Dante
The storage room door clicked shut behind him as he stepped back into the hallway alone. His pulse was still hammering from being pressed against her in that tiny dark room, breathing her in, while trying not to drag her against him and kiss her until neither of them remembered their own names.
Jesus Christ. He rubbed a hand over his face and headed downstairs before anyone noticed he’d been gone too long. The second he walked into Santos’s office, Rafael looked up from behind his desk with his cold brown eyes. They were the kind of men who had watched other men die and felt nothing.
“Where were you?” Santos asked.
“You didn’t mention having a watchdog,” the stranger said casually.
Santos smirked. “Dante’s loyal.” If only the bastard knew how wrong he was.
Dante kept his face blank even as rage burned through him.
He’d spent the last three years secretly trying to figure out where Santos was hiding his sister.
That was why he woke up every morning wondering if Sofia was still alive.
It was why he was one bad day away from putting a bullet in Rafael Santos’s skull.
“Lark in her room?” Santos asked.
Dante’s spine locked instantly. “Yeah.” It was another lie, and the stranger seemed to notice. He could tell by the way the guy slightly tilted his head while studying him. He saw the interest in the stranger’s eyes.
Santos leaned back in his chair. “Good, I don’t want her wandering around while we have guests.” Guests—Dante nearly laughed at his boss calling the guy sitting across from him a guest. Only Rafael Santos would call a psychopath in a tailored suit a guest.
“What exactly are you offering?” the stranger asked.
Santos folded his hands together. “Access.”
“To your daughter?” the man asked. Dante’s blood ran cold, and every muscle in his body tightened violently.
Santos smiled slowly. “Access to my daughter will be expensive. Lark is very valuable.”
The stranger’s expression never changed. “Women aren’t currency to me.”
“No?” Santos asked. “That’s disappointing. I was told you had expensive tastes.”
Something dark flickered behind the stranger’s eyes, then vanished. “I came for information,” he said flatly. “Not entertainment.”
Santos chuckled. “Everything has a price.” Dante forced himself to stand still while fury clawed through him.
Lark had been right—her father was planning something.
He wanted to sell her, trade her, or use her in some way, and the sick bastard was discussing it like he did business over drinks.
Dante wanted to kill him, not for the first time.
The stranger stood smoothly from his chair. “I’ll think about your offer.”
“You do that,” Santos said.
As the man walked past Dante, he paused just long enough to murmur, “You should work on your tells.” Then he walked out. Dante didn’t move until the front doors shut behind him. Fuck. Who the hell was that?
“You look tense,” Santos said lazily.
Dante glanced toward him carefully. “Just tired.”
“Mm,” Santos hummed. That sound alone was enough to put him on edge. Santos studied people the way snakes studied prey, waiting for them to show weakness.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” Santos said.
Dante forced himself to shrug. “Long hours.”
“You know what happens to people who disappoint me?” Santos asked. His stomach twisted because he knew exactly what happened to people who disappointed his boss. Hell, he had helped bury some of them.
“I won’t disappoint you,” Dante lied.
“You already are,” Santos breathed, sitting back in his chair.
Silence filled the room, but Dante kept his expression neutral even as adrenaline surged through his veins.
Santos opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a photograph, and then he slid it across the desk, and Dante stopped breathing.
It was a photo of Sofia. His little sister smiled brightly in the picture, dark curls falling around her face.
The photo had been taken recently, as though it was proof of life—cruel fucking proof.
“You miss her?” Santos asked softly.
Dante swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Good.” Santos leaned back again. “Fear keeps people obedient.” Hatred exploded inside Dante so hard it nearly blinded him. One day—one fucking day, he’d kill this man slowly. But not today. Today, he still needed Sofia alive.
“Get Lark and bring her downstairs tomorrow night,” Santos ordered. “We’re having dinner with some important people.”
Dante’s stomach sank. “What kind of people?”
Santos smiled. “The kind who might finally make my daughter useful. Now, earn your keep and guard my daughter’s room.
I can’t have anything happen to her now.
Dante nodded and left the office. He stood outside Lark’s bedroom door with his hand clenched around the key.
He couldn’t stop hearing Santos’s words.
He had called her useful, like she was an object.
Like she wasn’t a living, breathing woman who looked at the world like she was drowning in it.
Dante rested his forehead briefly against the door.
This was getting bad—worse than bad. And the terrifying part was that he was starting to realize he’d burn this entire empire to the ground before he let Santos hand Lark over to anyone.
Dante didn’t sleep. He sat in the security room at four in the morning staring at camera feeds while rage slowly hollowed him out from the inside.
Lark’s bedroom camera was blacked out, not because she’d done it, but because he had—three nights ago.
A small glitch in the system nobody had noticed except him.
