Chapter 14
Dante
Iwake to cold sheets and the taunting mock of silence.
Lucia’s apartment is dim since the curtains are still drawn, but even in the dark, the outline of her absence is carved into the silence.
Her sweet, clean scent lingers on the pillow, but she left hours ago.
Fuck it.
My jaw muscles twitch as I drag a hand down my face, and frustration claws at my throat, wanting to burst free.
I spent hours last night striving to make Lucia see that she isn’t a commodity.
Like Camille, her value isn’t tied to her gender.
She can offer more than the warped expectations she’s been taught to swallow.
Whatever is brewing between us is more than she realizes, and possibly more than she may ever be willing to admit. Yet she still slipped away before dawn, as if I’d paid for the honor last night as she believes I did for our first encounter.
In a way, her theory isn’t far off the mark. I spent a fortune last night to spend time with her. None of the funds went to her, though, and that pisses me off more than I care to admit.
It’s clear she needs money. I just have no clue why.
My desperation to make her associate with me is pathetic. I know that. But I do it anyway because I see something in Lucia I haven’t seen from anyone in years. I crave her attention as much as I crave hearing my daughter call me Daddy for the first time.
My phone alarm vibrates on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet. Camille had routines drilled into her so thoroughly in her first four years of life that even if she goes to bed later than usual, she’ll still wake at exactly seven.
A different ache buries itself in my chest. It’s heavy and deep. I hate leaving Lucia’s empty bed, but Camille must come first. Always. She doesn’t fear much, but she’s my father’s only granddaughter and surrounded by four uncles who don’t know the meaning of gentle.
That’s why I asked Valentina to babysit her last night. The nannies are competent, but trust is a rare currency in this world. I can’t afford to spend it lightly.
I perch my ass on the edge of the mattress for a moment, elbows on my knees, staring at the floorboards. Lucia’s absence gnaws at me. I half expected her to leave, but last night felt different. She let me in. Not all the way, but enough to see the edges of something real beneath her armor.
And then she ran.
After standing, my muscles still tender from hours of lovemaking, I tug on the pants left at the foot of the bed and then pick up the shirt Lucia dumped on the floor halfway between our apartments.
Her scent clings to the fabric, and its familiarity batters me under my ribs.
This isn’t the end for us.
Not even close.
The way she comforted me last night when I was snowed under shows we still have more to discuss.
The morning air is cool as I step outside, the sky still bruised with traces of a late-evening storm. A sleek SUV waits in the driveway of the building, uncaring that it’s blocking other residents’ only exit.
I slide in, fire up the engine, and reverse onto the road.
Halfway to the compound, my phone rings. The dashboard announces it is a call from Elio, the youngest of the five Caruso brothers.
I brace myself for the teasing Giovanni faced when he spent weeks stalking the streets of Carlisle, searching for a needle in a haystack.
Don’t get me wrong. Valentina is beautiful, but curvy brunettes with striking faces are common in Sicily.
You’ll find one at every turn. A blonde with angelic features and a pussy that tastes like honey, though, is a rarity.
Why do you think I’ve been so gung-ho with my pursuit of Lucia?
I hit the call connect button and greet Elio with a grunt.
“Good, you’re awake.” His voice is too tight for the hour, and the fact that he doesn’t return my greeting suggests he probably didn’t sleep last night. “I found out something about Lucia.”
My grip on the wheel firms. “What kind of something?”
“I backtracked her movements during the preceding fourteen days. Took all night.”
I huff, unsurprised. It took over an hour to trace her back to her apartment building last night.
The whistle of Elio’s breaths crackle through the speaker. “How far out are you? I’d rather do this in person.”
I ignore the rock now lodged in my throat. “I’m pulling down our street now.” Like a chicken afraid of the truth, I add, “I need to get Camille breakfast first, though.”
I can’t explain why I’m acting like a chump who can’t handle the knocks of life.
Last night was so fucking good I doubt anything Elio has would stop me from pursuing Lucia.
Expect, perhaps, that we’re related. If that’s the hand he’s holding, fingers fucking crossed it’s nothing more than second cousins.
