Chapter 22
Dante
T he car was too quiet. Too still.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace—it was the kind that clawed at your skin, that made your pulse pound in your ears. The kind that was heavy with everything unsaid.
I glanced over at her from the corner of my eye, watching as she stared out the window, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her fingers toyed with the cap of the water bottle I’d made sure was waiting for her when she got in. I’d told her my assistant stocked the car, but that was bullshit. I’d put it there myself.
Why?
Because I’d overheard her mention once, in passing, that she liked to keep a water bottle in her bag. And because I’d noticed she didn’t have one when she climbed into the car this morning, her hair still damp and her cheeks flushed with frustration.
It wasn’t a big deal. Just a bottle of water. But the way she’d looked at it, like she was trying to figure out if it was a coincidence or something more, had made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t care to examine.
She’d taken a sip after the kiss.
The kiss.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as the memory surged back with brutal clarity. Her lips had been soft, warm, and she’d tasted faintly of something sweet—champagne, maybe, or some kind of gloss. I hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hell, I hadn’t even realized I was going to until it was already happening.
And then she’d gasped, her hands clutching at my jacket like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away, and I’d lost whatever shred of control I’d been clinging to.
But then she’d taken a sip of that damn water bottle, her lips wrapping around the edge, and something primal had surged through me. Something dark and possessive that made me want to rip the bottle out of her hands and replace it with my mouth.
Jesus Christ.
I forced my gaze back to the road, jaw clenched so tight it ached. This was getting out of hand. She was getting out of hand. And the worst part? She didn’t even realize it.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of fabric as she shifted in her seat. I could feel her beside me, every movement, every breath, like a live wire pressed against my skin.
She was still fidgeting with the water bottle, twisting the cap on and off, her fingers trembling slightly.
“Stop fidgeting,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
She stilled immediately, her gaze snapping to mine. For a moment, I thought she might argue, but then she turned back to the window, her shoulders tense.
Good.
Better to keep her on edge. Better to remind her who was in control.
When we finally pulled up to the venue for Adrianna’s bridal shower, I killed the engine and leaned back in my seat, watching as she gathered her things. Her dress—a pale blue satin that clung to her in all the right places—shifted with her movements, the fabric catching the light and making her look like something out of a dream.
Not the kind of dream you tell people about, though. The kind you keep to yourself. The kind that leaves you waking up in a sweat, your chest tight and your hands clenched in the sheets.
“You look good,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
She froze, her hand hovering over the door handle, and turned to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. “What?”
I shrugged, keeping my tone casual even as my pulse quickened. “I said you look good. Even if it’s not a slip dress.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, pushing the door open and stepping out without another word.
I smirked, leaning forward to rest my elbow on the steering wheel as I watched her walk away. The dress swayed with every step, the hem brushing just above her knees, and I couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like crumpled on the floor of my bedroom.
Before she reached the entrance, I leaned on the horn, the sharp blast cutting through the quiet street.
She jumped, spinning around to glare at me, her cheeks burning red.
I rolled down the window, keeping my expression neutral even as satisfaction curled through me. “Be ready for four,” I called out, my voice carrying easily across the distance. “Five hours should be enough for...chick stuff, right?”
"I'm surprised you're not insisting to come in."
"You're a bad girl, you can handle it." I smirked.
Her glare deepened, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched inside, her head held high and her shoulders squared.
But not before I caught the faintest hint of a blush creeping up her neck.
I chuckled to myself, rolling the window back up and pulling away from the curb. The satisfaction humming in my chest was unexpected, but not unwelcome.
Lunch with Luca was at one of our usual spots—a quiet, upscale Italian place tucked away in a corner of the city that most people didn’t even know existed. The kind of place where the waitstaff knew your name, your order, and exactly how much privacy you wanted.
Luca was already waiting when I arrived, a glass of red wine in his hand and a smirk on his face that told me he was in one of his moods.
“Late,” he said as I slid into the seat across from him.
“Busy,” I countered, signaling for a glass of wine.
His smirk widened, and he leaned back in his chair, studying me with the kind of scrutiny that only a brother could get away with. “Busy with Emilia, I take it?”
I didn’t bother denying it. Luca always had a way of knowing things he shouldn’t.
“She had an appointment,” I said, keeping my tone even. “I drove her.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I said sharply, my jaw tightening.
Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Nothing? Really? Because you’ve got that look on your face. The one that says you’re thinking about her.”
I scowled, taking a sip of my wine. “Drop it, Luca.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re in deep, brother. And you don’t even realize it.”
