Chapter 5 Dante
DANTE
There’s a puddle of sweat on the floor by the time I finish counting off my push-ups.
Every drop was a testament to my willpower since it was either work my body to the point of exhaustion or make a short trip across the hall to do something about the almost painful and persistent hard-on I woke up with.
This is the third morning in a row of waking up with only one thing in mind, thanks to a female presence in my normally quiet, peaceful house.
When the idea of jerking off yet again only made me grind my teeth in frustration, the only answer came in the form of a punishing workout.
I can honestly say fucking my wife is the last thing on my mind by the time I’m finished.
Sweat rolls down my bare back and chest once I stand, the puddle on the floor being soaked up by a towel.
All it took was working out until my abs, arms, and shoulders screamed for mercy to make me forget my body’s other needs.
It’s been too long since I indulged them.
The twisted humor in the whole situation isn’t lost on me as I strip down on my way to the shower. I have a gorgeous wife who wears the rings I placed on her finger and signed the marriage license with me. She should wake up in my bed, pressed against me, warm and willing.
If I don’t shut down this train of thought, I’ll need yet another date with my fist. I’m going to start chafing soon.
The fact is, I don’t know where to go from here.
We have plenty of time—the rest of our lives.
There doesn’t have to be a rush to get to know each other, and frankly, I’ve got too much on my mind to worry about a fake marriage.
She’s got to be comfortable here. That’s as much as I can give her now with so much up in the air.
It’s the uncertainty that gets me moving through a quick shower and shave.
Papa will be waiting for me with any reports or news from the overnight hours.
We might have lost good men while I slept.
The idea leaves me growling softly as I leave the bathroom, drying off with a towel that I start wrapping around my waist after I swing open the bedroom door, only to hear a soft gasp from the top of the stairs.
Sophia stands there barefoot, dressed in pink satin shorts and a matching button-down top.
Her cheeks are an even darker shade of pink, though, beneath a pair of eyes that are damn close to bulging out of her head.
“Oh,” she croaks, backing toward the open door opposite where I’m standing and running a hand through her tousled waves. “Sorry… I mean, um…”
“Good morning,” I murmur, taking my time closing the towel around my waist now that I know how rattled she is at the sight of me. “Are you all right? You seem flustered.”
“No, I just didn’t expect to run into you like this,” she explains, glancing at my crotch before looking away. “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m sure you’re in a hurry.”
“Wait,” I urge before she can lock herself in her room. “Why did you apologize? What are you sorry for?”
Is it sick, twisting the knife like this when I can see what it’s doing to her?
She’s blushing to the roots of her hair, and I’d swear her nipples are ready to tear holes in that pajama top. Maybe I should let her go, but then I don’t get much fun out of life. She’s a diversion.
And if I’m teasing her, I’m not throwing her to the floor and splitting her in two with my cock. That would be an uncomfortable complication I don’t have time for. What a shame. “Why are you sorry?” I prompt again while she sputters and tries like hell not to look at me.
Her wide, aqua eyes dart down to my crotch before snapping up again. “Nothing. I don’t know why I said it. I won’t hold you up.” She closes the door between us before I can remind her we’re both adults. This can’t be the first time she’s ever seen a naked man, for fuck’s sake.
But it’s the first time she’s ever seen me, and it was almost enough to make smoke come out of her ears. I can’t help but laugh softly as I go downstairs to grab a bottle of water. She’s a pain in the ass in every way imaginable, but she has her moments.
Though now that I’ve seen her react to me, it’ll be that much harder to convince myself she wouldn’t appreciate it if I kicked her bedroom door in and made our marriage official.
* * *
“That wraps up all of our most pressing business.” Papa finishes his coffee, wearing a satisfied expression. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes are twinkling as he gazes my way across the breakfast table. “How is married life treating you?”
“You’re looking at it,” I mumble around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. My wife saw me naked this morning and almost had a heart attack. Yeah, that will give him all kinds of confidence.
Scoffing, he says, “When you aren’t here, I mean. How are things going between you two?”
How are they going? “We’ve been married for three days, Papa. We don’t know each other yet.”
