Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
REV
Over the next three weeks, Dante does a good job of pretending I don’t exist.
He wasn’t a fan of me texting his brother to coordinate his rides to and from work. In fact, he called me that first night to tell me to go fuck myself and then hung up.
I’ve never been so entertained. I’ve never craved someone as much as I crave Dante. It’s not just a physical attraction. And it’s not just because he’s playing hard to get.
I want what he’s hiding underneath. That soft, sensitive core.
The next time he texted me, he asked when we were going to hunt.
“Conditions, murder kitten. Not until you’re fully healed.”
Technically, I’ve kept up my end of our agreement. I haven’t been out searching for SIXX. Rorik has while Alaric’s been doing a deep dive on family members of the Los Segadores, incarcerated years ago.
Will I hesitate to make a move if Rorik drops a pin? Not for a second. It would be irresponsible of me not to. I’ll just have to figure out a way to earn Dante’s forgiveness if it comes to that, because I’m in it for the long game with him. I’m not scared of his big emotions.
I want complicated. I want Dante, and I’m willing to put in the effort.
Now, should I be walking around shirtless all hours of the day in my new brownstone?
No. But I can’t help myself. I’ve even left my window cracked when I shower, hoping Dante would be lured over by the thought of me naked.
I’ve caught him peeking through the blackout curtains he hung up the day I moved in.
Cain has bitched endlessly about my lack of attire on meeting calls. I’ve seen enough of your goddamn nipples.
I’ll take the verbal lashing if it gets my murder kitten riled up in exchange. I even threatened to call Ezra and complain that his big, bad husband was being mean to me.
Scrolling through my phone, I’m tempted to reach out to Rorik for an update, but I have to trust his process. He’ll reach out when he has information.
Until then, my main concern is keeping operations running smoothly and keeping Dante safe.
I was certain SIXX would make an appearance by now after failing to take him out. According to the police reports Alaric searched, they enjoy terrorizing their victims. Sometimes for years.
I’m not about to let Dante out of my sight until we’re certain his life is no longer in danger. Lease me a piece of land. I’ll dig a fucking cemetery dedicated to SIXX bodies I drop.
A thrill rushes through me as I read over a new text from Laz.
Come over for dinner. Plenty of food.
My strategy was to keep some distance from Dante, in hopes he’d come crawling to me. However, my need to see him wins out over my ego.
Be there shortly.
I browse through my closet for a change of clothes. It’s my first family dinner. I won’t get sentimental about it. I don’t have the capacity to care about those missing pieces in my lack of a childhood.
Laz seems like a good brother. He puts Dante first. That kind of sacrificial behavior is what motivated me to send Laz’s work address to Forest for the occasional drive-by security check.
Sure, it’s part of my job to protect people, and I know my actions are saving lives. But that’s not the main reason why I do it. Why Cain hired me, I’ll never understand. He must see something inside me I’m unaware of. Something beyond this instinct to kill.
Striding over to their porch, I fail to tamp down my excitement at glimpsing another piece of Dante’s life.
When he opens the front door, I’m met with a glare before he slams it in my face. I chuckle. Laz clearly didn’t tell him I was coming.
There’s an exchange of muffled, heated voices inside their home, and then the door flies open to reveal Laz dressed in a tank top and stained jeans.
“Hey, man. Sorry about my little bro. I’m working on his manners.”
This earns two middle fingers from Dante, slouching against the kitchen counter in the background. He’s got his hood drawn. He seems to like hiding from the world.
I don’t tell Laz I don’t want what everyone gets. I want to be the only one Dante’s vulnerable for.
“No apology needed. He’s an absolute delight. Thank you for the invite,” I say with a perfectly crafted smile, enjoying the fiery look Dante tosses me when I step into their home.
As I look him over, I’m happy to see that his bruises are gone. Kai reported back to me about Dante’s laceration after paying him a house visit upon my request. He’s stitch-free and healing well.
“How much time we got on food?” Laz questions.
“Ten minutes,” Dante mumbles.
I look around at their setup. There’s not much in the way of furnishings. A faded plaid couch, a small TV, a dining table with mismatched wooden chairs, and a couple of crooked pictures hanging over a thin crack in the beige wall.
“Need a drink?” Laz asks me.
“Water, please. Thank you.”
