Chapter 7 Dante
DANTE
Sweat rolls down the back of my neck and soaks into my loose, cotton T-shirt while I push my body through another round of reps on one of the top-of-the-line machines in the family home gym.
By the time I set the weights down and release the foam-covered grips with a grunt, there’s a patch of sweat-soaked cotton stuck to my back.
An uncomfortable sensation, but a badge of honor at the same time.
Satisfying. Proof of how far I’m willing to go to keep myself sharp.
If only I could discipline my mind as easily as I’ve disciplined my body.
Enzo Amato. He was somebody I never saw coming.
The Vitalis provided a detailed report on Sophia’s health and history—one of the caveats of our little deal, something Papa insisted on. He wasn’t looking for a virgin. He isn’t deluded, and this isn’t the Dark Ages. A young woman with no complications, however? The least anyone could ask for.
According to Sophia’s story last night, Giorgio more than likely wouldn’t imagine Enzo as a complication. I’m sure he assumes he ran the kid off years ago and probably hasn’t given him much thought since.
So I can’t throw this in Giorgio’s face.
Besides, a sense of discomfort twists me up inside when I imagine doing that.
I don’t owe my wife anything, really. She’s gotten everything she’s supposed to get out of this arrangement—safety, comfort, the protection of our family—and she’ll never have to want for anything.
Even so, it would make me a snitch if I went to my father-in-law and complained about Sophia’s childhood crush showing his face.
She trusted me with that information last night.
It was the first time she had ever opened up and shared something meaningful, although I hadn’t given her much of an opportunity to do so before now.
Not like I’ve cared very much, either. I have important things going on.
Those important things aren’t enough to wipe away the memory of the way Enzo looked at me. You don’t grow up the way I did, surrounded by men with ulterior motives, without developing a sixth sense. He was civil on the surface, but inside, the man was seething, an animal sensing a threat.
Much the way I was.
The television mounted in the far corner of the room is my only companion this morning.
I turned it to a news station, and now some bland host drones on about international events while I push my way through another set of reps that make my shoulders burn.
The volume is low enough that I can easily pick up the sound of footsteps approaching from outside the open door.
Usually, I wouldn’t mind Papa or even Luca joining me down here, but today the idea of being interrupted sets my teeth on edge.
I have too much on my mind, and it seems like no amount of pushing my body is enough to shake free of the frustration that kept me up well into the night, lying in bed across the hall from my wife.
My wife, who now steps tentatively into the room, then freezes on the spot when our gazes connect in the mirror in front of me. “What are you doing down here?” I ask more sharply than I probably should, but she caught me off guard.
“You told me I could use the gym if I felt like it. Right?” She looks around the room slowly, taking it all in. “This is impressive.”
Is it? I have her standing only feet from me, wearing a pair of tight shorts that cling to her hips and lean thighs like they’re painted on her skin.
Nothing else exists but those gentle curves.
How long has it been since I’ve had a pair of thighs like those wrapped around me?
Too long, if the sight of them has me fighting for my life.
Her curious glance my way over one shoulder brings me back to my senses before I can start a drool puddle at my feet. “It’s convenient. Papa left it up to me to put it together.”
“He trusts you.”
“I hope so,” I reply with a shrug as I take in every inch of her, down to the dark ponytail swaying with every step she takes. “Otherwise, we’re both in trouble, aren’t we?”
“I’m not trying to get in the way of your workout.
” She holds up both hands in a gesture of defense before heading over to the opposite side of the room, where three treadmills sit in a row.
“Does everybody come down here? Or is it usually just you?” She taps each of the three machines as she passes before stopping at the last one and placing her water bottle in the holder on the side.
“Luca and I will cross paths down here now and then.” My brother isn’t as disciplined as me. Big surprise. “I can sometimes get Papa on a treadmill or the stationary bike.”
She’s wearing a funny sort of grin when she steps up onto the machine, facing me. “That’s nice. Like you set it up for the three of you to work out together.”
That wasn’t what I had in mind at all, or was it?
