Crimson Vows: A Dark Mafia Romance

Chapter 29

My breath catches in my throat when I glimpse Dante’s car pulling up outside on the street. “He’s here,” I say, and a moment later, Nico’s presence is next to me, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my neck.

“About fucking time,” he mutters in annoyance.

We both stand, watching and waiting for him to emerge from the driver’s side. I don’t know what I expect to see, but when he steps out, his appearance seems normal. Nico immediately shifts and moves toward the apartment’s front door. I continue watching Dante until he disappears into the entrance of the building.

Turning back, I lock my eyes with Nico’s as we listen intently for our friend’s approach. Suddenly, heavy footsteps grow louder, and our bodies tense in anticipation. Without hesitation, Nico springs into action, swinging open the door and pulling Dante inside before he has a chance to knock.

Dante’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and wild, as Nico’s hands sling him toward the couch before slamming the door shut and locking the door. “Did anyone follow you?” Nico growls as he looks his friend up and down. He’s doing his best to be a hard-ass, but I can see the concern behind his eyes.

Dante’s lips part, but no sound comes out. His gaze isn’t connecting with either of us, and instead, it appears he’s staring at something no one else can see. “Dante?” Nico repeats louder this time, but still, he doesn’t respond. It’s as if he’s in some sort of trance.

Nico approaches him, and gripping his shoulders, he begins to shake him. “Dammit, Dante, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dante shakes his head as if he were trying to wake from a dream. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” He finally speaks.

Nico releases him and skulks over to the window, glancing outside cautiously. “I asked you if you were followed. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers.

Whatever haunts Dante has a tight grip on him. “Come on,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Sit down before you fall.”

He follows me to the couch, stumbling like his feet can’t quite remember how to work. We sink into the cushions, the filth on the furniture no longer seeming to matter.

“Seriously!” Nico huffs, growing increasingly annoyed with Dante’s state.

“Nico...” My voice is a plea for calm. “Yelling at him won’t do any of us any good.”

Nico doesn’t respond, turning his gaze back outside, scanning the streets once again for danger.

I place a hand on Dante’s leg to anchor him. Tears rim his eyes and then suddenly spill over. He looks like he’s on the verge of shattering. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice so taut with pain it barely sounds like his own.

“What are you sorry for?” I press, heart thundering in my chest. “Is this about what you said to Smitty?”

He chokes on a sob, shaking his head. “No... It’s worse. So much worse.”

Nico snaps his head from the window in our direction. He walks around and crouches in front of Dante, his face as hard as carved stone. “Worse, how? What did you do?” Nico’s voice grows louder with each syllable.

“Hey, why don’t you go in the kitchen and get him a glass of water,” I instruct, sure that Nico’s flaring temper isn’t helping the situation. It’s a side of Nico I am not used to seeing.

His mouth falls open as he looks up at me. I nod, eyes wide, and begrudgingly, Nico complies.

“Hey, Dante.” My hand moves to find his and gently squeezes it. If I’m going to figure out what is going on, I have to piece together what has happened to him. “I need you to take a great big breath for me. And then I want you to tell me everything that has happened since you and Nico had that argument earlier. Can you do that?”

He looks at me, tears still streaming down his muscular jawline, and nods. “Okay... well, I just started walking. I was just trying to clear my head. I kept thinking about how Marco reacted at the warehouse this morning. He was so pissed at me for saying what I did to Smitty.”

Nico returns with the water, and as he hands it to Dante, he mutters, “Can you blame him?”

I glare at him, and he immediately falls silent.

Dante takes a sip of water and sets the glass on the coffee table.

“Go on,” I encourage him. “Then what happened?”

Dante glances up at Nico, quickly looking away when he sees the disappointed look on his face. “Well, I couldn’t stop thinking that all of this was my fault, so I was trying to figure out how to fix things. Marco thought I would only make things worse, so he wanted me to stay out of it.” Dante’s breath hitches before he continues. “I knew if I could tell Vincent that what I told Smitty was just me talking and that nobody else even knew about it, he’d realize Marco didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Sweetie, I know you want to fix this, but Marco’s right. We need to let him handle this. He knows Vincent better than any of us,” I assure him.

Dante looks over at me, wiping a tear away with his free hand. “No, I know. But then, that was when Marco texted me.”

“Marco texted you?” Nico asks, clearly just as shocked as I am.