Then, looking down at the tablet sitting next to my plate, I add, “And in case you forgot, we’re trying to shore up these arrangements we want to make with Vitali.
I still don’t love the idea of handing those three warehouses over to that capo cousin of his.
If we absorb those shipping routes as planned, we’ll need the space to store the merchandise. ”
“Forget about that for a minute. It’s minor details.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Keep the bigger picture in mind. We’re making peace. I don’t think three warehouses are too much to ask.”
Once I’ve set the tablet aside and turn my full attention to him, he lifts his eyebrow. “You know, your mama is itching for a grandbaby.”
It is much too early in the day for this.
“Papa, please,” I groan while my head starts to pound.
“The girl is a stranger. Can you at least give us the time to get to know each other before she starts popping out children?” Like I don’t have the future of this family sitting on my shoulders—not only the legacy, but what happens tomorrow and the day after that.
“A stranger? In every way?” he asks with a funny tone in his voice that makes me want to squirm like an uncomfortable teenager having The Talk. “You realize something else has to happen before the marriage is considered official. We can’t leave loose ends.”
Just when I thought this couldn’t get any more embarrassing.
I’ve lost track of the number of times outrage has threatened to crumble the walls I’ve carefully constructed around myself over the past decade.
I am miles away from the twenty-two-year-old punk I used to be.
The arrogant hothead, I wish I could reach back through time and smack around.
Some lessons need to be learned the hard way, and I learned them.
It’s moments like this, with outrage bubbling close to the surface, that I’m closest to that old version of myself. “I’ll get it taken care of,” I tell him. “But let’s face it, the schedule we’re keeping lately doesn’t exactly lend itself to quiet, romantic nights at home.”
With a sage nod, he sums it up. “The two of you could use an excuse to spend more time together, is what you’re telling me.”
Footsteps ring out in the hall—rapid, sharp, distinctive, and Luca’s.
He is more irritating than usual lately, and he doesn’t bother hiding his glee at my situation.
He’s always resented that Papa takes me more seriously when it comes to the family and business, and I know he still holds a grudge over my being against protecting Emilia.
God forbid, I want to keep my family safe.
He’s whistling softly by the time he joins us in the kitchen, where he heads straight for the espresso maker.
“So what do you think?” he asks, looking my way with his lips twitching.
Clearly, today is not a workday for him—he’s dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, a pair of slide sandals on his feet.
What he’s doing up here, I don’t know. He has his own house and probably his own coffee maker.
He answers my silent questions before I have the chance to voice them. “Machine’s acting up. Figured nobody up here would mind.”
“What do I think about what?” I ask, getting back to his original point.
“We hadn’t discussed that yet,” Papa murmurs with a scowl at my brother. “But thank you very much for putting me on the spot.”
Suspicion traces a finger up my spine and makes my body tense. What next? “What do we need to discuss?” I ask as I finish off my breakfast. It all tastes like sawdust now. What a surprise.
“Over the next five or six weeks, there’s a string of events being held around the city,” Papa explains, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, brushing crumbs from the front of his polo shirt.
Anything to avoid looking at me. “Charity events, worthy causes. I want you and your lovely new wife there as Santoro representatives.”
“Because if there’s one word that comes to mind when I think of Dante…” Luca murmurs as the machine hums, “… it’s charity.”
“Fuck off,” I warn. The old Dante is just below the surface now, dying to break free. To breathe fresh air again before making my brother wish he had stayed in bed with his fiancée this morning.
“Let’s face it. We need positive PR, and now that the war with the Vitali family is winding down and we’re absorbing so much of their business…
” Dad shrugs like he has no say in any of this, which might be the biggest joke of all.
“The public sees you and Sophia out together, a beautiful young couple, freshly married and with the rest of your lives ahead of you, they get a good feeling. A feeling of hope. Add a few generous donations from the Santoro family, and you have the foundation of a revitalized reputation.”
He thinks of everything, doesn’t he? He has it all figured out.
“Papa,” I croak once I find my voice. “That’s not what I do. You want somebody to go from one gala to another, shake hands, and pose for photos? Talk to your secondborn.”