34. Dante
Dante
K onstantin’s home was as expected.
White. Luxurious. Guards everywhere.
None of it registered as those fuckers’ names played in my mind on repeat.
A dull ache had been throbbing at my temples for the past hour.
We stopped on our way to his home where I could shower and change into clean clothes.
Thank fuck I always carried a bag with me.
You never knew when you’d get lost in a butcher session.
“ Moya luna , I’m home,” Konstantin announced as soon as we entered the foyer. “And I brought a guest, so make sure you’re decent.”
I groaned inwardly, regretting accepting Illias’s invitation.
Tatiana showed up at the far left door, rubbing her belly and wearing a long pink dress with golden shoulder straps. She looked like a pregnant Greek goddess, ready to pop any minute.
“It's a good thing you warned me,” Tatiana answered, her hand at her hip, “I was about to drop my clothes and parade around naked for dinner.”
Illias chuckled, then pulled her into a hug. “Then I’d have to dig DiLustro’s eyeballs out.”
“Truthfully, he doesn’t need them,” his wife claimed mischievously as she pecked him on the cheek. “Nice to see you, Dante DiLustro. Heard you snagged yourself a wife recently. In Vegas, nonetheless.”
“You know what they say,” Konstantin remarked. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes, but my insides twisted watching them interact so affectionately. Would my wife and I ever be like this? If only they knew what actually happened in Vegas, they wouldn’t exactly joke about it.
Tatiana didn’t cook dinner, but she did set the table. She ordered a five-course Italian meal in my honor. Very thoughtful. But for some reason I couldn’t comprehend, she insisted on proper plate settings and utensils. Way too many utensils.
She even drew a diagram, then ensured both her husband and I understood it. I wanted food, not a fucking lesson on place settings.
“Why are you doing this again?” I asked, my temples throbbing harder.
“Well, I’m going to have royalty coming into the world soon,” she announced. My eyebrows popped in surprise. I didn’t realize Tatiana knew royalty. “They have to learn those things from an early age.”
I blinked, staring at her dumbly. Slowly, I dragged my eyes to her belly, then back to her face. From all I heard, pregnancy made women hormonal and cranky, not crazy. Right?
I opened my mouth to say something when I caught sight of Konstantin’s expression. Subtly, he shook his head and I closed my mouth. The oddest fucking thing ever. Was the Pakhan appeasing his wife?
Tatiana chatted through the entire goddamn dinner and the topics were all over the place.
From the latest fashion show in Paris and Nico Morrelli’s twins breaking into their father’s safe, to something happening in Europe that she was desperate to attend.
The abrupt changes of topic gave me whiplash until I finally stopped listening.
Instead, I tuned her out and planned my next move on finding the fuckers who’d hurt Juliette. Tomorrow, I’d kill them.
Then I’d go back home to my wife.
Tatiana wiped her mouth with a napkin, her eyes darting to the clock before she stood.
“Yikes, I’ve got to call Isla,” she announced, standing up. She gave Konstantin a pointed look. “Don’t eavesdrop. Understood?”
“Would I ever?”
She shook her head. “In a heartbeat.”
As she passed me, Tatiana offered a smile. “Nice seeing you.”
When I turned back to Konstantin, his eyes were still on his wife. “Some might call you whipped,” I remarked dryly.
He didn’t seem offended at all, his smile widening. “I’d put all my money on the fact you’re familiar with the feeling.” My annoyance ratcheted up at his observation. “Don’t worry. I’m in too good of a mood to give you a hard time about it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
His phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Aha, right on time.”
I gave him a curious look. “What is?”
He flicked a gaze my way, typing on his phone. “I got you information on the two names.”
Surprise washed over me. “Why would you care?”
A sardonic breath left him. “Believe it or not, I don’t tolerate men that touch women, girls—anyone—without their consent. The previous senator found an early death because of it. It’s disappointing that his son didn’t learn his lesson.”
I slid my phone open, my eyes skimming over the information. “Dead?” I muttered.
“Within the last year,” Konstantin remarked casually. “Peculiar timing, huh?”
Indeed.
I locked eyes with the Pakhan. My gut warned me there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“Spit it out, Illias.”
“The deaths of both men happened to take place on the days that your wife met them.” He dropped the bomb, the insinuation clear in his voice.
“And no, I’m not stalking your wife. I had one of my men dig up a list of any individuals that these men came in contact with over the last two years.
Your wife’s name was the only one that was common to both men.
She met Brandon Dole in New York. That same night, he was murdered.
The same thing happened with the other.”
A memory flickered in my mind. That day I watched her through the window of a cafe in Central Park having lunch with Brandon Dole. Did she kill him the same night?
“Did her brother meet them too?” I demanded to know.
“No. She met them both alone.”
A secured file came through to my phone and I opened it. Gruesome images flooded my phone. Flesh skinned. Limbs cut. Blood painting every single inch of the surface and then an image caught my attention.
A drawing of a dick in blood on the single window of the makeshift torture chamber.
It was the same exact drawing Juliette had left on my grandfather’s Hudson Convertible Coupe.