18. Dante
EIGHTEEN
Sinking back against the plush red velvet couch, I narrowed my eyes as I scrutinized the dancers rehearsing on the small stage. Something was off with their timing, their movements lacking the seamless precision I demanded in my club.
“Again, from the top,” I barked, the sharp edge of my voice cutting through the thumping bassline. “I want to see some real fire, ladies. This is Diablo, not some rinky-dink strip joint off the interstate.” I took a sip of my whisky and plunked the glass down hard.
The dancers exchanged glances but obediently reset their positions and began the routine anew. As the music swelled, their bodies moved in tandem, hips swaying, muscles rippling beneath glistening skin.
I nodded, satisfied that the message had been received. Perfection was the minimum expectation here – anything less was unacceptable.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration jolting me from my intense focus. A glance at the screen revealed Sofia’s name and smiling face.
“What is it, sis?” I answered gruffly, my attention still divided between her call and the performance unfolding before me.
“Dante!” Her voice, bright and cheerful as ever, pierced through my darkening mood. “You, Eva, Allen, and I—dinner on Friday. There’s a new fusion place on Ocean Drive I’m eager to try.”
Hearing Allen’s name, an image of his smarmy face flashed before me, instantly grating on my nerves. That guy was the epitome of a pompous ass, oozing an air of entitlement. The very definition of a jerk, the type I made it a point to avoid.
“I thought I made it clear to stay away from him. He’s nothing but trouble.” My voice held an edge, a warning.
I could almost feel her steeling herself over the phone. “I don’t care, Dante. Eva encouraged me to be more assertive. So, that’s what I’m doing. Standing my ground with you and Allen.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died on my lips as a stray movement on stage caught my attention. One of the dancers, a willowy blonde with endless legs, had abandoned the routine and was now making her way toward me, her hips swaying hypnotically.
“What the–” I sputtered, my phone nearly slipping from my suddenly nerveless fingers as the dancer planted her topless body on my lap, her large breasts mere inches from my face.
“Dante?” Sofia’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinny and distant. “Are you still there?”
The dancer smirked, her tongue darting out to trace the shell of my ear as she undulated against me, her movements slow and sinuous. I bit back a groan as I desperately tried to regain control of the situation.
“Yeah, uh... dinner sounds great, Sof,” I managed to choke out, my voice strained. “Count us in.”
I barely registered Sofia’s delighted response before ending the call, tossing the phone aside as I surrendered to the dancer’s sensual assault. My hands found her hips, guiding her motions as she rolled and gyrated in my lap, her fingers tangling in my hair.
The rehearsal was supposed to be an opportunity to fine-tune our performances for the club. But this dancer changed everything when she latched onto the sensitive spot below my ear. This was so very crossed-lines territory.
As the song ended, reality smacked me in the face, and gently, I pushed her off my lap, my better judgment returning. I croaked out my thanks as she practically purred in disappointment. With a sultry saunter, she walked away, hips swaying back to the stage, leaving me to breathe and regroup.
I couldn’t deny the rush of pure, carnal lust that had surged through me during our little impromptu lap dance, but I had Eva on my mind – constantly.
Eva’s face was seared into my brain, those smoldering eyes and full lips promising untold pleasures. But what about the mystery surrounding her, the secrets I knew she was keeping?
That little slip-up the other night, her casual reference to my business with Javier Cruz, caught my attention, and I was already planning to do something about it.
The shrill ringing of my phone cut through the thumping bass, shattering my reverie. I snatched it up, not even glancing at the caller ID before barking a curt, “Yeah?”
“Hey, Boss.” Marco’s gruff voice crackled through the line. “We’re still good for our little surveillance op tomorrow?”
A slow grin spread across my face. The prospect of finally getting answers about the woman consuming my thoughts lit a fire inside me.
“Absolutely,” I said, leaning back in my chair as I motioned for the dancers to take five. “Pick me up in the morning.”
I ended the call and leaned back in my chair. Part of me felt like a sleazebag, putting my girlfriend under such intense scrutiny. But a bigger part of me, the part that had been raised in the cartel world, knew this was necessary.
Trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford, not when there were so many unanswered questions surrounding Eva. And if she was somehow involved with Javier Cruz in a scheme against me, against my family... well, let’s just say that would be a shame.
A sharp whistle from the stage jolted me from my thoughts. The dancers had reassembled, their bodies poised and ready to continue the rehearsal.
“Alright, ladies,” I called out, pushing aside my concerns. “Let’s take it from the top. And this time, I want to see some heat.”
The tinted windows of the Escalade provided a one-way mirror into the glitzy, upscale side of Miami's streets. My eyes narrowed as I watched Eva slip out of a fancy apartment complex, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. It was not what I’d expected after always seeing her in heels and dresses, but maybe it was her work clothes.
I ducked in the seat, signaling Marco to start the engine as she emerged.
“What do you make of it?” Marco asked, his gruff voice slicing through the tense silence.
