerability. I watch the muscles in the back of his jaw work for a second before he straightens, towering over me. His hands are still on me, and he slides them along my sides before lifting them off. I ignore the pang in my chest at the loss of his touch, focusing more on his threatening posture as I eye him warily. Wrapping his hands around the side of my stool, he looms over me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips when he speaks. “You can fight it all you want, but youaremine, and youwillmarry me.”

Before I can find my voice to utter any sort of retort, he storms out of the room, leaving me both angry as hell and confused as fuck as to what just happened and how I’m going to get myself out of it.

***

Dante still hasn’t returned from wherever the hell he stomped off to in a huff by the time Enzo returns that evening. He somehow seems to know something has happened as soon as he walks in.

“What the hell happened?”

I shake my head, still not entirely sure myself. “He spouted some bullshit about me being his, and when I tried to tell him otherwise, he had a hissy fit.”

He snorts, not seeming surprised. “Let him cool off. He’ll be back when he’s calmed down.”

“Yeah, but what the hell am I going to do about all of this? I can’t marry him. I won’t.” The look Enzo flashes at me only makes me angrier. There’s pity in his gaze, and I fucking hate to see it. I don’t need or want his pity, nor do I like the fact that he seems resigned to what’s going to happen. “I’m serious, Enzo. I have a life, responsibilities.” Leaning in toward him, I state in a quieter tone, “I can’t abandon my brother, and Iwon’thave him getting involved in any of this.”

Enzo lets out a long, suffering sigh and refills our wine glasses from earlier before joining me on the sofa. At this rate, we’ll be through the entire bottle before we’ve even sat down for dinner. “I know.” He pauses, taking a sip from his glass before continuing, “Dante… he thinks he’s doing what’s right. What he thinks will keep you safe.” I quirk a brow, not buying the bullshit he’s trying to feed me. After a moment, he purses his lips and sighs. “He’s also… not like you or me. He doesn’t process his emotions the way we do.”

“From what I have gathered, he doesn’t seem to think he even has emotions.”

“It’s complicated. Dante is complicated. He… his father has honed him into a weapon. Since he was born, he has been nothing but a pawn, a chess piece for his father to form and manipulate. He was never offered the opportunity to develop normal relationships or encouraged to foster positive emotions. He’s grown up being told he can’t feel anything, so that’s what he believes.”

“But you don’t agree.”

Enzo hesitates, sipping on his wine before responding. “Dante’s come to my rescue more than once. He’s always had my back. I believe thathebelieves he’s incapable of feeling.” He looks at me over the top of his wine glass, his bright green eyes boring into mine. “I think he just needed to wait for someone special to come along and make him trulyfeelsomething real.”

My eyes widen as understanding dawns, and I choke on my wine. “Me? Are you talking aboutme?” I shake my head, leaning forward to carefully place the wine glass on the coffee table before I manage to spill it all over the white leather sofa. “No way. Absolutely not. I amnotthat person.” Fuck, my emotional capacity probably isn’t a hell of a lot more than Dante’s.

Enzo doesn’t let my vehement protests put him off, as he continues to stare at me. “You have no idea what a big deal it was for him to let you live that night. It’s what initially drew me to you. Before then, Dante had only ever broken the family rules for one person… me. Something about you spoke to him that night.”

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