Chapter 3 #2
Dante sits on the sofa in the lounge, typing on his phone. A trolley set with a spread of dome-covered dishes stands in front of the sliding doors, which explains the appetizing aromas in the space.
He looks up when I enter, perusing me like a strategist taking stock of a rival. “Where were you?”
“Checking on Noah.”
He nods with quiet acceptance and moves his gaze over me. “Sleep well?”
I walk over and stop in front of him. “You?” I cross my arms and arch a brow.
At least he didn’t try to touch me. I suppose that’s something.
He wasn’t in the bedroom when I came out of the bathroom after my shower.
Spitefully, I’d taken the bed, assuming he’d sleep on the sofa.
I didn’t even hear him get in next to me.
I slept like a log, which I never do. Since being on the run, I sleep with one eye open.
Wait a minute.
I narrow my eyes. “What did you put in the tea?”
“Just something to relax you.”
I drop my hands and pin my arms to my sides. “You spiked my fucking tea?”
He doesn’t show a stitch of remorse for drugging me. “You looked like you needed it.”
“Please.” I’m seething. “Don’t pretend you did me a favor.”
“I won’t deny that it helped not having to worry about you getting up in the night and unlocking the connecting bathroom door in Noah’s room to let Jasper out. I’ve been up for twenty-four hours straight when I got here yesterday. I can assure you, I needed the shut eye.”
I lay the sarcasm on thick. “Well, I’m glad you caught up with your beauty sleep.”
“You may find it hard to believe, but I also wanted to spare you any discomfort. After the way we fucked, I’m sure you felt it.”
My cheeks heat at the reminder of what I did.
He drops his gaze to the crotch of my jeans. “Sore?” He cuts a slow path over me with his eyes until he meets mine again. “I can call down for aspirin.”
I want to slap him. There’s no way I’m telling him that I’m so bruised inside it feels as if I’ve been pummeled with a ten-pound hammer. “My bad for drinking that tea. You’d think when it comes to you, I would’ve learned my lesson.”
For a tiny moment, there’s that spark of guilt in his eyes again, but then he schools his features. “I ordered breakfast. You didn’t eat much last night. You must be hungry.”
Not sure I’ll be able to control the urge to plant a fist on his jaw, I cross my arms again. “Where’s Jazz?”
“In her room.”
“Let her out.”
He smiles. “I can guarantee you she’s still sleeping.”
I hate that he knows her so well, that he remembers. He doesn’t deserve those memories or the intimate details of my life and my friends I shared with him. “Under the circumstances? I don’t think so.”
“I’ll let her out soon enough.” He glances at his watch. “It’s barely six.”
“Good to know. It was difficult to tell the time without my phone.”
He gets up, pockets his phone, and goes to the trolley to dish up a plate of food that he carries to me.
I look at the bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast on the plate. “No, thanks. Lesson learned.”
“You saw me preparing the plate. I didn’t sneak anything into your food.”
“Not a chance I’ll take again.”
“Go ahead then.” He puts the plate on the coffee table. “Dish up for yourself.”
“I’ll eat if I’ve cooked the food.”
“Jesus, Tatiana. Do you think I’d pay the hotel chef to drug your breakfast?”
Stubbornly, I remain quiet.
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “How about I take a bite of everything? Will that convince you?”
“As enticing as you may find the idea, I have no intention of exchanging germs with you.”
He sighs. “I won’t put a sleeping pill in your tea again. Happy?”
I scoff. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“I take it you’re going to say no to coffee then too.” He pours himself a cup. “As I recall, you don’t function properly before your second cup.”
The aroma of the strong brew makes my mouth water. I’m dying for a cup of coffee, needing the caffeine boost like never before, but I’m not taking anything from him.
“Fine.” His manner is resigned as he shoves a hand in his pocket and sips his coffee. “If you insist, you can go grab your own coffee and breakfast. Reino will drive you.”
“Oh, I insist.”
I’ll take Noah and Jazz. We can run at the first chance we get.
“And don’t think of it as a clever opportunity to escape.” His eyes tighten in the corners even as a smile curves his lips. “My men will be watching and ready to catch you. I won’t allow you to get away again.”
Irked that he can read me so easily, I grit my teeth.
He puts the cup down on the coffee table. “If you’re not going to eat, we need to talk.”
“Exactly.” I get into his space, putting us chest to chest. “I want answers, and you have fifteen minutes before Noah wakes up.” That boy’s sleep cycle is like clockwork.
His voice drops an octave. “Why did you hide him from me?”