I shook my head slowly, my jaw clenched. “I don’t know, man. But something about Eva just ain’t sitting right with me.”
We followed discreetly as Eva’s sleek Porsche merged onto the highway towards the city’s heart.
“What’s the plan here, Dante?” Marco’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “We can’t just tail her forever. Eventually, she’s gonna catch on.”
I exhaled slowly, raking a hand through my hair. He was right, of course. But confronting Eva head-on, demanding answers, and showing my hand too early was not an option. There had to be a more discreet way to find some answers.
“Let’s go back and check out that apartment she left. I have a hunch about that place.”
Marco nodded and turned the car around.
We stopped out front and waited a few minutes, watching her apartment windows for any movement. When we were sure nobody was inside, we made our move.
The lock on the apartment door was no match for Marco’s skilled hands. He grinned at me as he showed me a tiny piece of clear tape between the door and the frame, creating a makeshift seal. Yep, something was up with Eva, alright.
Marco opened the door, and we were inside, stepping into the opulent living room.
As we moved through the rooms, it all felt a little staged—hardly any pictures or personal touches.
But it was the closet that caught my attention. It was filled with boxes stacked haphazardly on top of each other. I pulled them aside.
Hidden in the back was a large black duffel bag.
With trembling hands, I unzipped the bag. I gasped, my breath hitching in my chest as I saw what was inside. Police riot gear, heavy and black, with the word “DEA” emblazoned across the back.
Suddenly, the memories came flooding back. The raid on the warehouse, the chaos and gunfire, and the woman I had encountered, the one I had let live—the woman in the gear.
Eva.
I felt like somebody had punched me, the air rushing out of my lungs in a strangled gasp. Everything about her, about us, had been a lie. She had infiltrated my life and my family, all in the name of bringing me down.
Rage coursed through me, hot and bitter. I searched the rest of the apartment for any shred of evidence, anything that would confirm what I already knew in my heart.
I found it in a drawer by the bed—a police badge gleaming silver in the dim light. Next to it was an ID card with her picture and real name.
Natalia Ramirez. DEA.
She looked different in this picture, but there was no doubt. Natalia and Eva were the same person. I stared at the badge, my mind reeling. How could I have been so blind, so fucking stupid? I had let her into my life, my heart, and all the while, Natalia had been plotting against me.
I thought of all the moments we had shared, the steamy encounters and hot sex. Her words and the way she looked at me made me feel like I was the only man in the world. It was all an act, a carefully crafted deception designed to confuse and make me trust her.
The worst part was that it had worked. I had fallen for her hard and fast. I had let my guard down and allowed myself to hope for a future with her. And all the while, she had laughed at me, mocking me for my foolishness.
As the initial shock began to wear off, a new emotion took root—a cold, calculated determination. If Natalia thought she could manipulate me, she had another thing coming. It was time to turn the tables and regain control of this twisted game she had started.
A slow, predatory grin spread across my face as a plan began to take shape.
Marco’s voice snapped me back to reality. “We should get going.”
I nodded, and we set about erasing any sign of our intrusion, returning every item to its precise location. Marco ensured the front door looked untouched, buffing the lock and re-sealing it.
Silent as ghosts, we descended the stairs and blended into the hustle of the street outside, heading for our car. As we drove away from Eva’s apartment, the weight of our discovery hung heavy in the air. Marco’s eyes flicked between the road and me, concern etched across his face. I knew he was waiting for me to speak, to give some direction on how to proceed with this explosive information.
Finally, I turned to him, my voice low and serious. “Marco, what we found out today... about Eva, about her real identity as Natalia... it can’t leave this car. Do you understand?”
Marco’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Dante, man, this is big. Your father?—”
“Especially not my father,” I cut him off, my tone sharp. “Ricardo can’t know about this. Not yet.”
He shot me a skeptical look. “Are you sure about this? He’s going to be pissed if he finds out we kept this from him.”
I leaned back in my seat, running a hand through my hair. “I know, but trust me on this. We need to play this smart. If Ricardo finds out about Natalia being DEA, he’ll have her killed without a second thought. And right now, she’s our best chance at figuring out what’s really going on.”
Marco nodded slowly, processing my words. “So what’s the plan?”
“We keep her close, feed her false information, and try to figure out who else might be involved. There’s no way she’s working alone on this.”
“And what about you?” Marco asked, his voice tinged with concern. “I’ve seen how you look at her, Dante. Can you handle playing this game?”
I clenched my jaw, pushing down the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “I have to. It’s the only way to protect the family and get to the bottom of this mess.”
Marco was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Alright, I’m with you. But be careful, man. This is dangerous territory we’re treading into.”
I nodded, grateful for his loyalty. “I know. That’s why I need you to have my back on this. Not a word to anyone, especially Ricardo. Promise me.”
“You have my word,” Marco said solemnly.
As we drove on through the Miami night, I steeled myself for the challenge ahead. The woman I thought I knew was a lie, but the game was far from over. It was time to show Natalia—and whoever else was pulling the strings—that they had severely underestimated Dante Reyes.