Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dante
The water runs hot enough to burn.
I stand under the spray with my palms pressed flat against the tile, letting the heat scorch my skin. Steam fills the bathroom, thick and suffocating.
Half-brothers.
The words echo in my skull. Over and over. A loop I can't escape.
Giuseppe raped my mother. Giuseppe ordered the hit on my family. Giuseppe took me in and shaped me into a weapon to use against his own enemies.
And he destroyed everything I loved.
My fist connects with the tile before I realize I've moved. Pain shoots up my arm.
I agreed to Alejandro's terms.
Every single one.
I nodded and said yes to all of it, because that's what survivors do. They adapt. They wait. They plan.
But Marina can never know what I agreed to. She can never know the things Alejandro asked me to do.
She won't understand.
She'll look at me the way she looked at me in Chicago—like I'm a monster wearing human skin. Like every gentle touch was a lie. Like the man who held her while she cried doesn't exist.
Maybe he doesn't.
Maybe I've always been exactly what Giuseppe made me. A weapon. A tool. Something to be pointed at enemies and fired.
The water pounds against my shoulders. I drop my head and watch it swirl down the drain.
Alejandro will stop his operations for now. No more surveillance. No more threats. He's giving me time to prove my loyalty before the real work begins.
One week.
Marina and I stay here for one more week. Then I ask Lorenzo to bring us back to Chicago. And then...
Then the plan starts.
The bathroom door opens.
I go still. My hand moves instinctively toward where my gun would be, but I'm naked and unarmed and—
"Dante?"
Marina's voice cuts through the steam.
I turn my head. She stands in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts. It hangs to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up past her wrists. Her hair is loose around her shoulders.
"Need some company?"
"Yes."
The word comes out rough. Desperate. I don't recognize my own voice.
Marina doesn't hesitate. She pulls my shirt over her head and drops it on the floor. No underwear. Nothing underneath.
She steps into the shower.
The water hits her shoulders and runs down her body in streams. She moves closer, pressing her palms flat against my chest. Her touch is gentle. Careful. Like she's handling something fragile.
Maybe she is.
"You're thinking too loud," she says.
I almost laugh. "That obvious?"
"You've been in here for forty minutes." Her fingers trace the edge of my wound.
"It's fine."
"It's not fine." She looks up at me. Water clings to her lashes. "Nothing about this is fine, Dante."
I cup her face in my hands. My thumbs brush across her cheekbones. She's so small. So fragile. And she's standing in a shower with a man who agreed to betray his family hours ago.
"Marina." Her name feels like a prayer on my tongue. "I don't deserve you."
"Probably not." Her lips curve into a small smile. "But you're stuck with me anyway."
I kiss her.
My hands slide into her wet hair, tilting her head back. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound.
Her arms wrap around my neck. She presses her body against mine, and the contact sends electricity through every nerve ending. Hot water. Soft skin. The taste of her on my tongue.
This is real.
This is the only real thing left.
I back her against the tile wall. She shivers at the cold, but her legs wrap around my waist when I lift her. My wound screams in protest. I ignore it.
"Dante"
I silence her with another kiss. Deeper this time. My tongue slides against hers, and she moans into my mouth. Her nails dig into my shoulders.
"I need you," I breathe against her lips.
Marina's moan vibrates against my lips.
I grip her thighs and lift her higher against the tile. Water cascades down her back, pooling where our bodies press together. Her legs lock around my waist, ankles crossing at the base of my spine.
"Hold on to me," I growl.
Her arms tighten around my neck. Fingers dig into my shoulders. She pulls herself closer, and the friction of her wet skin sliding against mine makes my cock throb.
I kiss her harder. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming every inch. She tastes like mint and something sweeter underneath. Something that's just her.
Marina gasps when I shift my grip, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head. I angle her face where I want it. Take what I need.
She gives it willingly.
Her hips roll against me. Searching. The movement drags her pussy across my cock, and we both groan at the contact.
"Dante." My name comes out broken. Pleading.
"I know, cara." I press my forehead to hers. Our breath mingles in the steam. "I know."
My free hand slides between us. I find her entrance, slick and ready. Two fingers push inside, and Marina's head falls back against the tile.
"Fuck."
I work her slowly. Stretching. Preparing. My thumb circles her clit while my fingers curl inside her, finding that spot that makes her thighs shake.
"More," she breathes. "Please."
I withdraw my fingers. Position myself at her entrance.
Our eyes meet.
Water runs down her face like tears. Her chest heaves with each breath. She's beautiful. Terrified. Brave.
Mine.
"Say my name," I demand.
"Dante."
I push inside her.
Marina cries out. Her pussy clenches around me, tight and hot and perfect. I hold still, buried inside her, giving her time to adjust.
My forehead drops to her shoulder.
"Move," she whispers against my ear. "Please move."
I pull back slowly. Push in again. The drag of her pussy around my cock sends sparks up my spine.
"Christ." The word tears out of me.
Marina's nails rake down my back. The sting only makes me harder. I set a rhythm—slow, deep strokes that hit every spot inside her.
The shower fills with sounds. Water hitting tile. Skin slapping against skin. Her moans. My groans. The wet slide of our bodies moving together.
I grip her hip with one hand, controlling the angle. Each thrust drives her higher up the wall. Her breasts bounce with the movement, nipples hard and flushed pink.
