Chapter Twenty-Five
REV
Iwas convinced nothing could compete with the beauty of watching Dante perform ballet. And then he walked out of my bathroom all dolled up for our gala date.
His hair is pulled up into a high bun with little curls framing his face and his pouty lips are glossed over. If he’s wearing some sort of foundation, he didn’t cover up the beauty mark under his eye, and I have to appreciate that.
His outfit is the very definition of sophistication. The silver-blue top is perfectly bold, sheer between the swirling patterns and tiny diamonds, and fitted to his toned body like it was painted on. His slacks are the same light color, tailored to make his long legs appear even longer.
I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as Dante. And when he embraces it…fuck.
His knowing little smirk has me dropping to my knees. “Should I crawl to you, kitten?”
“You’ll mess up your suit.”
“Fuck the suit. You are perfection.”
When he smiles and flutters those long, dark lashes at me, something inside me twists into knots. It’s a pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt. A longing so bone deep, I don’t think death would even relieve me of it.
I consider skipping the gala to beg to sex him up, but I know he won’t fully give himself over to me until SIXX is dealt with. I don’t want pieces of Dante. I want everything he has to give.
“So you like it?” he asks coyly.
I lick my lips. “Turn around. Let me appreciate all of you.”
Dante spins gracefully for me, the diamonds sewn into his shirt glittering in the lights. I owe Ezra for taking Dante shopping this morning. He’s even wearing a pearl choker.
“Please tell me I don’t have to keep my hands off you tonight,” I plead.
I don’t hide the action of adjusting myself in my slacks as he saunters over to me on the floor. Soft hands brush along my cheeks. “You can touch me all you like.”
Dante squeals as I grab him around the back of his thighs and pull him onto my lap.
“Animal,” he protests, but his arms loop around my neck.
He’s so light tonight. So ethereal in the way he’s holding himself.
I nip my way along his jaw, hovering my mouth over his lips.
“Don’t ruin my makeup,” he warns.
“This is the prettiest outfit I’ve seen you in, but I want it off. I want you naked. How do I take it off, baby boy?”
His carefree laugh has me pulling him snug against me. I risk his wrath to bite down on his plush bottom lip.
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to rip it off you,” I warn.
“You snag a single stitch on this outfit, and I’ll cut you.”
I’m grinning as I drag my lips down his neck and kiss his fluttering pulse point. He smells like sugar. Like one big cookie meant to be eaten. I want to bite and suck and lick him for eternity.
Coasting my hands down his lower back, I slip my fingers under the waistband of his pants and trace the thin, lacy band of his panties. “Oh, you are a menace.”
Playfully, he moves a hand to my chest and pushes at me. “Quit.”
“What color, Dante?”
His cheeks turn a lovely rosy shade. “I don’t want to say.”
“Then I’m going to ruin your fancy outfit to find out.”
He grips my suit jacket tightly in a threatening manner, pulling it snug over my biceps.
“Dante,” I growl. “What. Color.”
“Oh my god. The same color as your eyes, okay? I matched them.”
I am unwell.
My hands sink into his plump ass like I can secure him to me permanently. “That’s it. We’re staying in.”
“Rev.” He shoves at me again, breaking free from my hold. I mourn the loss of him instantly. Nothing else feels like this. Nothing else compares.
“It’s almost seven. Don’t we need to leave?” he complains.
Rising to my feet with a sigh, I tug out one of my guns as I approach him. “Probably no place to hide this in your outfit.”
“What was I supposed to do? Turn this ensemble away?”
“Mmm. Definitely not. Do you have your knife on you?”
Brown eyes gleam with hellfire. “Always.”
“Good boy.” I give him a quick kiss. “Let’s go show everyone how pretty you are.”
Events like these are a reminder of what Cain has accomplished in his career. Cameras flash, and reporters swarm as he steps out of our limo in an all-black tuxedo. He reaches a hand back inside for Ezra.
Pretty boy stuck to his roots, pairing his beige designer sweater with expensive ripped jeans and combat boots. He’s all street glam and smiles, a charming thief turned into a mercenary–slash–entrepreneur.
I climb out next, ignoring the attention we’ve garnered. Dante actually accepts my offered hand without complaint. It probably has more to do with the fact that he’s here with Sinro Enterprises and doesn’t want to cause a scene, but I’m going to believe it’s because he’s actually in love with me.
