32. Dante
Dante
J uliette slept in my arms wearing nothing but her thong and my white button-down dress shirt that she dug out of my side of the closet.
I ran my hands down her back, loving the feel of her soft skin against my rough palms. Her even breathing filled the space and the cracks in my chest. Her scent lingered everywhere—on our sheets, on my hands, in my lungs.
There was something peaceful about this moment and I feared something would come along and break it. More than likely my betrayal. I should admit to her what I had done. I should admit to her my devious plan with which I entrapped her. But the fucking admission refused to leave my lips.
A hollow ache vibrated through my chest. I couldn’t risk her hatred. Not now. Not ever. We were making progress and that was what mattered. We were moving forward.
A soft sigh brushed against my chest, and I lowered my eyes to my wife. Her breaths fanned my skin. Her cheek was pressed against my chest, her mouth slightly parted and those long, dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks, becoming a sight I could not get enough of.
My fingers tangled in her soft strands. I marveled at the softness of her dark hair sprawled all over my chest. She was so small and breakable, although sometimes it was easy to forget it. Her personality made up for her lack of height.
My chest tightened at the thought of anyone hurting my wife. My obsession. My blood and my oxygen.
It wasn’t healthy to feel this obsessive about anyone, but then that never stopped the DiLustro men before.
Just look at Basilio’s father. My own father. Basilio and I weren’t any better. God help Priest and any woman he zeroed in on, though it seemed maybe he’d already found one.
My phone buzzed and I reached for it. Surprised to see a message from Illias Konstantin, I slid it open.
*Why is your man lurking in my territory?*
I sighed. Why did the Russian fucker have to know everything. It wasn't that I had any shipments routed through his territory. I had my guy scouting Travis so he could kidnap him and bring him to me.
I typed a quick reply. *He’s picking up a guy.*
*At the ex-senator’s house?* I could practically hear Konstantin’s snicker through the text. Fucking old man. He should really consider retiring or something.
*His kid hurt my wife. He needs to pay.*
If he had the senator or his family under his protection, I’d just have to fight him, because letting Travis Xander get away with what he had done to Juliette, wasn’t an option.
My phone buzzed again and an unexpected message came through.
*Let me know if you need help.*
* * *
Today was an absolute clusterfuck.
I wanted to be in Chicago with my wife, stuck in the house during a blizzard and handcuffed to the bed while she explored my body. Not in fucking California.
Irritation ignited in my chest. Couldn’t I at least have a peaceful honeymoon?
The morning after my text exchange with Konstantin, I received a message from my own guy. He was unable to get into the ex-senator’s house. I flew in and out of countries under the radar and this fucker couldn’t enter an ex-senator’s house. A dead ex-senator.
Hearing my guy wasn’t able to retrieve Travis fucking Xander out of his mansion irked me to no end. Either my guy was incompetent or Travis knew someone was coming for him. If I found out Konstantin gave a heads-up to the son of a bitch, there’d be hell to pay.
That’s why I left my bride, warm in my bed, so I could hop on my goddamned private jet and come here myself. If you wanted shit done right, you had to do it yourself.
It was close to midnight when I entered the former senator’s home.
Travis’s old man was the senator who was found in his office almost a decade ago, his pants down and his dick cut off and shoved in his mouth.
It had caused quite a stir amongst politicians in power back then.
Turned out the fucker had a thing for young girls.
There was speculation that one of his victims’ relatives had killed him.
The killer was never found, but it made his widow paranoid.
She should have been more paranoid about keeping her son on a leash.
Like father, like son.
The background check showed that the widow remarried but her paranoia remained. Hence the excessive amount of security.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Konstantin. *Cut the security.*
It took ten seconds and the reply was back. *Security down.*
Not bad for an old man, I thought wryly. I made my way through the gate and across the expansive lawn, sticking to the shadows. I entered the home through a side entrance, the door unlocked. Disadvantages of iHome and having it depend on electronic security.
It was quiet, as was to be expected. Light streamed into the foyer from the living room, and I followed it, my combat boots silent against the marble.
I stopped at the arched doorway, my lips curving into a cruel smile. Talk about luck , I thought smugly.
