31. Dante
Dante
My knuckles still throb from the fight, and my skyrocketing pulse hasn’t plateaued.
Even after I ended the lives of a dozen men, the anger burning through me hasn’t eased one bit.
Not even Lucia flinching when I raised my voice, or how her hands still shake as she clicks her belt into place, helped me find my way out of the hell I was buried under when I entered the room to find her pinned to the ground like an animal—seconds away from being sexually assaulted.
I’m furious she put herself in that position. That she’d rather risk being torn apart by drunk buffoons than accept the stable and safe job I offered her. The position I offered pays more than she would have earned tonight even if everything had gone perfectly.
I could give her the fucking world if she’d just trust me.
But no.
Apparently, I’m the bad guy.
That’s why I can’t let go of this anger. Beneath the fury and adrenaline still rushing through my veins is a hurt I’m having trouble moving past. I’m wounded by her lack of trust.
Instead of turning to me when she faced a dead end, she chose something dangerous and degrading. I could give her anything she asks for—if only she’d let me keep her safe.
I wish I had time to sort through the mess, but I don’t have the luxury of dealing with this shit right now. Camille needs me, and at this moment, her well-being is all that matters.
She was fine at the recital. Happiness radiated from her as she commanded the stage.
Not long after Camille arrived home with my father and Concetta, Valentina called to say Camille had taken a little unwell during the commute.
Valentina planned to bathe her and put her to bed but wanted to update me first. I appreciated that, even as the worry in her voice made my stomach twist.
She called again just as my brothers and I were about to storm the grounds of a rival. This time, she didn’t control the fret in her voice. Camille had taken a bad turn. Her fever was high—dangerously so.
Even though Valentina had called our family’s doctor, I nearly turned around on the spot.
Then I heard Lucia’s panicked screams, and instincts kicked in.
After telling Valentina I’d be back as soon as I could, I stormed into that hellhole and took down the man seconds from raping Lucia before he had time to register my presence.
The bullet made a mess of his brain. He was dead long before he hit the floor.
The rest of the fight blurred into a haze of fists, rage, and blood-curdling screams until the singular blinding need to get Lucia out of there swamped me. The main culprits had already been handled, so I left my brothers to take care of the rest.
I should have stayed. My lousy attempt at decorum only widened the gap Anna’s resurrection in my life, and the rules I’m sick of following, forced between Lucia and me.
As I weave through the lemon orchards surrounding my family’s compound, the scent of citrus thick in the night air, I punch the steering wheel. The horn blares, sharp and accusing, and my breaths come out fast.
Two weeks of pretending I’m fine while everything inside me is anything but has taken its toll.
I hit the wheel again, not hard enough to break anything, just enough to let the frustration crack through the surface of my skin. The leather thuds under my fist, but the pain is too dull to be satisfying.
I’m about to test the durability of the dashboard when a small hand curls over mine. Lucia doesn’t flinch or shrink back when my angry eyes shoot to her. She simply announces that every whack of my fists hurts her just as much as it does me.
Regret fills my gut when I notice the pain in her eyes. I went too hard on her. I shouldn’t have yelled at her or accused her of using this event to tiptoe into the prostitution industry. None of that was fair.
My anger just twisted into cruelty, and I didn’t know how to explain to her how upset I was.
I understand why she went out tonight. She wants money.
No. Correction. She needs it. I have more than enough.
If giving it to her keeps her safe, I’ll choke down my pride and offer it without expecting anything in return.
When we drive through the manned gates, Lucia’s eyes drift over the castle-like structure rising above the orchards. The stone walls glow under floodlights, and the towers cast long shadows across the courtyard where Giovanni and Valentina will get married after their first child is born.
Most people sigh in awe the first time they see how well my family lives.
Even hardened men who grew up in wealth similar to ours do.
Lucia doesn’t. She appears a little confronted, like she’s suddenly aware she’s entered a world that could chew her up and spit her out without a single decision of her own.
It was exactly like that a mere six months ago. Things changed when Camille became part of our lives, and they continued to improve when Giovanni’s relationship proved our father was right when he said we’d burn the castle for the right woman.
