28. Juliette
Juliette
S omething pulsed in my chest.
It reminded me of a beat on a heart-rate monitor. Almost like when Wynter listened to the baby’s heartbeat during her sonogram.
A constant flutter. Swish. Swish. Swish.
Maybe it was just a thrum in my chest. Or maybe it was the beginning of something new.
We left the little pizzeria as the urban lights twinkled. The cold temperatures didn’t stop women from wearing heels or short dresses. Night had barely started but the casino that Dante owned was already in full swing when he pulled up around the back. The private entrance I assumed.
Wynter, Ivy, Davina, and I came to this casino two years ago. Naturally, we used the front door. We made quite a stir. Wynter played poker and cleared three hundred thousand counting cards.
It was that very same night that I ran into Dante and Priest, pretending to be a seductress. It was probably the same night that I crossed the line with this man.
He gave chase. I ran. Until he caught me.
Although, I should be proud I managed to elude him for this long. I made him wait after all. Well, he probably didn’t wait. He had women throwing themselves on him, I could be sure of that. He’d just been biding his time until I finally stumbled onto the dance floor with him. Literally.
As we made it into Dante’s casino, I noticed the way money, sex, and alcohol hung in the air. As well as the memory of our first meeting. An electric beat pulsed through me, remembering the moment we locked eyes for the first time.
It seemed like a different lifetime. I hadn’t thought at that moment we’d ever become connected. Not by Wynter’s marriage, and not by my own.
The two of us walked down the dark hallway, bypassing the open floor where people drank and gambled.
A certain thickness permeated the space.
The deeper into the building we went, the more the atmosphere smelled of money.
The men in expensive suits played exclusively back here. Higher stakes. Higher debt.
Dante’s hand was on the small of my back, and even through the thick pullover, I could feel the warmth of his touch. He guided us left, then right until we came to stop at a heavy metal door.
He knocked five times. Thump-thump . Thump-thump . Thump .
The door swung open and a man stood across from us. The moment he spotted Dante, he moved to the side, letting us pass.
Dante guided me down a red-carpeted hall as my first visit to this place flipped through my head.
It didn’t take long to arrive at his office, a perfectly spaced square room with a simple blue couch and carpet, a mahogany desk, a few leather chairs, and a minibar.
There was a single piece of art on the wall and it reminded me of the Mediterranean.
The sapphire-blue water sparkling behind an old town.
“It’s the little village where my father took us,” Dante explained, noticing me looking at the painting. “The Ionian stretching behind it.”
I glanced at him, but his attention wasn’t on me. He was already seated behind the desk and his attention was on the computer.
Then something registered. Both times he mentioned the vacation, he only mentioned his father and brother. Never mother.
“Did your mother not vacation with you?” I questioned him.
A bitter chuckle vibrated through the room, but he quickly stifled it. I studied my husband as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe there was more to Dante than he let on.
His shoulders tensed and his strokes fell on the keyboard harder. Louder.
Finally his gaze lifted, burning into mine. I knew Dante wouldn’t be an easy man to get to know. Very much like his cousin Basilio. Except with Basilio—or Bas, as Wynter affectionately called him—I never had the interest of getting to know him.
Until now, I thought the same was true with Dante. Yet now, I found myself wanting to know him. Needing to know him.
Because for better or for worse, I knew there was only one way out of this marriage.
Death.
“Dante?” I breathed, then waited. He wasn’t one to hide, but I knew firsthand how hard certain things were to share.
I had one single night that had been festering inside the dark corners of my mind, torturing me.
Haunting me. I understood the reluctance to open that part of yourself up, but I could now see how much it helped.
“You can trust me,” I murmured softly. “I trust you.”
Dante let out a harsh breath and my stomach tightened with the need to assure him. He was the only person I ever admitted to that I was raped. No matter what, I'd never betray him. He stood up abruptly and walked across the floor of his office.
My eyes followed his tall frame, watched as the broad shoulders under his gray sweater tensed and his ass filled those jeans. He opened the door, his hand on the doorknob paused, then glanced back at me.
“You shouldn’t trust me, my wildling wife. I’ve already lied to you once since we’ve been married.”
