Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dante
The casino glitters like a promise wrapped in glass and gold.
Matteo owns three in Atlantic City, but this one—The Regency—is his favorite. Crystal chandeliers, velvet everywhere. Money moves fast here.
I bring Bianca because leaving her at home feels wrong after last night. After that fucking coward Adrian. After realizing how many people want to use her against me.
She walks beside me in a black dress I bought her last week, and every man in the casino tracks her movement. I want to break their fucking necks.
Mine, she’s mine.
"Relax," Alessia murmurs, falling into step with us. "You look like you're about to start a war."
"I'm always about to start a war." I grunt.
She laughs. Matteo's wife has that effect—making violence sound like a joke until you remember who she married.
Matteo and Isabella are already at the high-stakes poker table. My best friend looks relaxed, but I know him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders. Isabella sits beside him, stunning and sharp-eyed, watching the players like she's cataloging weaknesses.
"Dante." Matteo nods toward the bar. "A word?"
I glance at Bianca. She's talking with Alessia, laughing at something, and the sound does strange things to my chest. I want to always see her like this. Laughing, carefree, spoiled and happy.
"Stay with them," I tell Marco. Then I follow Matteo to a private alcove.
He doesn't waste time.
"What's going on with you and Bianca?"
I pull the ring box from my jacket. Black velvet, small enough to hide. Heavy enough to feel like an anchor.
His eyes drop to it. "You're serious."
I nod, once. "I want to marry her."
"Because you love her or because Caterina's forcing your hand?"
The question hits harder than it should. "Both. Neither. Does it fucking matter?" I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration.
Matteo just raises a brow.
"It matters if you're about to blow up everything we've built." He leans against the railing, looking down at the tables below. "Caterina came to see me yesterday."
My blood goes cold. "What did she want?"
"To offer me a deal. Make you leave Bianca, marry her instead, and she stays quiet about the escort thing. Otherwise, she releases everything—names, dates, photos. Makes sure every politician, every partner, every enemy we have knows exactly who your future wife used to be."
I grip the railing hard enough that my knuckles go white. "And what did you tell her?"
"That I'd think about it." He turns to face me. "Look, personally? I don't give a damn who Bianca was. She's smart, she's loyal, she makes you less of a fucking robot. But our partners won't see it that way. Neither will the politicians we own or the families we work with."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that if you marry an escort who's been with men in our circles—some of them our enemies—it makes us all look weak. And in this business, perception is survival, you know this."
The logic is sound. I hate that it's sound.
"She's not that person anymore," I say quietly.
I want to punch something, someone.
"Doesn't matter. Once the story's out, that's all anyone will remember." He pauses. "I can't have my capo marry someone who could be used against us. You know that too."
I do know that. I've always known that. But knowing doesn't make it easier.
"Give me time," I say finally. "Let me handle this, handle Caterina."
He raises a brow, looking unbothered to the world. "How?"
"However, I have to." I say the same thing I’ve said to Bianca because what the fuck else can I say? I’ll take care of things. I will not let Bianca go.
We stare at each other for a long moment. Then Matteo nods. "Two weeks, fratello. After that, I will be forced to make the call."
Two weeks to destroy Caterina or lose Bianca.
I can work with that.
When I return to the table, Bianca is still laughing, the sound bright and real, and I want to bottle it. Keep it somewhere safe where Caterina can't touch it.
"Everything okay?" she asks when I sit beside her.
"Fine."
She doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way she studies my face, looking for cracks in the armor.
"You're a terrible liar," she says quietly.
I snort. "I'm an excellent liar. You're just getting too good at reading me."
Before she can respond, a man stumbles into our section. Mid-forties, expensive suit gone rumpled, reeking of whiskey and desperation. A gambler who bet too much and lost.
I recognize the type immediately.
Drunk and stupid.
My hackles rise.
"Well, well." His words slur together. "If it isn't the ruthless Dante Vitale and his pretty little—"
"Walk away," I growl.
He ignores me, leaning too close to Bianca. "What's a nice girl like you doing with a thug like him? You know what he is, sweetheart? You know what he does?"
"I said walk away."
"Or what?" He grins, showing yellowed teeth. "You gonna hit me? In front of all these people? In front of your whore—"
I'm moving before he finishes the sentence.
My fist connects with his jaw, and he goes down hard. But I don't stop. Can't stop. Because I'm seeing my mother's face. Her bruises. The empty bottles she hid in the garden. The way she tried to smile through the shame.
I hit him again. And again.
I see red.
Blood sprays across the carpet. Someone screams. Hands try to pull me back, but I shake them off.
"Dante!" Matteo's voice cuts through the red haze. "Enough!"
I freeze and I stand. When I look down at the man curled on the floor, choking on blood and broken teeth, it’s like I see him for the first time.
"Anyone disrespects her," I say to the silent crowd, "ends up like him."
Then I turn to Bianca.
She's staring at me with wide eyes. Not quite horror. Not quite fear. Something else I can't name.
I have no fucking idea what it is.
But it’s not fear. I take a step toward her and she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t look away, she takes a small step forward, sways toward me.
That small act undoes me totally.
"Let's go home," I say quietly.
She bites her lip and nods.
As Marco helps the drunk to his feet—what's left of him—I guide Bianca toward the exit. My knuckles throb. My suit is ruined.
I’ve acted completely unraveled. Bat shit crazy instead of cold, silent menace. That’s not me. I worked so hard for my image, what is happening?
But when she slides her hand into mine and doesn't pull away, I know I'd do it again.
I'd do worse.
For her, I'd burn the whole fucking world down.