While he wanders into the kitchen, I drift closer to the pictures, taking in a photo of Sotero with his arms around his sons’ heads and a gold championship fighting belt strapped to his waist. Both boys are laughing as they try to push their sweaty father away.
Another picture shows a gorgeous woman in a hammock, holding her two boys. Dante shares her features, but where I’ve only seen aggression and fear from him, there’s an overwhelming amount of love in her expression.
Does Dante remember his mother? I would prefer not to remember mine. I would have preferred to be raised by my absentee politician father, even if he had to keep me as his dirty secret.
When I turn my gaze to Dante, he’s watching me with a look of pure loathing. And here I thought we were making progress. Suppose I brought it on myself by stepping foot in his safe space.
“Can you put on a real shirt for once?” Dante shoves at his brother when he moves close to grab a cup out of the cabinet.
Laz ruffles Dante’s hair, but Dante quickly throws off his arm.
“Still pissed at you for this,” Dante mumbles, turning away to crack open the oven. My mouth waters as the savory smell of onions and garlic reaches me. I expected takeout from two guys in their young twenties.
Seems I’m in for a treat this evening.
Laz walks over to hand me the cup of water. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I get the sense that he’s a loyal kind of guy. Once you’re in, you’re in. And if you’re not, he’d probably have no issue pulling a gun on you.
I consider offering him a job. But I can’t have anyone on payroll following their own agenda. Mercenary work requires shutting off personal emotions, and the álvarez brothers seem the type to put revenge at the top of their list.
As Laz disappears up the stairs, I note other things about their home. Two keys dangling on the same hook. Shoes crowded on the same side of the door mat. Jackets bunched up together on the couch.
I sense there’s more to be concerned about than Dante’s willing to admit.
Do they have people over often? Does Dante have friends?
Positioning myself across from him in the small kitchen, I make a show of sipping at the water slowly. I’m perfectly comfortable in Dante’s prickly presence, which only seems to upset him more.
“You’re a disease,” he says, doing his best to flay me with his gaze.
“Tell me how you really feel, baby boy.”
“Oh, I fucking will. It’s one thing to sit in view of my window with no clothes on all day. Now you enter my house without permission. I should call the cops.”
“Your brother invited me. And you don’t trust the cops.”
His face scrunches up. “How would you know?”
“Because you never call them.”
So many things flash through his eyes. Pain. Fury. Fear. All the things normal people must experience after a traumatic event. I remember Alaric’s comment about Sotero’s murder case running cold. It’s a shame, but it’s a reality of the justice system sometimes.
I’m not sure I would have felt anything in the wake of my parents’ murder. But thinking about Dante experiencing these things alone has that calm, cold fury of a soulless killer blanketing over me.
“Why can’t you find someone else to sink your claws into?” His voice quivers.
“No one else can compete with you.”
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. He’s doing his best to keep his composure.
Show me, baby. Give me everything.
He’s so devastatingly beautiful. So wounded and angry and sensitive.
I’m about to break my rule about not touching him when Laz reappears in the kitchen in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt thrown over his tank top.
Dante rolls his eyes, moving over to the fridge to retrieve a can of beer. I cock a brow at him as he flips the tab and takes a long drink. He grimaces, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
He’s not usually a drinker, then.
Laz snatches the beer out of Dante’s hand and holds it above his head. “You shouldn’t be drinking this, manito. It’s not good for your health.”
Dante swipes at the can. “And you shouldn’t be street fighting.”
When he fails to get his beer back, he grabs another one from the fridge, cracking it open and chugging it right in front of his brother.
I wonder if Dante’s always been like this, or if this behavior is a result of his father’s death.
Laz shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
Crushing the empty can in his hand, Dante tosses it in the trash and reaches for a stack of plates from a cabinet. “You could help me set the table.”
Grabbing the plates in one hand, Laz motions me over to the table. “Please, sit. Dante made arroz con mariscos. Straight from Cartagena with love.”
Pulling out a chair, I sit down as Dante places a dish of hot food in the center of the table. Laz plops down beside me and nudges an empty chair away from the table with his foot.
“Come sit, manito. Stop being rude.”
Dante debates it, but the lure of homemade food is too strong. He drops grumpily into the chair, hood still drawn, and a fresh beer in his hand.
I fight off a laugh as he watches me accept the plate Laz fills with food and take a bite.
“It’s delicious,” I confirm.