Is it too early to buy a ring? I could hold onto it for a while.
Dante locks eyes with me. His expression is defensive, but I can see his nerves in the way his jaw tightens.
Leaning in close, I murmur, “Show them how powerful you are. Show them how you brought me to my knees.”
He gives a single, curt nod and eases out of the limo. There’s an audible gasp from spectators. Reporters call out to us, desperate for information.
Is he with you?
Who does he model with?
Where can we find him?
Who’s his designer?
Dante flushes, head tipping down in the shine of camera lights. I quickly nudge his chin back up and hold his gaze for a moment, letting him borrow whatever strength he needs from me.
Suck me dry, baby boy. I’m yours.
“I’m good.” He nods.
Linking our arms, I proudly walk him down the red carpet toward the convention center connected to the Bergamore Hotel.
Tonight isn’t just about scoping out the millionaire philanthropist by the name of Tomás—a man who recently donated a large sum of money to the historical society where old city maps are kept—maps that fully detail the city’s tunnel network.
It’s also about showing SIXX who the fuck Dante runs with. Who they stand to face should they ever think of laying a hand on him again.
Dante gasps as we enter the hotel lobby.
It’s glamorous. Constructed from old-world money.
Every piece of furniture is carved by hand, and every gold fixture is ornate in design.
Through open doors to our right, chandeliers hang over rows of circular tables draped in champagne linens.
Heavy curtains in a matching shade frame the massive windows all along the front of the room.
I recognize several people already seated at tables. The mayor, high-profile politicians, doctors, and the new chief of police. Anyone who holds a title or wealth sits within these walls tonight.
It makes for a great striking point if SIXX wants to cause more chaos in this city.
Which is why Sinro is taking up two tables in the dining room. Another team is hunkered in the tunnels while Isaac and his snipers are perched on surrounding buildings.
I rest a hand on Dante’s lower back. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having is fine.”
After pecking a kiss to his cheek, I swiftly cut toward the bar.
As the bartender makes two gin and tonics, I use the opportunity to scan the room.
Forest is here with Rorik and Neff. They’re all dressed in suits.
And then there’s Salem—our vampiric-looking victim specialist who’s drawing eyes in her shimmery green gown.
It’s the most polished I’ve seen any of them look.
My gaze ends up back on Dante. He’s managed to get himself stuck in a conversation with two strangers who are touching his sleeves in admiration. He’s clearly uncomfortable, but he’s doing his best to leash his temper.
Smirking, I tip the bartender, grab our drinks, and stride over to him, breaking up the conversation he didn’t want to have by dropping a kiss to his lips. By the time I pull away, the women have drifted off.
I can’t hide my smile at Dante’s irritated expression.
“I said no messing up my makeup,” he mutters.
“Slipped my mind.” I kiss him again, and this time I leave his cheeks flushed with color and his eyes glazed over.
“You done making a point?” he complains.
I shrug. “We’ll see how the night goes. Shall we go sit down?”
Dante wears his frown all the way to our table, where Cain and Ezra now sit. We’re served plates of roasted chicken, asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes, followed by thick slices of chocolate cake.
Thankfully, Ezra distracts Dante with animated conversation throughout dinner, and that tension between his brows eases.
After our plates are cleared, a quartet takes the small stage at the end of the grand room.
Guests naturally gather on the dance floor.
I get to my feet and hold out my hand for Dante once more.
How many times will he take it tonight? Should I make it a game?
Should I see how many times I can kiss him in public?
He blinks up at me. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
Before he can turn me down, I tug him upright and whisk him into the group of dancers.
“Last time we did this, it ended poorly,” he says, sliding his arms around me as I begin to spin us in time with the music.
“Poorly? Shot to the ego, murder kitten.”
He rolls his eyes, and I can’t help but steal another kiss. I can sense his sass brewing just beneath the surface. He’ll make me pay for this later.
As the songs blend together, Dante loosens up. He adds spins and elegant arms movements, drawing the attention of every table we pass. They cheer and clap for us, and I’m given a glimpse of just how much he puffs up at the attention.
He fucking loves it.
I can only imagine what kind of success he’d achieve if he put as much energy into ballet as he does revenge on SIXX or shutting out people who care about him.
We cycle through countless songs, working up a sheen of sweat. Since I know he’d get upset about ruining his makeup, I guide him out of the dining hall and away from all the bodies to cool down.