The prick with blond, matted hair sat sprawled on the couch, his feet on the coffee table as he shoved popcorn into his mouth. His cheap beer sat next to his feet, disregarding the coaster that sat beside it.
A sardonic breath left me. The fucker was almost thirty and he couldn’t even use his mother’s coaster.
“Yes,” he shouted at the television. “To the left. Damn you, to the left.” A college football game played on television. An old one. This fucker barely graduated college and still lived as if he were the proverbial big man on campus. What a dick.
“Florida wins,” I remarked coldly. He whipped his head around, his eyes meeting mine. “Just in case you’re wondering, since you’re going to miss the second half.”
He scrambled to his feet, the popcorn falling silently all over the rug. Fucking slob.
Before he could run, I pulled out my gun, the silencer already on and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through his palm, blowing it apart. Blood and flesh splattered everywhere. He roared in agony, but before he could hit a higher note, I had my hand over his mouth.
His screamed muffled, I clicked my tongue.
“Now, now,” I drawled. “You don’t want to wake up your mommy and step-daddy. Do you?”
His eyeballs popped out of their sockets, staring at me. What a miserable excuse for a human.
“Do you know who I am?” I purred in a low voice, keeping my rage at bay. At least until I got this fucker into a basement where I’d relish in his screams. He shook his head frantically, his eyes full of terror.
I grinned menacingly. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Travis.”
Then I knocked him out cold.
An hour later, I was in the basement of one of Illias Konstantin’s buildings in downtown Los Angeles. When I pulled up out front, he was there waiting for me.
His hands in his pockets, he casually leaned against the frame of the door, his sharp eyes on me.
I jumped out of the car and strode to him. “You didn’t have to welcome me,” was my greeting to him. “Don’t you have a pregnant wife to tend to? Or have the babies already come?”
His expression filled with amusement. “It takes nine months for babies to cook,” he replied coolly. “We have a few more months to go.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t put much thought into having babies. I was only in my late twenties. Too young for diapers and milk.
“Whatever.”
Konstantin’s mouth curved into a smile. “Not to worry, you’ll learn soon enough. I heard you got married. Drive-through wedding in Vegas nonetheless. Congratulations.”
Of course, he’d heard. The underworld was like a gossip column.
“And you got married in the mile high club,” I remarked dryly. “You should add that to your resume.”
It wasn’t too long ago, four months ago to be exact, when Illias Konstantin kidnapped his bride and had a priest perform their ceremony while on their way out of the country. The old man had nothing to preach to me about.
He chuckled. “That I did,” he replied. “Best fucking day of my life.”
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to hear about his happy ending and shit like that. Guilt gnawed at me and my methods already. I didn’t kidnap Juliette. I’d done something worse, and I knew if it ever came out, heads would roll. Probably starting with mine.
“So you gonna get your cargo or what?” Illias asked, tilting his chin toward the trunk of my car.
“Are you gonna hang around for the torture or what?” I retorted with my own question.
Konstantin shrugged. “I might,” he said, his tone bored. “But not for long. Tatiana’s cooking dinner.”
I shook my head, then jogged back to the trunk of my car and popped it open. The preppy senator’s son was still unconscious, so I lifted him like a sack of potatoes and threw him over my shoulder.
Making my way back to the building, Konstantin opened the door and motioned with his hand for me to enter.
“I still can’t believe you’d marry one of those crazy Nikolaevs,” I muttered as I passed him.
He chuckled. “I’ll bet you a million bucks your wife is crazier than they are.”
I flipped him off, then stopped. “Lead the way, old man.”
“Freaking know-it-all kids,” Konstantin muttered as he passed me, then made his way down the long hallway and down the stairs into the darkness.
Basements weren’t where nightmares happened for most people.
For a brief moment, I thought about where Priest’s and my nightmares happened, but I refused to go there.
Now wasn’t the time. I pushed those thoughts into a dark corner.
There was no room for them and I had a world of pain to dish out at the moment.
“So the ex-senator’s son, huh?” Konstantin asked as we reached our destination. The last door at the end of the basement.
“Yep.”
“What did he do?” Konstantin asked as I dumped Travis’s unconscious body into the only chair in here. He slumped to the side, but didn’t fall over. I kind of wished he had so he’d crack his skull.
“He drugged my wife and then he touched her,” I hissed.