Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dante
The ceiling has seventeen cracks.
I've counted them four times now. Traced each one with my eyes until I could draw them from memory. The longest runs from the corner near the window to just above the closet door. It branches twice. Looks like a river system on a map.
This is what happens when Marina Reeves decides to stop talking to you.
Twenty-six hours. That's how long it's been since she shoved me back into her bedroom and closed the door. Since she decided that silence was safer than conversation.
She brings food. Sets it on the nightstand. Leaves.
She brings medication. Counts out the pills. Leaves.
She changes my bandage. Leaves.
Not a single unnecessary word.
I shift against the pillows. My side aches, but less than yesterday. The wound is healing. I can feel it knitting together under the gauze. Another day, maybe two, and I'll be able to move without wanting to pass out.
Not that I'd tell her that.
She wants me in this bed. Fine. I'll stay in this bed. But I'm not going to pretend I'm weaker than I am. Every time she comes in, I sit up straighter. Meet her eyes. Let her see that whatever she's running from, it's not a dying man.
She hates it.
I can tell by the way her jaw tightens. The way she leaves faster each time.
Good.
If she's going to freeze me out, she can at least be uncomfortable about it.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Lorenzo's name flashes across the screen.
I answer on the second ring.
"Talk to me."
"We're not coming to you." Lorenzo's voice is clipped. All business. "The cartel has eyes on every route into Denver. We try to extract you now, we lead them straight to her door."
I close my eyes. "How long?"
"Unknown. We're setting up meetings with people who might have information on the Mendoza operation. Contacts in the DEA. A few independent operators who've dealt with them before."
"You're gathering intel."
"We're being smart." A pause. "Something you should try."
"I'm lying in bed counting ceiling cracks. How much smarter do you want me to be?"
"You could have called the family doctor."
"We've been over this."
"And we'll keep going over it until I understand why you chose her apartment over a hospital."
I don't answer. There's nothing to say that wouldn't make things worse.
Lorenzo sighs. "How is she?"
"Not speaking to me."
"Can you blame her?"
"No."
"Dante." His voice softens. Just slightly. "Whatever this is—whatever you think you're doing—she's not part of our world. She left for a reason."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I stare at the ceiling. Crack number seven branches into three smaller lines near the light fixture.
"I know," I repeat.
"Stay put. Stay quiet. We'll handle the cartel. When it's safe, we'll get you out."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down. Press my palm against my side. The pain is a dull throb now. Manageable. Almost comfortable in its familiarity.
The smart thing would be to leave the moment I can walk.
The smart thing would be to disappear and never contact her again.
The smart thing—
The door opens.
Marina stands in the doorway. Tray in her hands. Soup again. She's wearing a gray sweater that's too big for her and leggings that make her legs look endless. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.
She doesn't look at me.
"Lunch," she says. Sets the tray on the nightstand. Turns to leave.
"Marina."
She stops. Doesn't turn around.
"You can't ignore me forever."
"Watch me."
"It's been twenty-six hours."
"I'm aware. I let you in.I'm keeping you fed and medicated. That's the extent of my obligation."
"Obligation."
"Yes."
"Is that what I am?"
She finally turns. Her eyes are tired. Dark circles underneath that her concealer can't quite hide.
"What do you want me to say, Dante? That I'm happy you're here? That I enjoy having a wounded mafia enforcer in my bedroom while a cartel hunts for him?"
"I want you to stop pretending you feel nothing."
Her jaw tightens. "I feel plenty. I feel angry. I feel scared. I feel like my life is falling apart again because of your family."
"Our family didn't shoot you. Daniil did."
"And where did I meet Daniil?" She crosses her arms.
I don't answer that.
Marina shakes her head. "Eat your soup. I'll be back in two hours for your medication."
She turns toward the door.
I reach for the nightstand drawer. Pull it open.
"Marina."
She pauses. Hand on the doorframe.
"Before you go." I look down at the drawer's contents. Feel my mouth curve into something that's almost a smile. "Care to explain what I'm looking at here?"
She turns. Frowns. "What are you—"
Her eyes land on the open drawer.
The color drains from her face.
Let's play, cara.
Marina
The drawer. The drawer.
I forgot about the drawer.
