Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Marina
Ileave Dante sleeping in the bedroom.
His breathing is deep. Even. The lines of pain that usually bracket his mouth have smoothed out.
I close the door quietly behind me.
The penthouse is silent. Forty-two floors above Denver, the city noise doesn't reach us. Just the hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in the living room.
I find my phone on the kitchen counter where someone left it. The screen shows twelve missed calls. Eight from work. Four from my mother.
I check the time.
10:47 a.m.
I should have been at the nonprofit three hours ago.
My thumb hovers over Sarah's contact. My supervisor. The woman who hired me eighteen months ago.
I press call.
It rings twice.
"Marina?" Sarah's voice is sharp with concern. "Where are you? Are you okay? You didn't show up this morning and you didn't call and—"
"I'm okay. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."
"What's going on? This isn't like you."
She's right. It isn't like me.
That Marina feels like a stranger now.
"I have a family emergency. I need to take some time off."
Silence on the other end.
"How much time?"
I close my eyes.
"I don't know. A week. Maybe two."
"Two weeks?" Sarah's voice rises. "Marina, we have the children's showcase next week. You've been planning it for months."
Guilt twists in my stomach.
The showcase. Twenty foster kids displaying their artwork. The event I've been organizing since January. The thing that gets me out of bed on the days when my hand won't cooperate and my nightmares won't stop.
"I know." My voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
"Is someone sick? Is it your parents?"
"It's complicated."
More silence.
"Marina." Sarah's tone softens. "You've been one of my best employees since you started. You never take time off. You never complain. But lately..." She pauses. "You've seemed different. Distracted. Is everything okay? Really okay?"
No.
Nothing is okay.
A cartel wants to kill the man sleeping in the other room. The same man who gave me the best sex of my life. The same man whose childhood trauma makes mine look like a paper cut.
"I'm dealing with some personal things," I say. "I promise I'll explain when I can."
"Okay." Sarah sighs. "Take the time you need. I'll handle the showcase. But Marina? Call me if you need anything. I mean it."
"Thank you."
I hang up before she can ask more questions.
The phone feels heavy in my hand.
I stare at my mother's contact for a long moment. She must be worried sick. I've been dodging her calls for days, giving her one-word answers when I do pick up.
I press call.
She answers on the first ring.
"Marina! Oh thank God. I've been calling and calling. Are you alright? You sound tired. Have you been sleeping? Your father and I were just talking about you this morning and—"
"Mom." I cut her off gently. "I'm okay."
"You don't sound okay. You sound... different. What's going on, sweetheart?"
I sink onto the leather couch.
The penthouse is beautiful. All clean lines and expensive furniture. Nothing like my small apartment with its secondhand couch and plants on the windowsill.
"I'm just tired," I say. "Work has been busy."
"You work too hard. I've always said that. You need to take care of yourself. Have you been eating? You always forget to eat when you're stressed."
"I've been eating."
Dante made me eat. Watched me finish every bite of the food he cooked with a bullet wound in his side.
"Good. That's good." Mom pauses. "Linda asked about you yesterday. Her daughter just got engaged. Did I tell you? To a very nice accountant. They met at a pottery class, can you believe it? Linda thinks pottery classes are the new dating apps."
I make a sound that might be agreement. She likes saying the same things over and over again.
My mind drifts.
Dante's hands on my body. His voice in my ear. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"Marina? Are you listening?"
"Sorry. What?"
"I asked if you've been seeing anyone. You never tell me anything about your love life."
My love life.
I almost laugh.
"There's nothing to tell."
The lie tastes bitter.
"You know, your father and I just want you to be happy. After everything that happened in Chicago..." She trails off. "We worry about you, sweetheart. All alone in Denver."
"I'm not alone."
The words slip out before I can stop them.
"Oh?" Mom's voice perks up. "Did you meet someone?"
I close my eyes.
Dante's face swims behind my eyelids. The scar through his eyebrow. The way his jaw clenches when he's trying not to show pain. The softness in his eyes when he looks at me.
"It's complicated," I say.
I feel awful and great at the same time. My body still hums from what we did. My skin still tingles where he touched me. I want him. God, I want him. More than I've ever wanted anyone.
But I'm terrified.
This world. His world. The violence that follows him like a shadow. The cartel that wants him dead. The family that operates outside every law I was raised to respect.
"Mom, I need to go."
"Already? We barely talked."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll call you soon. I promise."
"Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. And Marina?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever's going on... trust yourself. You've always had good instincts."
I hang up.
The phone drops to my lap.
For now, I need to stay safe.
Then I'll figure out what to do.
Now, let's have some breakfast.
Dante
My eyes snap open.
Wrong ceiling.
Wrong light.
Wrong—
I reach for the gun that isn't there. My hand closes on empty sheets.
"Hey."
Marina's voice cuts through the panic.
I blink. Focus.
She's sitting in a chair beside the bed. Legs tucked under her. Hair loose around her shoulders. Watching me with a small smile on her face.
Not gone.
Not taken.
Safe.
The tension drains from my body so fast it leaves me dizzy.
"Christ." I drag a hand over my face. "How long have you been sitting there?"
"A while."
"Watching me sleep?"
"Returning the favor."
I grunt. Fair enough.
The room comes into focus. Lorenzo's penthouse. The safe house. Forty-two floors above Denver where no sniper can reach us.
Marina is still smiling.
Something loosens in my chest. A knot I didn't know was there.
"What time is it?"
"Four."
"Four?" I push up on my elbows. Pain shoots through my side but I ignore it. "In the afternoon?"
"You needed the sleep."
Six hours. I slept for six hours without waking once. Without nightmares. Without reaching for a weapon.
I can't remember the last time that happened.
"I made breakfast," Marina says. "Eggs. Toast. Coffee. The whole thing."
My stomach growls on cue.
"Where is it?"
"I ate it."
I stare at her.
"You ate my breakfast?"
"You didn't wake up." She shrugs. "It was getting cold."
"So you ate it."
"I was hungry."
"Breakfast thief."
The word surprises a laugh out of her. A real laugh. The kind that transforms her face and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.
I want to make her laugh like that every day for the rest of my life.
"You can make your own breakfast," she says. "Or lunch. Or whatever meal this counts as now."
"I was shot four days ago."
"And yet you managed to do plenty of physical activity this morning."
"That was different."
"How?"
"That was important."
She rolls her eyes. But she's still smiling.
Marina stands. Stretches. The movement pulls her shirt tight across her breasts.
My cock stirs.
"You need to get up," she says. "And shower. You smell like sex and blood."
"Romantic."
"I'm serious."
She walks toward the bathroom. I watch her go. The sway of her hips. The way her hair moves against her back.
"Come on," she calls over her shoulder. "I'll help you."
My cock goes from stirring to fully awake.
"You'll help me?"
"With the bath. Your wound needs to stay dry and you can't reach your own back."
"Is that the only reason?"
She appears in the bathroom doorway. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.
"What other reason would there be?"
"I can think of several."
"I'm sure you can."
"Most of them involve you naked."
"Most of them involve you behaving."
"I never behave."
"I noticed."
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Marina watches me cross the room. Her eyes track down my body. I'm wearing nothing but the sweatpants I pulled on after we finished this morning.
She disappears into the bathroom.
I follow.
The bathroom is massive. A shower big enough for four people. A tub that could double as a small pool.
Marina is already running the water. Testing the temperature with her hand.
"Sit on the edge," she says. "I'll wash your hair first."
"Or."
She looks up.
I'm standing in the doorway. Blocking her exit.
"Or what?"
"Or I fuck you first. Then we can have a bath."
Her breath catches.
I see it. The flutter of her pulse in her throat. The way her pupils dilate.
"Your wound—"
"Will survive."
I step closer. She doesn't back away.
"Dante."
"Marina."
"We just—this morning—"
"I know." I reach for her. My hand cups her jaw. Tilts her face up to mine. "I want you again. Always."
She swallows.
"If I end up dead," she says, "at least I got sex after two years."
The words hit wrong.
She said it like a joke. Light. Casual. The kind of dark humor people use to cope.
But it isn't funny.
Not when there's a cartel hunting us. Not when someone tried to put a bullet through her window less than twenty-four hours ago. Not when the man who murdered my family is out there somewhere, waiting.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't joke about dying."
Her smile fades.
"Dante—"
"I'm serious." My thumb strokes her cheekbone. "You're not going to die. Not while I'm breathing."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then she rises on her toes and kisses me.
Soft. Sweet.
When she pulls back, her eyes are bright.
"Okay," she whispers. "Fuck me first. Then bath."
I don't need to be told twice.
Marina
Dante spins me around.