"Look at me," I order.
Her eyes flutter open. Pupils blown wide. Lips parted.
I increase the pace. Harder. Faster. The tile groans under the force of our movements.
I shift my grip, freeing one hand to reach between us. My thumb finds her clit and presses down.
She shatters.
Her scream echoes off the bathroom walls. Her pussy clamps down on my cock like a vice, pulsing and squeezing. I fuck her through it, drawing out every wave until she's sobbing against my shoulder.
"Good girl." I kiss her temple. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth. "Such a good girl."
My own release builds at the base of my spine. I'm close. So fucking close.
But I don't want this to end.
I slow my thrusts. Marina whimpers in protest.
"Not yet," I murmur against her lips. "I'm not done with you."
I pull out carefully, lowering her legs to the shower floor. She wobbles, and I catch her waist to steady her.
"Turn around."
Marina obeys. Her palms press flat against the tile. Water runs down the curve of her spine, pooling in the dimples above her ass.
I step closer. My cock slides between her thighs, coating itself in her arousal.
"Spread your legs."
She widens her stance.
I grip her hip with one hand. Guide myself to her entrance with the other. Push inside in one smooth stroke.
Marina moans. The sound bounces off the walls, surrounding us.
This angle is deeper. I can feel every inch of her wrapped around me. My hand slides up her spine, between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest against the cold tile.
"Stay still," I command.
I start to move.
Long, slow strokes that make her whimper with each thrust. I watch myself disappear inside her, mesmerized by the sight.
"You feel incredible." My voice comes out rough. Wrecked.
Marina pushes back against me, trying to take more. I grip her hip harder, holding her in place.
"Patience."
"Dante, please."
The desperation in her voice makes me abandon control.
My hips piston forward, driving into her with force. Marina screams, but she doesn't tell me to stop. Her hands scramble for purchase on the wet tile.
"Touch yourself," I order. "Make yourself come again."
Her hand slides between her legs. I feel her fingers brush against my cock as she circles her clit.
"That's it." I lean forward, pressing my chest to her back. My lips find her ear. "Come on my cock, cara. Let me feel you."
Marina's walls start to tighten. Her moans pitch higher.
I'm right there with her. My balls draw up. Pressure builds at the base of my spine.
She explodes.
Her pussy clenches around me in rhythmic pulses. The sensation drags me over the edge. I pull out and let go, spilling with a groan.
We stay frozen for a long moment. Connected. Breathing hard.
I press a kiss to Marina's shoulder. Then another to the back of her neck. She shivers beneath me.
"You okay?" I ask.
"More than okay." Her voice is hoarse. Satisfied.
She turns in my arms, pressing her face against my chest.
"We should probably get out," she mumbles. "Before we drown."
I reach behind her and turn off the water. The sudden silence feels heavy.
"Marina."
She looks up at me. Water drips from her lashes.
"Whatever happens next," I say quietly, "remember this. Remember that you're the only thing that matters to me."
Her brow furrows. "Dante, what—"
I kiss her before she can finish the question.
Some truths are too heavy to speak.
Marina
Dante sleeps on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched across the space where I was lying. His face is turned toward me. Relaxed in a way I've never seen him when he's awake.
I pull on his discarded t-shirt. It falls to mid-thigh, soft cotton that smells like him.
The chair by the window becomes my perch. I draw my knees to my chest and watch him breathe.
How did I get here?
The question circles my mind like water down a drain. Two weeks ago, I had a normal life.
Now I'm sitting in a safe house, wearing a mafia enforcer's shirt, watching him sleep after sex that left me shaking.
Not just sex.
That's the part I can't wrap my head around.
I've had sex before. Plenty of times. With nice men who asked permission and checked in and made sure I finished. Polite sex. Safe sex. The kind that felt good in the moment and evaporated from memory by morning.
This isn't that.
I don't know when the line got crossed. Maybe when he kissed me on the couch after Titanic.
Maybe the line was crossed two years ago, when he carried me out of that apartment and sat at my hospital bed for days.
I chose to stay away.
But sitting here now, watching his chest rise and fall, I can't remember why I stayed away.
Not literally. I remember the reasons I gave myself. The danger. The violence. The world he belongs to that nearly killed me once. The fact that loving someone like him means accepting blood on his hands and bodies in his wake.
I remember the reasons.
I just can't feel them anymore.
Dante shifts in his sleep. His hand reaches across the mattress, searching. When it finds empty sheets, his brow furrows.
"Marina." My name comes out slurred. Half-asleep.
"I'm here."
His eyes don't open, but his body relaxes. His hand stops searching.
I'm not just sleeping with Dante Castellani. I'm not just hiding with him while a cartel hunts us down. I'm not just passing time until this crisis ends and we go back to our separate lives.
I'm with him.
When did that happen?
I try to trace it back. Find the exact moment I stopped fighting and started falling. But there isn't one. It's been happening since the beginning.
I just didn't want to see it.
He's not okay.
I knew it the moment he came back from meeting Alejandro. Something shifted behind his eyes. A door closing. A wall going up.
I hate that I can't read him.
But I don't know him.
I'm learning. Piece by piece.
I hate that I can't help him.
My hand cramps. I look down and realize I've been clenching my fist without noticing. I flex my fingers slowly.
I need to find what the hell is going on.