9. Dante
Chapter 9
Dante
T he video call connects with a faint crackle, and Rocco’s face comes into view, his usual Brooklyn bravado tempered by exhaustion.
“Well, if it isn’t the handsomest prince in the castle,” he teases as he shuffles close to the camera.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, my voice clipped. “It’s all wine and sunshine here. What’s the situation?”
Rocco sighs, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Same as last week. Hell, same as yesterday.”
“You look like shit,” I comment because it’s absolutely true.
“Thanks, buddy. The Guild’s barely holding the line. The Cartel’s got us pinned down in Red Hook, and word is Amos Rubio’s getting bolder. It’s like he knows we’re stretched thin, and he’s hitting us where it hurts."
“And Leon?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“He’s got his eye on the long game, waiting for the perfect trade.” His voice turns tired. “Which means we get to keep fighting his war while you babysit his bargaining chip.”
I try not to wince at that. “Carmen isn’t the problem, Rocco.”
“Yeah, well, her old man is. Rubio’s not backing down, and Leon knows it. We’ve got the princess, but Rubio still hasn’t taken the bait, and we’re running out of time, Dante. And out of people.”
The silence stretches, heavy and sharp.
I should be thankful for these little reality checks, something to ground me to what is actually at stake. That there are people out there fighting a fucking war while I’m out courting bachelorettes and trying not to imagine Carmen’s flushed face when she…
“What about a timeline?” I ask, forcing myself to focus. “When’s Leon going to make his move?”
Rocco shakes his head. “No word. He’s keeping things close to the vest. You know how he is. But I’ll tell you this—he’s not trading Carmen unless it gives him a clean shot at taking Rubio down. That could mean weeks. Or months.”
“Months?”
The word threatens to choke me. How the hell am I supposed to manage this thing with Carmen for months?
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Rocco.” There’s no mistaking the panic in my voice. “The Guild’s falling apart, and Leon’s sitting on his ass, waiting for the perfect moment?"
“Don’t talk shit about Leon,” Rocco chastises me. “You’re not here. You have no idea what it’s been like.”
I can feel the nausea already rising up my throat. “I’m sorry.”
Rocco sighs. “Look, I know you’re itching to get back here, but until Leon says otherwise, you’re stuck in that castle. And trust me, it’s safer for everyone if Rubio’s daughter stays far away from Brooklyn.”
Is it?
“Yeah, she’s a goddamn menace,” I force myself to joke.
Finally, Rocco cracks a smile. “Don’t get too comfortable over there. I think I might kill you myself if you get a tan.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Stay sharp,” Rocco says before cutting the call.
The screen goes dark, leaving me staring at my own reflection, the faint outlines of the room behind me.
What a fucking mess.
But what did I expect? That we’d be out here for a week, that I could avoid my mother’s schemings and head back to Brooklyn with a compliant Carmen in tow, and everything would go back to normal?
It’s been the better part of a month. My mother has not given me an inch to breathe, and now Rocco’s telling me that Brooklyn could be months away.
And Carmen…
Carmen is playing an entirely different game now.
It’s my own fault. I revealed my hand too eagerly. There’s no talking my way out of what happened last night, no excuse for the fact that I watched. That I encouraged.
That I’d run straight back to my rooms to relieve the ache of my throbbing cock while imagining her flushed face and breathy groans. That I imagined that I was the one drawing them out of her as I dreamed of her soft body pliant in my hands.
It absolutely crossed the line, and now she knows my weakness. Now, she’s using it against me.
“I think I could use some further instruction.”
It’s a terrible, awful, unthinkable idea for lots of very good and pragmatic reasons. For one, Leon will kill me. For two, there’s probably something problematic about me exploiting a position of power over a prisoner, no matter how eager she is.
Third, she has to remain pure. For the Cartel.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that a woman who has barely even touched herself for twenty-four years is willing to break her streak on her enemy captor.
Even if I were to take her up on her offer—which I’m absolutely not considering—it’s not like it could go as far as penetration. And it’s not that there aren’t creative ways to avoid such things, I’m just not sure if I’d be able to restrain myself if I started.
But the most important thing—because I’m absolutely not considering it—is that this is absolutely, one hundred percent a ruse so that she can try to escape.
So there are lots of very good and pragmatic reasons never to visit the dungeon again.
Except, by the time I’ve mentally finished this list, I’m already halfway there.
I don’t even recall getting up from my desk.
Fuck.
This is really the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of very stupid things. I suppose all that’s left to do is pray to whatever gods?—
“Dante?”
My mother’s voice freezes me in my tracks as I begin the descent down the stairs to the basement. I’m not sure if I should feel grateful or irritated by the interruption.
“Yeah?”
Evelina’s head peers around the corner and offers a practiced smile. “Did you not hear me calling?”
“No?”
“You must come with me,” she goes as far as to hold her hand out to me. “We have an important visitor.”