I swallowed. “About what?”
“I’ll be right back,” he said instead. “Stay here.”
Then he left without another word.
* * *
I fell asleep on the couch in Dante’s office while he handled business.
What felt like a catnap ended up being three hours of restless tossing and turning. Dante’s revelation, things that I didn’t care to think about, men I was still hunting—it all came knocking on the door.
My husband woke me up with a light nudge on my shoulder. I was slightly disoriented, worried I had drool running down my mouth. Although by the way Dante looked at me, you’d think I just came off the runway.
I blinked, finger-combing my hair in a daze, then slipped my shoes back on.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Come on. My car is waiting.”
He pulled me up and held my hand all the way to his car.
Dante drove the same way he walked and talked. Sure of himself and everyone around him. It wasn’t as if I were insecure or doubting myself, but it was irritating to see him so confident at times.
Ever since he left me with that cryptic answer about a lie he’d told me, he’d been quiet. A part of him shut down, and I didn’t think I’d be able to get through to him.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. An hour of utter silence was too much for anyone.
“I’m sorry if I upset you, Dante.”
His eyes darted my way, a dark edge lingering in their depths. My hand reached to his arm resting on the wheel and I squeezed softly. Although his gaze returned to the road, there was no doubt where his focus was. On me.
Cool confidence seemed to brew under his skin but also something darker.
A secret he didn’t want to share. Perhaps it hurt him as much as mine hurt me.
His mood was electric and affected me like a contagion.
I had been fighting my attraction to Dante for years, fearing the darkness that crept into my mind every time a man tried to take a physical relationship a step too far.
Yet now, I felt the need to help him. Just as he’d come to my swift rescue, I wanted to come to his swift rescue.
“You do for me, I do for you,” I whispered softly.
“What are you talking about?” he said. There was a sharp note to his voice. “I didn’t do anything for you. You almost jumped to your death to escape being near me.”
I sucked in a breath. It had been a moment of weakness. I regretted it now. I thought he’d force himself on me. He didn’t. Instead, he’d vowed to avenge me. Kill Travis. My most elusive rapist.
“That was stupid,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t have jumped.
I’m too stubborn and I like agitating you too much.
I just needed to get away. The thought of you—” A shuddering breath filled the space.
Every time I even thought about someone on top of me, I started to suffocate and images of that night so long ago returned with a vengeance.
“I should have just talked to you instead of running off. How did you know I took your car anyway?”
“Priest,” he answered. “He saw you drive away in it and called me.”
“Of course he did,” I retorted dryly.
“And then there was the tracker too,” he added.
My hand was still on his forearm, so I peeled my fingers off him. But before I could put my hand back on my lap, he took it and interlocked our fingers.
His big hand to my small one. He killed people. So did I. He thought I was innocent. I wasn’t.
It turned out maybe the two of us weren’t so different after all.
“My mother was a vindictive and narcissistic bitch.” His words slashed through the silence.
“She liked to torture Priest and me.” My gasp filled the inside of the car.
What kind of mother would torture her own sons?
“She hated me because I reminded her of our father. I couldn’t understand why she hated Priest until we learned he’s actually Wynter’s brother. Or half brother, I guess.”
Something about the tone of his voice told me he had more ghosts in his closet too.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand gently. “Didn’t you tell your father?”
He shook his head. “We tried once. Mother was a very good liar. It did us no good. Especially Priest. After that, we relied only on each other.” I wanted to know exactly what happened to them, but then, on the other hand, I was terrified of the answer.
It was hard for me to talk about my experience, and it seemed Dante and his brother endured years of torture.
“Our vacation to Greece was one of the rare times she wasn’t around. That’s why it’s a happy memory.”
I nodded, and for the next five minutes we sat in silence, while he drove through snow-filled Chicago. It was incredible how one day could change everything.
My life. My perception of life. My perception of this man.
He parked the car on the side of a dark street and my eyes darted around. “Aren’t we going home?”
Home.
Did I really just call his house home?
His intense gaze met mine, the pressure of it touching my skin. “We’ll go home after this. I want to take you out for dinner.”