The question is so absurd, I can only stare at him with a slack jaw. When I find my voice again, it’s to laugh. “You’re not seriously asking me that.”
“I told you to wait for me. When I came for you, you were gone.”
“Given the circumstances, I’d think you know why I had no choice but to run as fast and far away from you as I could.”
He searches my eyes. “You should’ve trusted me.”
“Trusted you?” I laugh again. “Are you crazy, Dante?”
“At least you could’ve heard me out. You could’ve told me I’d made you pregnant and that you were expecting our son.”
“Our son?” I step away and shake my head. “No, he’s mine. He’s nothing of you, do you hear me? If you touch him, so help me God, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Ignoring my tantrum, he continues to stare at me. “You should’ve waited for me, Tatiana, and I would’ve explained.”
Emotions of old push their way to the surface. I’m shaky with anger and nauseous from the betrayal. “So you admit you gave the order to fire that rocket that killed my parents?”
He doesn’t as much as flinch. “Yes.”
I reel at his easy admission. It’s like a slap in the face. He doesn’t even try to deny it.
Taking my wrist, he pulls me behind him to the adjoining room, which holds a desk and two chairs. He sets me free, goes to a briefcase that stands on the floor, and takes out a photo that he drops on the desk in the line of my vision.
Whatever this is, it’s going to be bad. I know it. I don’t want to look at the photo, but I can’t stop the perverse curiosity that compels me to do exactly that.
The man in the photo bears a striking resemblance to Dante.
He’s got the same tussled, dark blond hair and familiar golden flames that dance in his brown eyes.
The look in those eyes is mischievous. Humorous.
He’s smiling at the camera as if he’s sharing a private joke with the person taking the picture. He looks so… alive. Happy.
But he’s not Dante. There are differences.
Dante has always had an edge to his smile—a little seductive, a lot sexy, and way too dangerous.
And if he smiles just right, he has a dimple in his cheek.
This man doesn’t have a dimple. He lacks the darkness that’s part and parcel of Dante. He seems more open. Less complicated.
I make the mistake of lifting my face to Dante for a clue only to catch the pain in his pensive expression as he stares at the photo.
Unable to help myself, I ask, “Who is he?”
“Was.” A second passes, and then the moment is gone. When Dante meets my eyes, his impersonal smile is back in place. “My brother, Lee. He was four years younger than me.”
I swallow, not wanting to know any longer.
Dante’s smile turns indulgent. “Aren’t you going to ask how he died?”
The moment burns into my brain as I take in my ex-lover’s dark suit and white shirt, the sophisticated woodsy smell of his aftershave, and the visible black lines that hint at the ink hidden beneath those civil, expensive clothes, ink that tells a story, a story I witnessed before he fucked me last night.
And I sense this is some kind of pivot point, that today is going to turn my world upside down even more.
I don’t want to know. But that’s a coward’s reaction. Because I want answers.
Dante pushes a forefinger on the photo and slides it closer to me, all the way to the edge of the desk. “He was beaten. Do you know who gave the order?”
A static noise crackles in my ears.
“Your father, Tatiana.”
And now I know.
The pieces click into place. Everything Dante had put us through had been about revenge. My heart contracts with compassion as I look at that young, hopeful face on the photo, so positive and sure of a good future.
“He was eighteen years old.” Dante seems calm on the outside, but where his hand is fisted at his side, his knuckles crack. “Eighteen fucking years.”
That would’ve made Dante twenty-two when it happened. Everything makes sense now.
My voice is hoarse, and it’s not just because my throat is raw inside. “Why?”
“Why did your father give that order? Because he was a greedy bastard who fucked me over.”
I meet his gaze. “Is that why you took everything from us? To pay my father back in kind?”
His silence gives me the answer.
I’m almost scared to ask, but I need to know.
“Was I part of the things you wanted to take away from my father? Is that why you chased me so hard, knowing I was promised to another man? Or did you think, ‘Hey, why not hit two birds with one stone and use stupid, na?ve Tatiana to get information on her father’s movements while I’m ruining her? ’”
“You were never stupid or na?ve.”
He’s so wrong. “All those men… My mom, Dante…” I place a palm over the cross hanging on the chain beneath my T-shirt. My voice wobbles. “What did she ever do to you?”
Regret tightens his eyes. “She wasn’t supposed to be in the car that night.”
No, she wasn’t meant to go with my father, but she did. She went because of me. “So she was collateral damage? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”
That’s my fault. It’s my fault she’s dead.
His tone is subdued. “I’m sorry.”