My hands slam against the bathroom wall. Cold tile against my palms. Steam rising from the tub behind us.
"Spread your legs."
His voice is rough. Commanding.
I obey.
His foot nudges my ankles wider. His hands grip my hips. Pull them back until I'm bent forward, my back arching.
"Dante—"
"Quiet."
One hand leaves my hip. Travels up my spine. Over my shoulder. Into my hair.
He gathers it in his fist. Wraps it around his knuckles.
Pulls.
My head tips back. My throat exposed.
"This is going to hurt."
The words send heat flooding through me.
I push my hips back against him.
He makes a sound. Low. Dangerous.
Then he's inside me.
One thrust. No warning. No preparation.
I cry out. The stretch burns. I'm still sore from this morning and he's so big and it hurts—
It hurts and I want more.
He pulls my hair harder. My back arches deeper. The angle changes and he sinks even further.
"Fuck." His voice is wrecked. "You're so tight."
I can't respond. Can't think. Can only feel.
He's buried to the hilt. Filling me completely. The pain and pleasure blur together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
"More," I gasp. "Please."
He pulls out. Slams back in.
I scream.
The sound echoes off the tile. Bounces around the bathroom. Mixes with the running water and his harsh breathing.
"Again," he growls. "Scream for me again."
He fucks me harder.
Each thrust drives me into the wall. My hands slip on the wet tile. My legs shake. His fist in my hair is the only thing keeping me upright.
"Dante—"
"That's it."
He rewards me with a brutal thrust that makes my vision white out.
The pain is exquisite. Sharp and bright and exactly what I need. It cuts through everything else. The fear. The uncertainty. The chaos of the last few days.
There's only this. Only him. Only the way he's taking me apart piece by piece.
"You like this." It's not a question. "You like when it hurts."
"Yes."
His free hand slides around my hip. Down between my legs. His fingers find my clit and press hard.
I jerk against him.
"Don't come yet."
"I can't—"
"You can." He slows his thrusts. Keeps the pressure on my clit steady. "You'll come when I tell you to."
I whimper.
He's torturing me. Building me up and holding me at the edge. Every nerve in my body is screaming for release.
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
"Not yet."
He pulls out almost completely. Just the tip inside me. His fingers circle my clit in slow, maddening strokes.
"Dante." I'm begging now. I don't care. "Please. I need—"
He slams back in.
I scream again. Louder this time. The pleasure crashes through me like a wave.
"Not yet," he snarls. "Hold it."
I can't. I can't hold it. I'm going to shatter into a million pieces.
"Look at you." His voice is dark. Possessive. "Bent over for me. Begging for my cock. Taking everything I give you."
"Yes."
He groans. His hips snap forward. Harder. Faster. His fingers work my clit without mercy.
"Now," he commands. "Come for me now."
I break.
The orgasm tears through me. Violent. Overwhelming. I scream his name as my body convulses around him. My legs give out completely.
He catches me.
His arm wraps around my waist. Holds me up as he fucks me through it. Each thrust extends the pleasure until I'm sobbing against the wall.
"That's it." His voice is strained. Close. "That's my girl."
I'm still coming when he pulls out. His hand leaves my hair. Both arms wrap around me from behind.
He turns me. Lifts me. Sets me on the edge of the tub.
I'm shaking. Tears streaming down my face. Not from pain. From the intensity of it. From the way he broke me open and put me back together.
Dante kneels in front of me.
His hands cup my face. Thumbs wipe away the tears.
"Hey." His voice is soft now. Gentle. "Look at me."
I open my eyes.
He's watching me with something that looks like wonder. Like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen.
"You okay?"
I laugh. It comes out watery.
"I think you killed me."
"You're still breathing."
"Barely."
He kisses my forehead. My cheeks. The tip of my nose.
"You're beautiful when you come."
"You're still hard."
He is. I can see it. Feel it against my thigh.
"I'll survive."
"But—"
"This was about you." He kisses my mouth. Soft. Sweet. "I wanted to watch you fall apart."
"Mission accomplished."
He smiles against my lips.
"Bath now?"
I nod. I'm not sure I can stand on my own.
Dante helps me into the tub.
I lean back against his chest.
His arms wrap around me. His chin rests on top of my head.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The steam rises around us. The water laps gently at the edges of the tub. Outside, somewhere in the city, people are hunting us.
But in here, I'm safe.
In here, I'm his.