Silence hangs heavily between us. It’s filled with unspoken tension. This isn’t a good sign. Elio is only ever quiet when he’s plotting to ruin someone without drawing his gun from its holster.
After a beat, he finally says, “Fine.” Another period of silence makes my chest ache. “But I can only hold on to this information for an hour. Any longer and I’ll have to involve Papa.”
The line goes dead, and the weight on my chest drops to my stomach. Ever since our mother passed, the brothers have handled family business on our own. We didn’t want to burden our father with matters of little importance, so for Elio to include him means whatever he’s found must be significant.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Lucia?
The road curves, and the Caruso family compound rises ahead. With iron gates and a new state-of-the-art security system that captures more than Valentina’s every move, it’s a fortress carved into the hillside.
This is my childhood home and the place I hope my daughter will one day recognize as her own.
I pull up to the gate, and it opens before I reach it. The footmen, hoping to climb the ranks by working closely with the family, always know when a Caruso is returning home.
Inside the grounds, the compound is quiet. It’s too early for the chaos my brothers always bring to these groves. The main house looms ahead, all stones and shadows. It’s a structure designed to intimidate, and it’s done precisely that for thirty-five years.
I park in my usual spot and exit the SUV, gravel crunching under my boots. The air smells of the lemons we use to hide exports far more valuable, and the faintest trace of gun oil from the training yard.
The scents of my home are grounding, but they do nothing to dampen the ferocity of the storm brewing in my gut.
I climb the front stairs two at a time before moving through the hallways with muscle memory. My mind is still stuck on the way Lucia looked at me last night when she admitted she wanted me for more than sex.
She didn’t speak those exact words, but actions always speak the loudest.
She should have stayed. Then I could have shown her how much that trust means to me.
When I reach the landing of the floor where Camille’s room is, I push aside thoughts of last night. Everything can wait until Camille is fed and settled.
If only the unease roiling through me didn’t coil tighter with every step.
What did Elio find?
Is Lucia in trouble?
I know she’s hiding something, but is it more than the secrets all women in our industry hide?
Is she protecting someone?
My last thought folds me in half. Lucia is so stubborn she’d drown before confessing she can’t swim, but even with me showing clear signs I want to be there to stop her from sinking, she continues to push me away.
I hate that more than anything.
With the morning light barely seeping through tall windows, the hallway is dark. I pause outside Camille’s door, hand on the knob, and shoulders rigid. I need to gather my bearings, because when I enter her room, the possessiveness and hunger that belongs to Lucia must be left at the door.
Camille didn’t inherit her receptiveness from her mother.
She got all her finer points from me.
When I push the door open, both Valentina and Camille stir. Camille is in a bed far too big for her frame, and Valentina is sleeping in an oversized recliner I’ve napped in many times in the preceding six months.
I mouth, Thank you, to Valentina when she slips out of Camille’s room just as Camille senses my presence. Her lashes flutter, and when her eyes meet mine, her sleepy confusion fades to a welcoming smile.
The floorboards creak when I cross the room. Last night was the first time we’ve been apart since she arrived at the compound, and I’ve missed her.
I increase my speed when she pushes up on her elbows, still half asleep.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
When I ruffle her hair, she instinctively leans toward me. Her nose crinkles when she squashes her face to my shirt. Then I freeze in shocked amusement when she gazes up at me with a blunt honesty only a child has.
She glares at me, wordlessly demanding I return her favorite toy, which I have apparently stolen.
An odd mix of hope and embarrassment swells within me. Well, I think those are the emotions flooding me, but what do I know? It’s the first time I’ve felt them.
Not wanting to explain why I smell feminine and sweet, I brush my hand over Camille’s dark hair, smoothing the sleep-tangled strands, then ask, “Ready for breakfast?”
Her brows shoot up high as energy floods her tiny frame. She leaps out of bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with a loud thump. Usually, she races ahead, but today she pauses.
While looking at me, her eyes bright and trusting, she slips her hand into mine.
I won’t lie. Moisture burns my eyes. This is huge, and although it is the simplest of gestures, it’s a part of fatherhood that could wholly undo me. I’d give every dollar I have to hear my daughter call me Daddy, but to be loved by her… fuck.
I’d take over the world just to experience every minute gesture she’s willing to share with me.