Dante nods. “Yeah, and I don’t know. It felt like in a way he was telling me how I could fix everything without actually saying it, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” I reply. “What did Marco text you?”

Dante gulps. “He said that Vincent’s flight was landing at two and that I should lie low.”

I blink repeatedly, struggling to piece together what Dante could have gleaned from the message that I wasn’t. “So you thought Marco was telling you that you could fix everything by lying low? I don’t understand.”

“No,” Dante answers, not offering any clarity.

“Fuck, man, what the hell did you do?” Nico asks, the anticipation overwhelming him.

“I went to see Vincent,” Dante confesses, his voice cracking like thin ice.

Nico’s stance stiffens, disbelief etched into every line of his body. “You did what?”

“When Marco told me Vincent was landing at two, I thought maybe that was his way of telling me how I could help,” Dante says. “So I waited for him outside his place. I just wanted to talk.” Dante’s eyes are desperate pools, begging us to understand. “I tried to tell him, but he didn’t care.”

A muscle flickers in Nico’s jaw, tension rolling off him in waves. Dread settles over the two of us as we listen in silence to what Dante has to share, helpless to alter the events that have already occurred.

“Vincent knew.” Dante’s words are laden with regret. “I swear, it was like he knew everything. The more I insisted that it was just me, the more he pushed back that he was certain Marco was a part of it.”

“Why would he think that?” I ask, picturing Marco walking into a meeting with Amelia. If Vincent had already made up his mind that Marco was part of the plot, the last place he should be is in a meeting with his sister.

“I tried to convince him he was wrong, but Vincent... he wouldn’t listen. He told me he knew the four of us met at Gia’s and we didn’t come out until the next morning. He said he knew we were there to plan our attack.”

“What? He had someone watching me?” I gasp, wrapping my arms around myself as my skin begins to crawl.

Dante shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe.”

“Dammit, Dante!” Nico shouts. “Why the fuck did you go there? I can’t believe he even let you leave.”

“I shot him.” The confession tumbles out of Dante’s mouth, and Nico stumbles back as if the words were a projectile.

“You shot him?” Nico’s voice is a hollow echo of disbelief.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dante cries, his entire body trembling. “I just wanted him to listen. But no matter how hard I tried, he kept going on and on about how he knew the truth and how we would all pay.” Dante looks into my eyes. “He said he was going to kill us all. I couldn’t let him walk away from me. You understand, don’t you?”

“Jesus,” Nico mutters as he begins to pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “We are fucked. We are so fucked.”

“What happened after you shot him?” I ask as the gravity of the situation presses down on us.

“I don’t even remember pulling my gun out. I think I only wanted him to stop, but he kept walking away, and then the next thing I knew, he was on the ground, and there was blood coming out of his mouth. I panicked, so I ran,” he stammers out.

“Was he dead?” Nico pauses his pacing to ask. When Dante doesn’t answer right away, Nico repeats the question louder. “Dammit! Was he dead?”

“I don’t know. I think so,” Dante answers, looking up at his friend, desperate for guidance. “Maybe. If he wasn’t, he didn’t look good.”

Amelia. Her name slices through my thoughts. Does she know what happened to Vincent? If she suspects Dante was the one who shot her brother, she will be out for blood, looking for him, for all of us.

Nico’s eyes dart to the exit and then to the window. “What are we going to do?”

Our sanctuary is shrinking, and the small room’s walls are closing in even more. I don’t have an answer for Nico. All I can think about at this moment is Marco and if he is safe.

“We have to find Marco,” I reply, standing up and looking at Nico. “He was going to talk to Amelia. If she finds out about this while he’s there—” I can’t even finish the statement, the idea of it too horrible to fathom. My next words disappear in my throat as our heads snap toward the front door. Based on everyone’s reactions, we all heard it.

Footsteps. We exchange glances, and in a moment, we are all standing, our guns pointed toward the approaching stranger.

As the footsteps grow louder, none of us says a word. I’m unsure if we are breathing while waiting for what is coming our way.

The door slams open, and an eruption of adrenaline floods the room.

“Marco!” The name rips from my lips before I can swallow it down. He stands there, shock etched into every line of his face, a mirror to our own terror.

Time stills. Marco’s eyes scan the room, landing on Dante, then ricocheting to each of us.

“Marco!” I shout again as I lower my weapon and launch myself at him, arms flinging around his broad shoulders. The solidness of his body is real. He’s here. He’s alive.