Page 34 of Damaged & Deadly

His face is set in stone as he scowls at me. “I should at least get to drive it.”

I lift one eyebrow, already knowing the answer when I ask, “Do you even know how to ride?” His resounding silence says it all. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t let you.”

Shoving the helmet against his chest so he’s forced to grab onto it, I stride out the door, giving him no choice but to follow. I pull my own helmet on, lifting the visor as I swing my leg over the bike and turn to cock a brow at Dante. He’s frowning at my baby like she’s the devil's spawn.

“Didn’t take you for a pussy, Antonelli.”

His dark eyes snap to mine, and with a curse, he shoves the helmet over his head and slides on behind me. His arms wrap around my waist and his large hands flatten against my stomach as the bike rumbles to life beneath us. Lifting my feet, I roll us down the drive and onto the road.

The city streets pass in a blur as I drive us through Antonelli territory and over the bridge into the southern part of the city. The roads become more familiar the closer I get to home until I pull onto my street and bring the bike to a stop outside my building. Staring up at the shabby apartment block, I realize just how much has changed since I was last here.

Dante shuffles behind me before climbing off. Following, I watch as he pulls off his helmet and glances around, taking in the rundown-looking street with disdain. “Where are we?”

“This is where I live.” I gesture with my chin at the building in front of us, and Dante turns to give the structure his attention, his lips pursing in displeasure. “Come on.”

Stepping forward, I lead him into the building. The familiar mix of mildew and piss wafts over us and I can only imagine what’s running through Dante’s head, but he needs to see this.Ineed him to see this. He’s quiet as we climb the stairs and walk along the hall to my door. Unlike the time I brought Oliver here, I don’t feel nervous. I’m not worried about what he thinks. This will either make him realize we come from entirely different worlds that don’t meld well together—a lesson I clearly need to heed since I keep fantasizing about keeping all four men for myself—or he won’t give a shit. Either way, I’ll know for sure if there’s a future here.

Now that I think about it, I guess I’m doing this as much for myself as I am for him.Ineed to know if we have any hope of a future, if it’s at all possible for the two worlds I’ve been straddling to coalesce.

Once we’re in the apartment, I simply stand there and watch as he takes it all in. The worn kitchen cabinets that don’t fit quite right, the tiny living room with the sofa wedged in, and the small, old-fashioned TV. The cracks running down the wall and the questionable stains in the carpet.

My home.

Looking around, I try to see it all through his eyes. It’s a far cry from his fancy house by the ocean and his father’s large, modern penthouse, that’s for sure. He slowly works his way across the room, taking it all in before exploring the bedrooms and bathroom. I leave him to it, finding myself strangely detached from it all. This has been my home for five years. The first home Luc and I had after my mom died, and yet as I scan the room, it doesn’t feel like home. There’s nothing personal here. There never has been. The only thing we had…

I spin to face the wall dividing the kitchen and living room where I used to have a picture of Luc and I stuck to it. The wall is now empty, as it was my last time here. I’d assumed Luc had taken the picture, but I now realize it was Santos. It’s the only photo of Luc, the only way he could have known about his existence.

A cold feeling settles into my bones from knowing Santos was here, rifling through our things and invading our privacy.

I hear Dante enter the room, his eyes on me. “For five years, this was our home. The only place where we felt some semblance of safety.” Anger has me trembling as it lights a fire through my body. “And he ruined that.”

The floorboards creak as Dante closes the distance between us, his warmth seeping into my back. “Why did you bring me here?”

I turn, bringing us chest to chest, tilting my head back as I look up at him. Even in my heels, my eyes only reach his chin. “Cause I need you to see what my life looks like.”

“I don’t care what your life looks like.”

“I didn’t grow up like you,” I argue, not really listening to him. “I didn't grow up with money. I don’t have fancy clothes or a nice car. Hell, I didn’t even finish high school.”

Using his larger, more muscular body, he backs me up against the wall. Planting his hands on either side of my head, he leans in until his face fills my entire field of vision. “I said I don’t care. Do you think any of this makes a difference to me? I know you’ve lived a hard life. You wouldn’t be who you are if you hadn’t.” His eyes search mine. “Even when you were a dirty, grimy street kid, I knew you were made of tougher stuff than half the men I’ve worked with. I can count on one hand the number of people who have looked down the barrel of my gun and not flinched, and only one of them was a scared little girl. I don’t know what made you so damn resilient. Maybe it was this life you seem to think I’ll despise you for…”

“Luc,” I whisper, watching as his brows pull together in confusion. “It was Luc. Your father would have you believe that love makes you weak. But it’s actually my love for him, my need to protect him and give him a better life that made me the person I am today.”

His eyes bore into mine, and I can tell he’s truly heeding my words. “Then I guess I owe him a thank you.”

Not breaking eye contact, I fist his t-shirt in my hand, and with a tug, I eliminate the space between us, dragging his lips to mine. It’s the first time I’ve initiated anything intimate with him. The first time I haven’t questioned this pull between us or felt guilty for acting on it.

Dante is many things. He’s challenging and difficult to deal with. He’s set in his ways and he’s controlling. He’s terrifying and baffling all at once. There’s no denying that Dante Antonelli has his faults. But I don’t see any of that when I look at him. I see the kid in him who never got the love and affection he deserved. I can practically visualize him rattling the bars of the prison his father has built, begging for someone to take a chance on him, to see that he’s not a lost cause.

All of our touches before now have been driven by desire and possession, but as he angles my head just so, deepening our kiss, I can feel how much deeper this runs. It’s more than just physical attraction and chemistry. I don’t think he understands it any better than I do, but as his tongue glides over mine, the hard edges of his body pinning me to the wall, I can feel him infiltrating my DNA, embedding himself so deep in my system that he becomes an intrinsic part of who I am while ensuring I will never be complete without him.

“So this is what people do on a date?” he asks, sounding a little breathless. I chuckle, sounding a little winded myself. I’m not sure if he’s being serious or making a joke. Knowing Dante, I think it’s a genuine question.

“Not exactly. This was the pre-date date.”

Cocking a brow, he asks, “When does the real date begin?”

“I think it just did.”

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