Chapter 16
ROMI
“Hello, Cattivella.” A shudder runs through me the moment he whispers against my ear. My heart is pounding, and I feel alive, knowing that I’m dancing on the edge of something dangerous. And this is why I came—for answers.
I don’t know why I’m so hellbent on uncovering his secrets.
I shouldn’t care, and usually I don’t. Maybe it’s the risks—a new type of high—that have had me following him and trying to catch him doing…
well, whatever it is he does. I even stayed awake for days, waiting for him to return home, but he never did.
I'd thought he was coming home in the early hours of the morning, but there doesn't appear to be any rhyme or reason to his schedule.
And although that’s possible for a doctor, I trust my gut to know something is off. And doctors certainly don’t walk into restaurants, go into the back, and return minutes later covered in blood.
With startling clarity, I understand that Dante is some kind of thug.
I don’t even know how he perfectly timed the tequila shots coming out, but I throw mine back, not entirely certain if I do it to take the edge off or because I still won’t step down from this asshole's challenge.
When I meet his gaze, those dark-brown eyes glitter with mischief, and I realize he wants me to ask. Wants me to be curious about him, and I fucking hate the fact that I’ve played right into his hands.
“Let’s take this somewhere else, shall we?” he suggests as he places the empty shot glass down.
A small part of me is reluctant to follow him. I know better than to do so, and yet I’m up on my feet, doing precisely as I’m told. I need to get to the bottom of this, though I understand the stupidity of my curiosity. I should be scared of him. And the most terrifying part of all is—I’m not.
When we reach the curb, he offers me his helmet and then walks toward my driver, whom I specifically told to wait out front. I’m left gobsmacked as I realize he'd known I was following him the whole time.
“She no longer requires your services,” he says to the driver, handing him a few hundred-dollar bills. He comes back with an arrogant smirk. “Don’t be so surprised, Cattivella. You’re as subtle as a wrecking ball. Are you hungry?”
My mouth opens and then closes. “I’m not eating with you.”
“Pity, I’m starved,” Dante says as he mounts the bike. “All the torturing really builds an appetite.”
His gaze locks on me, challenging me in a way I don’t entirely understand. Torture. He says it with such ease, as if it means nothing. He has, after all, returned home most nights with blood on him. This is a game to him, I realize, and there isn’t a twinkle of remorse in his eyes.
It’s as if he wanted me to catch him.
When he notices my hesitation to hop on the bike with him, he makes a point to say, “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that.”
“Isn’t that what most psychopaths would say?” I challenge, my heart rate spiking from a mixture of fear and exhilaration. It’s so messed-up.
“Don’t worry. I already checked myself for that; not quite there on the spectrum. I’m just a ruthless asshole,” he says with a sickly-sweet smile that runs a chill down my spine.
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”
He lifts a shoulder, unbothered. “No, it's just the truth. Do what you like with it. Now, are you hopping on or not?”
“Where are we going?”
That devilish twinkle returns in his gaze. “It’s a surprise.”
My eye twitches ever so slightly. As if he didn’t piss me off before, now there really is a lethal consequence. And for some reason, that’s what pulls me toward the back of his bike, and I put the helmet on.
Like a moth to a flame, I’m curious to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets, if only so I can continue to avoid mine.
He revs the engine once, and the moment my arms wrap around his stomach, we’re weaving in and out of cars in the early hours of the morning.
My heart is pounding, my mind spiraling on all of the worst-case scenarios. What if he does murder me? What if my body ends up chopped up into tiny pieces and buried where it will never be found?
For the first time in a long time, I feel alive, but in a sick and twisted way. I’ve lived in perpetual numbness for months, and the idea that I might come to an unjust end feels…
Well, I feel something.
I cling tighter to the devil himself, surprised that he’s the anchor to all of these mixed emotions that are different from the ones I’ve been drowning in since Lorraine's death. It feels like I’m fighting to breath, to survive, and to care about myself again.
And I’ve found a reason for it in the wrong place.
We’re far from the city now, entering a hilly area with very few houses. My situation grows more dire as I realize he might actually kill me. Before, it was theoretical. Now, it’s highly probable.
