CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Dante

I WISH I could say El’s story wasn’t typical. But in our world, families were destroyed by the secrets they agreed to keep.

And often times, it wasn’t even their fault that they were killed, more often than not, it’s because someone just knows too much.

Often times, it’s because someone is uncomfortable with someone else’s knowledge and when you’re uncomfortable. You’re willing to kill to get comfortable again.

El wouldn’t have been spared had they seen her.

El would have been killed for being in the same house as the secrets.

And still, she had no idea. She wasn’t being hunted because of Xavier’s death, it was part of it, of course.

But she was being hunted because she’d cheated a deserved death. The mafia doesn’t just kill parents — they wipe out blood lines and for some reason.

They wanted hers gone.

I tried not to react and probably did a shit job of it, but this changed things, this meant that even with who I was — she was still a target to them, would always be a fucking target — unless.

Heaviness weighed down on me.

Unless I was boss.

My blood was royal.

My name was as good as Nixon’s or anyone else’s.

But I had no title.

Not yet.

I promised her I’d protect her. I promised her I’d kill for her. In order to keep those promises.

I was going to have to put on the fucking crown.

And sit on the throne of the Alfero family.

I may not survive it.

“Here,” El interrupted my thoughts by lifting a fork to my lips, sauce coated my lower lip as I licked it off and moaned. “Open.”

I opened my mouth as she slid the fork in. I chewed a few bites and swallowed. “I’m surprised you’re being nice and not getting sauce all over me.”

“Yeah well, you haven’t seen your pants, sauce everywhere, I figured the dirtier they got the sooner you’d take them off.”

I groaned. “Killing me.”

“What about me? I’ve had to stare at your mouth for the last hour!”

“What’s wrong with my mouth?”

She was quiet and then a strangled. “It’s nice,” Came out.

“It’s nice?” I repeated on a laugh. “Nice doesn’t make you sound like you’re choking, nice doesn’t make you wet, now does it?”

She gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry is this not proper date talk?”

“No!” She shoved another fork against my lips. I quickly shoved it away and leaned toward her. “Wet.”

“Stop that!”

“You,” I dug my fingers into her thighs and dragged her chair toward me. “Admit it and I’ll eat.”

“Want some wine?”

“Want some of my mouth?”

“Dante.”

“El,” I lowered my voice. “Sure, pour me some wine, just uncross your legs.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I slid my hand under her dress and inched my fingers up her thighs, one by one, until I pried them apart. She clenched my hand like she was trying to break it.

“What?” I gave my head a shake as my heart roared to life right along with every cell in my body. “The hell, are you wearing?”

“Garters,” she choked out.

“I’m full.” I stood.

“I’m not.” Her voice teased. “Sit, I’ll pour you wine, we can talk some more, you know, like on a real date.”

Hated that word. Date. She was my wife!

I sat anyway.

I tried to control my thoughts.

Garters. Garters. Garters.

“What color are they?” I asked once she handed me a glass of wine.

She sighed loudly. “You’ll find out.”

“Same as your dress? Would we call this a dress? Because it looks like lingerie.” I took a large sip.

“It is.”

I choked.

“The girls bought me boxes and boxes of it.”

“Did they now?” I pounded my chest, voice strained. “Remind me to thank them next time I see them.” Or buy them their own island in the south of France, along with a pony for every child born from here until forever.

“Uh-huh.” The teasing in her tone intensified the sound of her putting her wine glass down on the table filled the room. “I haven’t unpacked everything but there’s a lot of lace.”

I swallowed and forced myself to breath. “Only twenty-four hours and all that lace… sounds like a challenge.”

“You do love challenges.”

“I like winning.” I smiled. “I like prizes. I’m the mafia’s version of a raccoon only with a shiny gun and knife fixation — right along with an unhealthy obsession with rust colored eyes, red lips, and apparently garters. What color did you say again?”

“I didn’t.”

“You sure?”

“Stick to killing, you’re horrible at negotiations.” She laughed.

“I’m only horrible because I’m distracted.”

“And again, stick to guns, Dante.”

“Guns huh? Just because I can’t negotiate with my mouth doesn’t mean I can’t do other things with my lips, my tongue,” I leaned closer to her until I could hear her faint intake of breath. “I haven’t heard you complain once.”

“Maybe because I’m afraid of you.”

“You were.” I nodded. “But not anymore.”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you anymore — I’m afraid for you. It’s worse, so much worse.”

“No more talking about death, mine or anyone else’s, El.” I stood and offered her my hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

“So you can see my garters?”

“I didn’t say I was taking the blindfold off.”

“But how—”

“Let me worry about finding my way around your body, besides, I kind of like the idea of hide and seek right now.” She gripped my hand in hers. “And I think, that allowing you to do whatever you want in a bed is probably the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Her hand fell. “Is it because you feel sorry for me?”

“No.” I spoke slowly, purposefully. “Every woman deserves to be worshipped El, but I think often times men are stupid assholes who forget that women don’t just want to be objectified — they want to participate, so I’ll wear my blindfold, and you…” I grinned. “Do your worst.”

“I’m liking this date more and more…”

I laughed, it felt good, talking with her, so natural that I could almost forget the constant weight on my shoulders, and the ticking clock hanging over our heads.