Page 73 of Murder & Mayhem

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he hangs it on the back of one of the stools at the breakfast bar and proceeds to remove a gun holster he had concealed underneath it. Another gun, tucked into the waistband of his pants, joins the holster and gun on the bar. Fully de-weaponized, he moves to look over Enzo’s shoulder, who has been hunched over a laptop all evening. I have no idea what he’s doing. After the brush-off, when I asked what he does for the Antonellis, I haven’t bothered to ask any more questions. It’s not like it matters—especially since we’re planning on bringing down the entire organization.

Dante hovers for a moment before he moves to the bar cart and pours himself a glass of whiskey—his usual nightly routine. With the glass in hand, he saunters over to join me in the living area. As he claims the seat on the sofa opposite me, I close my book and set it down. It’s not like I’d be able to concentrate on what I’m reading when he’s staring at me the way he currently is. Instead, I watch him right back. He lifts his free hand to undo his top button and loosen his tie, and my gaze zeros in on the swollen, split skin along his knuckles, wondering who met the other end of his fists and why.

Dropping his hand, he lifts the glass to his lips. I silently observe all of it. The way his lips wrap around the rim of the glass. How his Adam's apple lifts when he swallows. The languid lick of his lower lip. We’ve barely spoken since our kiss. I’d surmise he was just giving me some space, but that doesn’t really seem like Dante’s style. It only raises more questions about why he’d be keeping himself at a distance now. Hasn’t he got me exactly where he wanted? He’d said as much himself.

As I sit opposite him, it confuses me how I can feel so comfortable in his presence. Maybe we’ve just been playing this song and dance around one another for so many weeks now, that the normal reactions I should be experiencing under his hungry gaze no longer register. Weeks of having him watch me at the club have rendered me immune. I no longer feel that shiver of awareness that I felt that night in the alley or again in Franny’s office. That’s not to say I’m relaxed in his presence, because I think that would be impossible when he looks at me like that. But something has shifted between us, and I’m definitely no longer afraid of him. Well, I’m no longer afraid that he’ll physically hurt me.

Lifting my gaze to meet his amber eyes, I clear my throat. I never know what to say when I’m around him. Enzo, I find surprisingly easy to talk to. Especially now that he’s no longer keeping secrets and pretending to be someone he’s not. But Dante is a whole different enigma to unravel. I’ve barely cracked the surface of who he is, and unlike Enzo, who offers up information without issue, with Dante, I have to work for every morsel I get from him.

“So,” I begin. “You’re like the main assassin for your father, right?” It might not be the best conversation to start with him, given he’ll probably shut me down and refuse to tell me anything, but at least killing people is something I can relate to.

“I’m in charge of our problem-solving sector. Yes.”

I snort at that description. “It seems to keep you busy.”

A microscopic smile curls up the very corner of one side of his lip. It’s barely more than a twitch, and if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it. “We have many enemies.”

“So it’s mostly people who threaten your family that you… dispose of?”

He gives a nod of acknowledgment. “Anyonewho is perceived as a threat.”

I flick my gaze to Enzo, finding him watching our conversation from his spot at the dining table. Focusing back on Dante, I ask, “Including one of your own if they turned on you?”

“If need be.”

I can’t help wondering if he’d kill me if he found out what the Rejects and I have planned. I’d rather not find out. I might not have any concerns about him hurting me right now, but that doesn’t mean the same could be said if he found out what I’m really up to.

“And is it just assassination-style killings, or are we talking painful torture sessions and hours of suffering?”

Enzo stifles a snort of laughter behind his hand, while Dante just seems slightly confused and mildly amused by my question. “Depends on the situation.”

“I’d be interested in tagging along next time.” I’m by no means expecting an immediate agreement, butgod,am I bored here and desperately missing the outlet being the Reaper provides me. Until now, I hadn’t realized just how much of myself was intertwined with the Reaper’s persona. Over the years, the Reaper and I have merged until we’ve become the same being. Without the regular outlet provided by hunting and killing those deserving of meeting their end at my hands, I have nowhere to channel the daily anger and energy that courses through me.

There’s another amused and unhelpful snort from Enzo. However, my request is so out of left field that I manage to gain a reaction from Dante, whose eyebrows raise in surprise. “No.” His blank refusal doesn’t surprise me.

“Why not?”

He presses his lips together, not entirely having an excuse for why. He just doesn’t want me to go. “It might distress you,” he eventually answers.

I have to force my features to remain impassive, and I notice Enzo’s shoulders jostling in my peripheral vision as he laughs silently. Quirking a brow at Dante, I argue, “I’ve seen plenty of fucked-up shit in my life. I’m sure I can make it through one killing.”

Before Dante can argue again, Enzo speaks up. “You could let her watch today’s video. If she makes it through that, then let her tag along next time.”

Dante turns in his seat to glower at Enzo, who just shrugs. Of course, Enzo knows I can more than handle myself. He wants me to come clean to Dante about the Reaper, so he probably thinks coaxing Dante to include me will encourage me to do just that. It won’t. I don’t have the same confidence as Enzo that Dante won’t turn on me when he finds out who I truly am at my core. Dante seems to like that I stand up to him and I won't back down, but he sees me as some woman who was barely getting by, dancing on stage for money, before he came along and whisked me off my feet. Finding out I’m the Reaper could put me in opposition to him. Especially if he found out I’ve disposed of his men in the past. After all, the Reaper doesn’t discriminate. An abuser is an abuser. I don’t give a shit if they’re an Antonelli, a Bastard, or whatever other stupidly-named gang or Family member.

“What video?” I pipe up before Dante can put his foot down.

Enzo gestures with his head for me to come over. As I get to my feet, Dante jumps up too. “No,” he barks. “She shouldn’t see that shit.”

I don’t know if that’s sweet or insulting. Either way, I quickly scamper out of his reach and circle around him to the dining table. He’s hot on my heels, and his hand circles my wrist as I reach Enzo’s side, yanking me backward.

My back collides with his chest. “Hey!” I snap, tilting my head back to glare up at him. Not that he’s looking at me, too busy spearing Enzo with a deathly glare. However, it doesn’t seem to have the intended impact as Enzo presses a button, and in the next second, the sound of flesh pounding against flesh is heard throughout the room.

Dante still has a firm grip on my wrist as I step forward to see the laptop screen, and Enzo turns it toward me, so I have a better view. I watch as a shirtless Dante throws his fist into some guy’s face. He’s already beaten bloody, his identity indiscernible. With every punch, the muscles on Dante’s back bunch and flex, highlighting the force he’s putting behind each one.

When he’s breathing heavily and his knuckles are split and bloody, he stops, moving to something out of view of the camera. My eyes search the rest of the room, noting the bare walls and lack of light, the drain strategically placed in the center of the room, right underneath the chair holding today’s victim. From what I can tell, it’s some purpose-built kill room. I guess when you have as many enemies as the Antonellis probably do, you most likely need a kill room. Probably more than one, actually.

Dante turns to face his victim with something I can’t discern clasped in his hand. He immediately starts shaking his head and pleading for Dante to stop. “Tell me who you’re working with, and this can all stop.” The cold, dead tone of Dante’s voice is chilling. “I’ll put a bullet in your head. It’ll be practically painless.” With his chin against his chest, the man whimpers, but he stays silent.

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