I didn’t respond, my gaze fixed on the glass in my hand. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.
Not that I’d ever admit it.
“Relax,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to obsess over her, you might as well admit it.”
“I’m not obsessing,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended.
Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”
I took a long sip of wine, letting the silence stretch between us. Luca might have been my brother, but that didn’t mean I had to indulge his bullshit. Especially not when it came to Emilia .
“Fine,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something more serious. “We’ll table the love life discussion for now. Let’s talk business.”
“Finally,” I muttered, setting my glass down. “What’s the update on the missing money?”
Luca’s smirk faded, replaced by a more focused expression. “The accountant’s still digging through the records. Should have a full report by the end of the week.”
“And?”
“And it’s not looking good,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “Whoever’s skimming off the top is good at covering their tracks. We’re talking small amounts, spread out over months—maybe years. It’s subtle enough that it wouldn’t raise any red flags unless you were looking for it.”
“Which we weren’t,” I said, my jaw tightening. “Until now.”
“Exactly,” Luca said, his tone grim. “The accountant thinks it’s someone on the inside. Someone with access to the books. Could be one of the lieutenants, maybe even someone higher up.”
I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. An inside job. That narrowed it down, but not enough. There were too many people with access, too many variables to consider. And if this had been going on for years, that meant whoever was behind it was patient. Calculated. Dangerous.
“Have you talked to Matteo?” I asked, referring to the head of our financial operations.
Luca nodded. “He’s running his own investigation. Quietly. Doesn’t want to tip anyone off.”
“Good,” I said, my voice tight. “The last thing we need is for this to turn into a witch hunt.”
“Agreed,” Luca said, his gaze steady. “But we need to figure this out, Dante. Fast. If word gets out that someone is stealing from us—”
“It won’t,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “We’ll handle it.”
Luca studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You sure about that? ”
I met his gaze, my jaw set. “Positive.”
He nodded slowly, but I could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. Luca wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, and he wasn’t the type to back down from a fight. But this? This was different. This wasn’t just about money. This was about trust. Loyalty. Control. And if we didn’t get a handle on it soon, it could unravel everything we’d built.
“Keep me updated,” I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the table. “I want to know the second the accountant finds something. Anything.”
“Will do,” Luca said, tipping his glass toward me in a mock toast.
I sighed. "Valentina called me."
Luca froze mid-swig, the rim of his wine glass hovering near his lips. "Oh this ought to be good."
He stared at me like I’d just told him I’d invited the Russians over for dinner. “Valentina called you?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “And you answered?”
I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “She’s not a goddamn leper, Luca. She’s still useful.”
“Useful,” he echoed, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. “Right. Because that’s the first word that comes to mind when I think of your ex-fiancée.”
“Drop it,” I said, my voice low and warning. The last thing I needed was a lecture about Valentina. Not from Luca, not from anyone. “She had information. That’s all.”
Luca’s eyebrows shot up, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Information, huh? Let me guess—she’s suddenly turned into a saint who wants to help us out of the goodness of her heart?”
“Hardly,” I muttered, swirling the wine in my glass. “She’s still the same manipulative, self-serving pain in the ass she’s always been. But she’s got her ear to the ground, and she hears things we don’t.”
“Like what?” Luca asked, his tone skeptical.
“Like the fact that the Russians are running their mouths about us,” I said, my voice tight. “Apparently, they’re claiming they stole twenty million from the Italians.”
Luca’s smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused expression. “Twenty million? From us?”
I nodded, my jaw tightening. “That’s what they’re saying. Valentina’s looking into it, but if there’s even a shred of truth to it, it’s going to come back to bite us in the ass. Hard.”
Luca leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his fingers steepled together. “Do we know which faction? Or is this just generic Russian bullshit?”
“Could be anyone,” I admitted, frustration simmering beneath my skin. “The Bratva, the Solntsevskaya, some splinter group trying to make a name for themselves. Take your pick.”
“And Valentina?” he asked, his gaze sharp. “What’s her angle in all this?”
“Same as always,” I said with a bitter laugh. “She wants to prove she’s still useful. That she’s still...relevant.”
Luca snorted, shaking his head. “Relevant? She’s a liability, Dante. Always has been.”
“She’s also the only lead we’ve got right now,” I shot back, my voice hard. “And until we figure out who’s behind this, I’m not turning down any information. Even if it comes wrapped in a fucking snake.”
Luca studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You think she’s telling the truth?”