He’d told himself it was because Santos watched her too often, and that it made him sick seeing the old man monitor his own daughter like property.
But deep down, Dante knew the truth—he’d done it because he wanted one place in this godforsaken house where Lark could breathe without someone watching her.
The security door opened behind him, and Dante immediately straightened. Marco walked in carrying coffee and looking half-awake. “You been here all night?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Dante said.
Marco frowned at the monitors. “Boss is jumpy lately.” No shit. Dante took the coffee without thanking him.
“Any idea who that guy was yesterday?” Marco asked quietly.
Dante shook his head. “No.”
“He wasn’t cartel,” Marco said.
“No, he wasn’t,” Dante agreed.
Marco lowered his voice further. “Think he’s government?” That made Dante go still.
“Why would you think that?” he asked.
“That guy had military written all over him.” Marco shrugged.
“Didn’t move like one of us, either,” Dante grunted noncommittally and looked back at the screens before Marco noticed the sudden tension in his face.
The guy couldn’t be from the government because Dante wasn’t that lucky.
If the feds were finally circling Santos, Dante wouldn’t have to destroy himself by taking the bastard down alone.
Maybe then, Sofia would still have a chance.
Marco yawned. “Anyway, the boss wants everyone armed tonight. He’s having a big dinner.”
Dante’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. I heard.”
“Something about the daughter being involved too,” Marco said. Every muscle in Dante’s body tightened violently, and Marco seemed to notice. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You got it bad.”
Dante slowly looked at him. “What?”
Marco snorted. “Come on, everybody sees it.”
Cold panic slid down Dante’s spine. “No, they don’t, because there is nothing to see.”
“They do,” Marco said casually. “You hover around her like a damn guard dog.” Dante was a guard dog, just not for Santos, but for her.
Dante stood abruptly. “Watch your mouth.”
Marco raised both hands immediately. “Relax. I’m not judging. She’s hot.” The second those words left his mouth, Dante saw red. He grabbed Marco by the throat and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle the monitors.
“Don’t talk about her like that,” he shouted.
Marco choked in surprise, eyes wide. “What the fuck?—”
Dante tightened his grip. “You don’t look at her. You don’t think about her. You don’t fucking talk about her.” The room went dead silent except for Marco struggling to breathe. Dante realized what he was doing, and slowly, he let go of him.
Marco stumbled back, coughing violently while staring at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. “Jesus Christ,” Marco rasped. “You really are fucked.” Dante turned away before he put the guy through another wall, because he wasn’t wrong—he was fucked.
“I’m making rounds,” he said, needing some space from Marco. He wanted to check on Lark before the big dinner. He walked to her room and stood outside her bedroom door, trying to get himself under control before going inside, but he failed miserably.
The second he opened the door and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed in a black silk robe, his entire body locked up. Lark’s dark hair spilled over her shoulders in messy waves, and her bare legs crossed slowly as she looked up at him. Suspicion filled her expression instantly.
“What now?” she asked. Dante shut the door behind him harder than intended, and Lark’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he breathed.
“Liar,” she challenged.
He exhaled slowly. “Your father wants you downstairs tonight.”
Her face went cold instantly. “For what?”
“A dinner,” he said, trying to give her as little information as possible.
“With who?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, but that was another lie.
Lark stood slowly from the bed. “You do know.” Dante looked away, which was a bad move because she walked straight toward him. Every instinct he had screamed at him to back up. Instead, he stayed perfectly still as she stopped inches away.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispered. That nearly fucking destroyed him because scaring her was the last thing that he wanted to do.
Dante dragged a hand over his face. “Lark?—”
“What is my father planning?” she asked. His silence answered for him. Fear flickered across her face before anger quickly replaced it. “He’s selling me,” she said flatly.
“No,” he breathed.
“But he wants to,” she said.
Dante’s jaw clenched. “Yes.” The honesty shocked both of them.
Lark stared at him for a long moment before laughing bitterly. “Wow, at least we’re finally being honest with each other.”
“You need to listen to me carefully,” he insisted. Something in his tone made her straighten immediately. Dante stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tonight, stay near me.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why?” she asked.
“Just do it,” he ordered.
“Dante—”
“Stay near me,” he said again, this time with a little more heat.
The command came out rougher than intended, making Lark’s breath hitch softly, and fuck, he noticed that too.
He noticed everything about her. The way her pulse jumped in her throat, the way her lips parted slightly when he got too close, and the way she looked at him like she hated him and wanted him in equal measure. It was going to get them both killed.
“You can’t protect me forever,” she whispered. Dante’s chest tightened painfully. No, he probably couldn’t, but he’d die trying.
“You’d be surprised what I’d do for you,” he said quietly. Lark froze, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot, and too dangerous. Dante saw the exact second she realized he meant it. And the terrifying part was, so did he.