Chapter Seven
Evangeline
The echo of Dante’s footsteps fades, but his presence lingers, as does his scent. I busy myself with the usual morning routine of inventory, the ritual of cleaning the floors, and adding more Halloween decorations for the annual neighborhood stroll of trick or treaters.
Halloween is my favorite time of year, and I always look forward to keeping up the traditions and over-the-top spooky atmosphere my mom always created. This time, I know I’m just trying to distract myself from what we discussed because my mind is a swarm of questions.
Why does Dante make me feel so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so … seen? What business would a man like that have with the Hart Family Pharmacy, or with me? A nobody with a boring doctorate and no life other than working here and going home to my small apartment.
He said he would protect me. Protect me from what? Or who? I can’t shake the suspicion I’m not the object of his protection but the leverage, the pawn.
I did three hours of research on him last night, running through the five pages of Google results and every news clipping I could find. That’s how I learned his nickname. “Il Malefico”. The evil one.
Not someone I should be trusting my life to based upon his nickname alone.
He has a reputation for using torture to extract information and doesn’t shy away from the old-school mafia tactics of making someone “disappear.” So why, of all the villains in Chicago, is that the man I’m now relying on to keep me breathing?
He came again when Silas was out. Why avoid Silas? Why not confront him directly? Instead, Dante hunts for scraps of information from me. That, more than anything, should make me nervous.
But I can’t help myself. Some part of me wants to believe what he says, that his interest is in my well-being, or at least that protecting me serves some deeper, messier agenda.
I’m still not convinced Silas is capable of being a criminal. Sure, he handles the business side of the pharmacy with an iron grip, but he isn’t big on confrontation, let alone organized crime.
The rest of my staff are equally boring. There’s just Mary, whose hobbies are crosswords and too much reality television. Then, Annie doesn’t have the energy or the time to be a criminal mastermind. Our pharmacy is the opposite of the dangerous high-stakes world Dante is describing.
And yet, every time the bell over the door tinkles, or every time I catch my uncle on the phone in his office with the door closed, I wonder what I’m missing.
I’ve been trained over years of lab work and the scientific method to always look for the outlier. The thing that doesn’t fit. The longer I look, the more confusing it all becomes.
Maybe that’s why Dante’s presence feels so intoxicating, so forbidden. He’s the variable.
Last night, I dreamed he kissed me as if he wanted to own me.
I could almost feel the roughness of his hands, smell his expensive cologne with a hint of bergamot, and experience the raw hunger in his desire.
I keep telling myself it must have been a dream or a delusion, or a fantasy brought on by too many late-night readings of dark, smutty romance novels.
But I swear, when I brushed my teeth, I could still taste and smell his cologne on my lips.
I’ve never dated. Never even kissed a boy. I am a genetic dead end when it comes to seduction: short with small boobs and no curves. I once psyched myself up to start small talk with a guy at the campus bookstore in college, and he switched lines. I told myself I didn’t care. But I did.
Maybe romance and all its complications were for other people?
People with vibrant personalities or at least had a passing interest in being social or using makeup like the girls on TikTok.
My only glimpse of romance was what I witnessed with my loving parents or what I read on the pages of my Kindle or paperback novels.
Being a virgin in her mid-twenties, I’m probably destined to stay that way, so I live vicariously through my book heroines.
I pour all my energy into my job. In the lab, I’m competent, in control. Out here in the wild, nothing makes sense.
Uncle Silas’s strange behavior certainly makes little sense, and the attention I’m receiving from Dante Vescari is even crazier.