I consider how it might go down, and what I might do. But it’s not Dante’s face I imagine hurting me, and that makes no sense because I can feel how dangerous he is. Yet I don’t think he’d ever turn on me. I have no reason to believe that, but fundamentally, I do.
He pulls off at a lookout spot, and my eyes widen at the view of the city. It’s beautiful, Manhattan twinkling in the distance.
I’ve lived in this city since I was six, and I've always loved it. I’ve traveled all over the world, and keep finding myself back here.
But seeing it from a distance is the most beautiful.
Especially because of the quiet that surrounds us this far out of the city.
It takes me back to my years on the farm.
I push away from Dante and remove my helmet, bothered by all of these thoughts that keep returning to me, especially ever since Dante came into my life.
“It’s a shame you didn’t wear the leather jacket I bought you,” Dante says casually as he steps toward the safety rail.
I glare at him. “This isn’t some fucking joyride.”
“Sure it is. It’s always a joyful experience having you on the back of my bike. Especially with that scathing tongue when I take you somewhere nice.”
“Or somewhere you’ll chop my body up into tiny pieces,” I bite back, that slight panic rising to the surface again because I don’t know how to view him. He was a nuisance at first, someone I could fuck to take my mind off things, and now… I'm not so sure.
He pretends to be insulted. “I would never chop your body up. You’re too beautiful for that. I’d attempt some preservation method. But I must confess, it’s not something I’ve tried before, so I don’t know how well it’ll turn out.”
My jaw drops.
“It was a joke, Romi.” He laughs at his own twisted humor and then turns to face the scenic view. “Don’t you have some questions for me?”
This asshole is so full of himself. I have no idea how honest he might be if I question him. He could just be entertaining me before he throws me over the cliff, so I make a point to stay farther back, close to the bike.
“Who are you really?”
He leans back against the safety rail, the city lights twinkling behind him, arms crossed over his chest, and there it is again, the predator behind the barely-there mask.
“Firstly, I’m handsome. Intelligent, as well, but that goes without saying,” he begins.
“Don’t play with me!”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my outburst, but that arrogant, provocative smile falls straight back into place.
“I work for the Italian mafia. Don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m also pretty high up.
You could say I work closely with my boss, making sure business goes as usual, and people stay in line. ”
My jaw drops. Of all the things I was expecting him to say, the fucking Italian mafia was not on the list.
What. The. Fuck?
Pieces start clicking together. I want to laugh and say he’s full of shit; however, the more I think about recent incidents, and the weird occurrences around Ara and Lily, I can’t help but consider that I might’ve been left in the dark this whole time.
Surely, they’re not somehow involved. But when I consider that Dante was at Lorenzo and Lily’s going away party, I can’t help but have suspicions that I might be further behind than I ever knew.
“What’s your connection to Lorenzo and Lily?
” I ask, and something flickers through his expression, irritation perhaps.
I have to know, because it feels like a betrayal if Lily, of all people, is in something so deep.
I love my friend, but she’s always been sheltered and sweet.
I’m terrified by how someone like her might even live amongst the dangers of the mafia.
Granted, it’s not like I have personal, first-hand experience with their kind, but I know it’s something that is very hard to get out of.
“Everyone is always curious about Lorenzo. In my opinion, he’s a fucking bore. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t care much for your friend Lily. She’s only on my radar because my lone wolf brother decided to make her his. I personally think she could do much better.”
Brother?
Fuck. Of course. I should’ve noticed the resemblance. And when I look at him now, I can see it. They’re different in many ways, but those almost-black eyes with a cold expression are the same. Shit. And I thought Lorenzo was good for my friend.
“I need to call Lily,” I fret as I fish out my phone, and my heart sinks when I realize there’s no reception. God, he might really chop me up into tiny pieces.
“I wouldn’t bother, not right now. Despite what you might think, she’s there by choice, so unless you want to ruin another friendship, I suggest you cool down before calling her.”
“I beg your fucking pardon?” I whip my head back up in his direction.
“I mean, you’ve been doing a fantastic job at pushing everyone away and isolating yourself. I think you going in guns blazing will be the nail in the coffin. So, by all means, go ahead. Oh, but you should know, there’s no reception up here.”
My blood boils. “Don’t pretend like you fucking know me! You’re nothing but a lying psychopath!”