I never consciously thought about it that way, but now I see she has a point.
Maybe I did secretly hope the three of us would spend a little more time down here together.
A break from being in the office or at dinner meetings so much of the time. Funny how she saw that right away.
As she pops AirPods into her ears and taps buttons on the display, I have to remind myself I’m down here for a reason other than noticing her legs or wishing her bra wasn’t so snug so her tits would bounce a little more once she starts running.
She’s turning me into a hopeless pervert.
A pervert who has to fight the hard-on threatening in my boxers.
I’m painfully aware of her as I cross over to the lat pulldown machine and check the weight setting before straddling the bench.
She’s behind me, but the mirror covering the wall gives me a look at her ponytail swinging with every stride, fists pumping once she goes from a steady jog to a solid run. Nice form.
She stares straight ahead at the television, so determined, almost snarling. Pushing herself, punishing the machine with every stride. Don’t stare. Right, like I’m not going to stare harder than before, knowing I shouldn’t.
This is absurd. She’s my wife, yet here I am, tiptoeing around her.
This isn’t me. I don’t wait around, twisting myself up with questions and doubts.
I get shit done. I have to be decisive. There is no room in our world for second-guessing.
A man has to be determined and stand by those decisions, or else the entire house of cards crumbles.
So why can’t I look at her for fear of what will happen if I stare too long?
“I could never be with a man like you.” The bitterness behind those words still slices like a white-hot blade when they come to mind.
How is the sweet voice so clear after all these years?
The woman I believed was my future, who owned my every waking thought from the minute I set eyes on her.
How is it possible that after all this time, the memory of her scorn stings the way it does?
Probably because I deserved it.
“Are you okay?” Sophia’s breathless question yanks me back into the present moment, where my wife has slowed her pace to a walk and now studies me in the mirror with concern etched across her sweat-slicked face.
“Of course,” I tell her, though I hear the unusual volume and sharpness of my response. It’s totally unnecessary, considering I’ve been sitting here for fuck knows how long and would be as curious as she is. “Lost in thought.”
“About last night?” she asks. Is there something antagonistic in the question? I can’t tell. A sense of unease prickles the back of my neck, telling me to tread carefully.
Nodding, I reply, “To be honest, I’ve had that on my mind today.
” If she weren’t here, I would have left the gym a while ago.
I would probably be showered by now, ready to move on to the next part of my day.
Instead, I get up and grab the spray cleaner and paper towels sitting nearby, intending to wipe down the equipment I’ve used.
“I’m still curious about this Enzo fucker. ”
“Curious? Last night, you seemed a little more threatened than anything else.” She crosses the room and comes to a stop on the other side of the machine while I fight like hell not to follow the progress of a single bead of sweat that has started to roll enticingly down her chest. It’s almost shocking, the intensity of the hunger that slams into me all at once and makes my fists tighten.
Control it. Get it together. Usually, all it takes is that stern reminder to get my head back in the game.
I’ve spent a decade since losing everything honing my ability to compartmentalize, to shut down my baser instincts before they flare up.
Heat and frustration spread through me, which doesn’t exactly make it easier to rein myself in.
“He couldn’t threaten me if he tried for the rest of his life. Why shouldn’t I be curious?” I counter, wiping the bench. “He’s your ex, and he was not happy to see me last night. Tell me I’m wrong,” I add with a grunt, then snickering to myself when she lowers her gaze.
Her lips barely move when she murmurs, “You were curious about him… but not about what all that messiness did to me, right? Because that’s not what actually matters.”
She’s not tiptoeing around anymore, is she?
No, she’s standing in front of me with her hands on her hips, her chin raised in silent defiance.
Going for a run makes her feisty, evidently.
“How about the way I opened up to you, and you totally glossed over how emotional I got? So busy making sure I know who I belong to that you ignored my feelings.”
“I didn’t do that.” For fuck’s sake, there is no such thing as ignoring her. I wish I could. “I’ll admit, I was a little possessive, but—”
“Ignored,” she insists. “I was too overwhelmed last night to call you out, but it has to be said.”