“She’s not stupid,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “If she’s lying, she knows I’ll find out. And when I do…”
“You’ll kill her,” Luca finished, his tone matter-of-fact.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. The silence between us was enough.
“Twenty million,” Luca said after a moment, his voice low. “The exact number we're missing. That’s not just a coincidence. That’s a declaration of war.”
“Exactly,” I said, my jaw tightening. “And if the Russians think they can fuck with us and get away with it, they’re in for a rude awakening.”
Luca nodded slowly, his expression grim. “We need to move fast. If this gets out—”
“It won’t,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “Not until we’ve got answers. Valentina’s looking into it, and I’ve got Matteo digging through the books to see if there’s any connection to the missing money. But until then, we keep this quiet. Understood?”
“Understood,” Luca said, his tone serious. “But Dante...if this is true, if they really did take twenty million from us…”
“They’ll pay,” I said, my voice cold and final. “Every last one of them.”
Luca nodded, his gaze steady. “Good.” He leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “Now, tell me—how’s Emilia?”
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Are we really doing this again?”
Luca’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. He swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back up to meet mine.
“Actually, I’ve got news,” he said, his tone measured. “It’s about Sofia.”
I froze, my grip on the stem of my glass tightening. Sofia. Our sister. The only member of the Conti family who didn’t know the truth about what we did. The only one we’d managed to keep out of this life.
“What about her?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
Luca hesitated, and that alone was enough to set me on edge. He wasn’t the type to mince words, not with me. If he was pausing, it meant he was debating how much to tell me.
“She’s been asking about the annual visit,” he said finally, his tone careful. “Wants to know if she can come here this time. To the city.”
“No.” The word left my mouth before he’d even finished speaking, my tone flat and final.
Luca sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Dante— ”
“No,” I repeated, cutting him off. “She’s not coming here.”
“She’s eighteen now,” Luca pointed out, his voice calm but insistent. “She’s not a kid anymore. She’s curious. She wants to see where we live, what we do.”
“What we do?” I echoed, my voice hard. “You want to explain to her what we do, Luca? You want to tell her why we can afford to send her to that fancy boarding school? Why she gets to live in a bubble while we’re out here cleaning up messes and burying bodies?”
Luca’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “She doesn’t need to know the details. She just wants to visit. Spend time with us. Is that so unreasonable?”
“Yes,” I said bluntly. “It is. The second she steps foot in this city, she’s in danger. She’s safe where she is. She doesn’t need to know about this life. She doesn’t need to see it.”
“She’s going to figure it out eventually,” Luca said quietly. “You can’t protect her forever.”
“Watch me,” I snapped, my voice low and cold. “She’s not coming here, Luca. End of discussion.”
Luca studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Fine. I’ll tell her no.”
“Good,” I said, taking a sip of my wine to mask the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Make sure she understands it’s not up for debate.”
Luca didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting to the window as he swirled the wine in his glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost contemplative.
“She’s going to hate us for this, you know.”
“She can hate me all she wants,” I said, my tone hard. “As long as she’s alive to do it.”
The words hung heavy in the air between us, a stark reminder of the line we’d drawn between Sofia and the rest of the family. She didn’t know about the blood, the deals, the betrayals that kept her world spinning. And I intended to keep it that way, no matter what it cost me .
Luca sighed again, draining the rest of his wine in one long swallow. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I said dryly, signaling for the check.
When I pulled up to the venue to pick her up, she was already waiting outside, her arms crossed and her expression guarded. The pale blue dress still clung to her like a second skin, and I felt my pulse quicken despite myself.
She climbed into the car without a word, her movements stiff and deliberate. I could feel the tension radiating off her, but I didn’t say anything. Not yet.
As I pulled away from the curb, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “Have fun?”
She shot me a withering look. “It was fine.”
“Just fine?” I said, smirking. “I thought bridal showers were supposed to be exciting. Champagne, gossip, embarrassing stories about the bride-to-be…”
“Not everyone finds gossip as entertaining as you do,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
I chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Touché.”
The rest of the drive was quiet, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. But as I pulled into the driveway of the Ricci estate, I couldn’t resist one last jab.
“Be ready at eight tomorrow,” I said as she opened the door. “We’ve got business to attend to.”
She paused, her hand on the door handle, and turned to look at me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not my boss, Dante.”
“Not yet,” I said, my smirk widening as I met her gaze. “But give it time.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she slammed the door shut without another word, stalking toward the house with her head held high.
I watched her go, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips. She might be a challenge, but she was a challenge I was more than willing to take on.
And God help anyone who tries to get in my way.