36. Dante
Dante
T he clock said two a.m. when I pulled up in front of my home in Chicago.
I headed inside, striding through the foyer and then up the stairs. I was eager to see my wife. To sleep with her scent wrapped around me. Eager to share the news of Travis’s death with her.
Maybe she’d trust me enough and tell me how she killed those men. Did she hire hitmen? If she had, I’d have to get their names and learn how trustworthy they were. I couldn’t risk anything coming back on her.
I got to our bedroom and found her asleep, the soft glow of the moon streaked across her face. I studied that face, missing those blue eyes that stole my soul that day in the Royally Lucky Casino. It turned out the name was perfect, because I’d lucked out.
Fate brought her to me. And fuck it, I seized the opportunity and kept her with me. She was mine and let anyone try to take her away from me.
I dropped to my haunches next to her, watching her sleep. She slept on her side facing me, her knees pulled up to her chest. I lifted the covers and found her sleeping in my dress shirt and something about the sight had me grinning with satisfaction.
Maybe she missed me like I missed her.
Tracing my finger over her slightly parted lips, she let out a small sigh.
I held my breath, waiting to see whether she’d open her eyes, but she didn’t.
She slept peacefully, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks.
She looked peaceful and so fucking innocent that it had my throat tightening with fear of anyone hurting her again.
I just prayed it wouldn’t be me.