I glance down the remaining stairs, feeling a petulant tug from somewhere within my sternum. “Can’t it wait?”
“Now, Dante,” she doesn’t leave room for negotiation.
With a forlorn sigh, I march back up the stairs and follow behind my mother toward the foyer. Her pace is frustratingly swift for a woman so small, and I have to jog a little to keep up.
“Are you at least going to give me a heads up about who it is?”
Evelina doesn’t even bother glancing over her shoulder. “A don should always anticipate their visitors.”
I bite back a scathing retort and continue to trail behind her, feeling like a chastised teenager being forced to socialize against my will.
But as I see who is waiting for us in the foyer, it all starts to make sense.
She stands at the center of the room, the hem of her perfectly tailored dress brushing the floor, her posture flawless.
Rina is just as I remembered her from a few nights ago: striking, confident, and almost painfully sure of herself.
“Dante,” Evelina says, her voice honeyed with maternal satisfaction. “Marina’s here to visit. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Wonderful. Stupendous.
Rina steps forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Her dark hair gleams in the sunlight, cascading over one shoulder, and her lips curve in a smile that’s equal parts charm and challenge.
“Dante,” she greets, kissing me on both cheeks. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Marina,” I say as I exchange the greeting. My lips graze the air on each side of her face.
“Rina,” she corrects with a playful tilt of her head.
Evelina’s gaze flicks between us, her smile deepening. “Marina has kindly offered to take you out into the city to help you reacclimate to Montecroce. She knows the markets better than anyone.”
“My father used to own the grocers, as well as his father before him. I spent much of my childhood running along those cobbles,” Rina adds, all charm.
My eyebrow shoots up. “I thought your father was a Conte?”
Rina drags her eyes across me. “He is an ambitious man.”
“Well, that’s very generous of you,” I say, my voice carefully neutral as I shoot my mother a forced smile.
Evelina claps her hands lightly. “Well, the sun is setting. It would do you well to get some fresh air while it’s still light enough to admire the city’s beauty.”
I clench my jaw, searching for an excuse, anything to avoid being dragged deeper into this charade.
And then it comes to me, swift and clear.
“Actually, I’m unfortunately going to have to decline. I just got out of a meeting with a…colleague back home. I must check in on our…asset.” I glance at Rina, offering a tight smile. “Rain check?”
Evelina’s smile falters. “Business can wait, Dante. Marina came all this way?—”
“Don’t worry, Evelina,” Rina interrupts smoothly, her tone perfectly gracious. I don’t miss that she’s confident enough to address my mother by her given name. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping Dante from his work. We’ll catch up soon, won’t we?”
“Of course,” I reply. “Some other time.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she purrs right back, offering me a subtle wink as she turns to my mother to kiss her hand. Seemingly unperturbed by the rejection but holding enough dignity not to overstay her welcome.
As she walks away, I can feel my mother’s gaze burning into the side of my face, but right now, she’s not my priority.
“My duty is, first and foremost, to the Prince’s Guild in Brooklyn,” I say once Rina has disappeared through the front doors. “I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to interfere with my business until it has concluded.”
“You promised me,” Evelina hisses right back.
“And I have done everything you’ve asked,” I snap as I turn to look at her. “I do not appreciate unwanted house guests being sprung on me when I’m already balancing my duties back home and whatever busywork falls on your desk for the Ferro.”
“If you ever dream of becoming the Grasso di Ferro’s don?—”
“You are mistaken,” I interrupt with a severity I didn’t realize I truly felt. “I never dreamed of this.”
For a moment, my heart clenches at the sight of my mother’s sorrow. Evident, as it always has been, in her downturned her lips and the furrow of her brow. The familiarity of the look on her face does little to ease my fraying conscience.
Still, I force myself to turn my back on her.
The corridor grows cooler as I descend toward the castle’s basement, the polished grandeur of the upper floors giving way to stone walls and dim light, a walk I must have done at least two dozen times by now.
The unrestrained desire I felt before has evolved into something more honed, more purposeful, carved by misplaced anger toward Rina and my mother. Toward Rocco and Leon. Toward Carmen herself and this entire situation.
I’m not a man who has ever denied himself anything.
As I take the cell door keys from the lock box, I take comfort in the fact that this, at least, hasn’t changed.
When I enter the hallway to the cells, it’s around the usual time for my evening visits.
Last week, I might have broken the silence with a rant about my unwanted house guest or a question I’d been mulling over all day about Carmen’s apparent equestrian skill set.
Today, I approach the bars, keys dangling between my fingers, and wait for her to acknowledge me.
Her steps are quiet as she approaches. Her slim arms are held across her chest as her eyes narrow on the object in my hand. She examines it closely as if trying to determine its authenticity.
Finally, she pulls away.
“What is this?”
I loop the keys carelessly around my finger. “It would be easier if I came in and showed you.”