Dante soaks in the sculptures and art adorning the lobby. “I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere so nice.”
“Would you like to look around? They have some beautiful pieces on display. Nothing as beautiful as you, of course.”
He hooks his fingers around one of my belt loops like that’s enough to keep me at bay. “You are unhinged tonight.”
I chomp at the air for show. “Leash me.”
“I’ll do more than that,” he mumbles, a little smile forming.
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll drag you to the bathroom this time.”
Dante puckers those shiny, tempting lips. “Show me this art.”
I walk him around the hotel, describing my favorite pieces by local artists. Despite my heathen tendencies, I do appreciate works of creativity. I’ve purchased several pieces for my own apartment and donate regularly to programs within the city.
Dante pauses before a smaller painting tucked in the corner of a hallway off the lobby. Most people would probably overlook it, more interested in the comfy seating below it than the abstract design.
But not my pretty hunter.
He moves in closer, fingers brushing over the marble plaque with the artist’s name and details.
“She’s from Colombia,” he says quietly.
I tuck my hands into my pockets—a lame attempt to restrain myself from touching him. “What drew you to it?”
When he steps back to inspect it, I admire him instead of the art. “The colors. Any time Laz recounts Papi’s stories of Bogotá or Cartagena, they’re always full of vibrant color like this.”
“You were born in Colombia?”
I already know the answer. I had Alaric do an extensive dive on Dante’s life. But I ask him anyway because I love to hear him talk. Any different facet or piece of information I can gather on Dante becomes the most important detail in my memory.
He nods. “I was born in Bogotá. Laz, too. I don’t remember much of it, but I’ll never forget the months we stayed in Cartagena. Papi’s family was from there. We spent Noche Buena with them.” He pushes out a long breath. “It was…overwhelming.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
He walks over to me and rests his head on my shoulder. “They must have all hugged me a thousand times.”
Placing a hand on his back, I kiss the top of his head. “Then you loved it.”
“Maybe a little.” His laugh is soft. “And the food, Rev. God, the food. I ate so much, I got the worst stomachache and couldn’t do sparklers. Laz had to rub my back for hours to get me to sleep that night.”
I don’t realize I’m smiling until he turns in my arms to look at me. I wish I could give him back this beautiful memory of what a true family should be. I wish I could give him so much more.
My smile fades as pain transforms his expression.
“Even though that trip turned out to be a bad thing in the end, I learned to be proud of my culture, and that was something I kept with me through every move and every new ballet company. No matter how much I was judged for being a boy in a studio of girls or Papi and Laz were judged for speaking Spanish, I felt no shame. Only determination to show the world what a Colombian boy could do when he didn’t let others’ words or opinions hold him back. ”
It’s rare I’m at a loss for words, but even if I could speak, I’m not sure anything I say would be enough to prove to Dante how strong he is. He’s all fire, impossible to ignore.
I pull him closer and kiss his temple.
“What about you?” Dante murmurs.
“What about me?”
“I just bared my soul. Tell me something. Anything. Are you close with your family?”
I take a moment to consider how much I want to give away.
“No, I’m not close with my family. My father’s a high-brow politician in Estonia, and my mother resides in a mental health facility a few hours outside of the city.
She was young when she had me. She didn’t take to parenting well.
My grandparents did most of the work raising me, but they barely survived me. ”
Dante brown eyes twinge with concern as he looks up at me.
“Don’t give me that sad face, baby boy. I don’t feel any certain way about it. They didn’t love me. It’s understandable, considering the way I am.”
“The way you are,” he repeats a little angrily.
“Unfit for society.”
His frown grows so deep, I regret sharing anything about my past. My childhood didn’t matter. It happened. I moved on and chose better humans than my blood relatives to keep in my company.
I’m not sure what I would have done had Cain turned me away when I requested a job with Sinro.
Dante’s hands smooth up my shoulders and link behind my neck. “Please tell me you don’t believe that.”
“What, that I’m a monster?”
He kisses me sweetly. “You save lives. You protect people. You saved me.”
I ease him backward into an alcove, nuzzling my face against his neck and peppering him with soft kisses. He’s so perfect.
And he’s all mine.
I’m about to suggest we take this somewhere more private so I can erase this depressing subject from his mind when his phone buzzes. Sighing in frustration, I fish it out of his pocket.
“Here. It’s your brother.”