For a split second, every muscle in my body coils to scream at him. To rip that smug look off his face with my bare hands. To tell him exactly what kind of invasion of privacy this is.
But I know Dante.
If I scream, he wins.
So I don't.
I force my shoulders down. Unclench my jaw. Take a breath that feels like swallowing glass.
"Do you need a full introduction?" My voice comes out flat. Bored, even. "I can walk you through each one if you're confused about how they work."
Dante's eyebrows rise. He wasn't expecting that.
Good.
But then his mouth curves. That dangerous, knowing smile that makes my stomach flip in ways I refuse to acknowledge.
"That won't be necessary." He reaches into the drawer. "I think I can figure it out."
He pulls out the first one.
A small purple vibrator. Bullet-shaped.
Heat crawls up my neck.
"Interesting," he says. Turns it over in his hand like he's examining a piece of evidence. "Compact. Portable. For when you're in a hurry?"
I don't answer.
He sets it aside. Reaches back in.
The second one is pink. Curved. Designed for—
"G-spot stimulation." He reads my mind. Or maybe just the obvious shape.
My face is on fire. I can feel it. There's no hiding it.
"Put that down."
He ignores me. Sets the pink one next to the purple one. Reaches in again.
The third one makes my heart stop.
It's the newest addition. Black silicone. Realistic. Eight inches.
Dante holds it up to the light like he's appraising a fine wine.
"Now this," he says slowly, "this is ambitious."
"Dante—"
"I'm impressed, cara. You've been busy."
"I'm warning you—"
"Experimenting." He turns the dildo over. Studies it from every angle. "Exploring. Finding out what you like."
I want to die. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I want to go back in time and shove that drawer shut before he ever saw it.
But I can't move.
I'm frozen in place, watching him handle my most private possessions like they're toys at a store.
Which, technically, they are.
But that's not the point.
"There's nothing wrong with a woman knowing her own body," Dante continues. His voice has dropped. Lower. Rougher. "In fact, I'd say it's admirable."
"I don't need your approval."
"No. You don't." He meets my eyes. "But you have it anyway."
He brings the dildo closer to his face.
And inhales.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Curious." He breathes in again. Slower this time. "About what you smell like."
My brain short-circuits.
He's smelling my—
He's actually—
"I have to say." His eyes close for a moment. When they open, they're black. Pupils blown wide. "Better than I imagined."
I move before I think.
Three steps. That's all it takes. I'm across the room and grabbing for the dildo, my hand closing around the silicone shaft.
"Give me that, you fucking—"
Dante's other hand shoots out.
His fingers close around my wrist.
And he pulls.
I lose my balance. Pitch forward. My knee hits the mattress. My free hand lands on his chest to catch myself.
I'm half on top of him.
His wounded side is inches from my hip. His face is inches from mine. I can see every line around his mouth. The stubble that's grown in over the past two days.
He doesn't let go of my wrist.
I should move.
I should push off his chest and stand up and walk out of this room and never look back.
But I don't.
For one heartbeat. Two. Three.
I stay exactly where I am.
His breath is warm on my lips. His chest rises and falls under my palm. I can feel his heart beating. Fast. Faster than it should be for a man who's supposed to be resting.
His grip on my wrist loosens.
He's letting me go.
He's giving me the choice.
I hesitate.
One second too long.
Dante's mouth curves. That infuriating smirk that makes me want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.
"Interesting," he murmurs.
I shove off his chest. Stand up so fast I nearly trip over my own feet. The dildo is still clutched in my hand like a weapon.
"Don't." My voice shakes. I hate that it shakes. "Don't touch my things."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"I mean it, Dante."
"I heard you."
"Then act like it."
I back toward the door. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. My skin feels too tight. Too hot.
Dante watches me go. That smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Eat your soup," I manage. "It's getting cold."
I don't wait for his response.
I'm out the door and down the hall before he can say another word. The dildo is still in my hand. I shove it into the bathroom cabinet and slam the door shut.
Then I grip the sink and stare at my reflection.
My cheeks are flushed. My eyes are too bright. My lips are parted like I'm waiting for something.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I stayed.
He gave me the chance to leave and I stayed.
One second. That's all it was. One second of hesitation.
But we both know what it meant.