After parking near the main entrance, I exit my vehicle and climb the stairs. Lucia follows closely behind me, her steps efficient and quiet as her fingers get lost in her sweater.
Her fear of the unknown transcends to Camille the moment we enter my daughter’s room. The doctor Valentina summoned stands over my daughter, forcing medication into her mouth. He rams a syringe between her lips, and his disregard of her obvious attempts to say no reignites my anger.
“She said no!” Valentina stops trying to pull the doctor off Camille when I storm across the room, snatch the medicine out of his hand so violently that the bottle nearly shatters, then glare at him with flaring nostrils and narrowed lids. “Get out.”
He tries to stand his ground—stupidly—but before I can tear into him with my bare hands, confident a quick, clean death won’t be anywhere near as satisfying, Lucia steps forward. “He said get out. Now!” Her voice slices through the doctor’s confidence, paling his cheeks.
Like a mother defending her child, she shields Camille, her eyes blazing and her posture protective. When she steps between Camille and the doctor, my anger slips away. She seems willing to go against the world to keep Camille safe.
“If I’m forced to repeat myself, you’ll learn you don’t need to go to medical school to know every vital artery in the human body.”
The doctor’s throat works hard to swallow as he gathers up his medical bag and slips out of Camille’s room. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and the moment it does, the pressure inside me detonates for the third time tonight.
“What were you thinking?” I shout, glaring at Valentina.
Her hand flies to her chest as confusion hardens her features. “I—”
The fury is too loud and too hot to let her plead her case. “Adults are meant to be the voice for children.” I lower my eyes to her baby bump. “You better learn that quick if you want to play an intricate role in your child’s life when he’s born.”
Her lips tremble around words she can’t form. Her shock is understandable. I’m just as lost as to why I’m aiming my anger at her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m just a prick when stressed. You don’t need more proof of that than my behavior tonight. Not just now, tonight as a whole.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I turn away before I give Giovanni more reasons to gut me. My pulse is already hammering my hearing, but it turns deafening when I drink in the fear in Camille’s eyes. Her condition is far worse than it was last week. She looks seconds from collapsing.
I grab the doctor’s notes off the counter and flip through them. The medical jargon in neat handwriting pulls me back from the edge inch by inch. His diagnosis mimics the one he gave last week. He thinks Camille is suffering from food poisoning.
“What did she eat tonight?” I ask Valentina, my voice more subdued than it was moments ago. It couldn’t have been anything she ate before or during the recital, because we shared the food.
Valentina steps around Lucia, who’s standing between us like a bodyguard. “Nothing. I offered her dessert, but she was full from the treats she ate on the way home…” Her words trail off as shock registers on her face. “Who gave her the bouquet of sweets?”
My breathing tapers as anger squares my shoulders. “Her mother.”
With my fury close to boiling over again, Lucia places a gentle hand on Valentina’s arm.
“Can you please grab us some extra towels?” She looks at me, her expression a mix of concern and fear.
“We need to get her temperature down. The best way for us to do that is to place her under or in lukewarm water.”
When I nod stiffly, Lucia guides Valentina to the door.
Valentina goes willingly. She’s not running in fear.
Valentina can hold her ground as well as any of my brothers.
Though I’m unsure if Lucia knows this. Unease fills her eyes when she hands Valentina a slip of paper seconds prior to departure.
She looks like she wants to leave with her, but the groan of a child in pain places her needs on the back burner.
Camille needs her, and that’s enough to push aside her fear that I’m an unstable tyrant.
Together, we fuss over Camille until her heartbreaking whimpers fade and her erratic breathing evens out.
Once the panic in her eyes dissipates enough for her to listen, we convince her to take the medicine.
“It’ll taste a little funny, but it’ll make you well enough to eat all the Nutella crepes you want tomorrow morning.”
When Camille’s bloodshot eyes shift to me, wanting to authenticate Lucia’s offer, I dip my chin. She can eat Nutella crepes until her stomach bursts if she’ll take the medicine that will make her well enough to consider clambering downstairs for breakfast.
I’ll even order them as a midnight snack for her.
With a too-trusting glance, she opens her mouth and swallows the medicine.