8. Dante
DANTE
C edar Falls sleeps easily.
A little town like this? Nobody checks their locks twice. Porch lights flicker like fireflies, and screen doors creak on opening. Sounds of dogs barking carry two streets over. Summer haze softens the edges of everything.
I walk through it like a fucking shadow.
Unseen. Unheard. Exactly how I like it.
I can’t fucking think straight.
Haven’t been able to since she showed up at the house with legs that’d make Marilyn Monroe jealous.
I came out here to clear my head. Get some air. Remind myself that I’ve got bigger shit to deal with than a woman I fucked once but never forgot.
And yet, my feet steer me to her street.
Fuck.
I didn’t think about where I was going.
The houses line up like soldiers, neat little boxes with white fences and tidy gardens. The kind of place people pretend monsters don’t crawl into after dark.
Her porch light’s off. The curtains are drawn. But I know she’s in there, probably putting her little kid to bed. I stop across the street, shoving my hands in my pockets.
What the hell are you doing, Dante?
You came out here to forget her. To forget the goddamn fire under your skin every time you think of her.
I drag in a breath and force my feet to walk away, even though I want to stay put.
Keep walking. It’s the smart thing to do.
But when it comes to Cassie Russo, I’m a cocaine addict with a tray full of magic powder in front of me.
When I get home, I find Tina draped across the couch, painting her nails like we’re living in her personal salon. “You look like you’ve been brooding again,” she says. “It’s loud.”
I grunt, cracking my neck. “Tell me about Cassie’s kid.”
That gets her attention.
“Aria? Why?”
“Saw her at the party. She said hello. Got curious.”
“Polite little thing. Wish you took notes,” Tina snorts, then her face softens. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Cass won’t say much. I know Gino’s not around.
Never was. He’s a real piece of shit, too.
Cass got out of Chicago fast after the divorce—officially moved back here once the papers were signed, had Aria more or less by herself, and started the bakery-café.
She doesn’t like to talk about him, but I know enough. ”
“Know what?”
Tina clicks her tongue. “That something wasn’t right with him.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Meaning?”
“She wasn’t herself around him,” she mutters, curling her legs under her.
“You know, Cass—sharp, mouthy, always got a smart-ass comeback. But back then? She was… different. Quiet. Jumpy. Like she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then there were the bruises she could never explain…”
I exhale through my nose, jaw ticking. I know that look. I’ve seen women wear it in Moscow—the ones tethered to men who play rough and call it love.
But hearing that shit near Cassie and the kid? It sets something savage loose in me.
“She’s okay now?” I feel like a moron even asking. A person doesn’t come out of something like that without cracks.
“You know how it is,” she says, sounding sad. “I’m just glad she got out of there. You know the family he comes from. Rich, dangerous, and lots of secrets. Total assholes, if you ask me.”
“Totally.” I clench my fists tightly.
“Why do you look like you’re about to break something?”
“No reason. Just tired.”
I walk away.
But I already know I won’t be able to sleep tonight.
The second I reach my room, I make the calls to my old contacts. Guys who owe me favors, or fear me enough to follow instructions.
My old contacts—Chicago, New York, Moscow. Names that shake the underworld. And for me? They answer fast with trembling voices.
“It’s been a while, Dante.” Viktor’s voice trembles slightly, as it should. He had a ball buster of a time when I was away, on my dime, too. “What can I do for you?”
“I need information, Viktor. On the ex from Chicago for a Cassie Russo with a kid named Aria. First name Gino. Last name Esposito. He’s with the Italians.”
I hear typing in the background. Viktor’s good—former FSB with fingers in every database from Chicago PD to the goddamn CIA.
“Nasty piece of work,” Viktor says after a moment.
Fucking Esposito blood. The Italians always think they run shit—flashy suits, loud mouths. But they bleed like anyone else. And their reach? It never scared the Russians. Never scared me.
I make a few more calls to see what good-for-nothing shit he’s up to now.
“Esposito? That fucker. Dangerous, sure. But stupid. Second-generation money, no discipline. Italian arrogance. They think they’re untouchable, but they’ve been pissing off the wrong people for years,” one tells me.
The contact keeps talking. “Word is, Esposito’s family’s been slipping.
Gino made enemies. Got sloppy with his businesses.
Heard he laid hands on his woman. Rumors say he enjoys hurting women.
Shot up trouble at a brothel he’s taken to visiting the past three years.
” His tone darkens. “Didn’t end well for some of the girls he requested. ”
My fists clench. Cold rage pulses through me.
What the hell did this asshole put Cassie through?
No one ever told her about us—the Romanos. She has no idea what I am, what my last name means outside Cedar Falls. As far as I know, she thinks I’m some rich boy with a bad temper. I hope she never finds out about the body count stacked behind the Romano name. Or mine.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s fucking clueless about her ex, too. I remember her mentioning that she had bad taste in men and that he was a bad guy, but was she talking about how he treated her or who he was? The Espositos are bottom-feeders compared to the Bratva, but they’re still dangerous.
I hang up, my mind racing. Did she marry that prick knowing what she was getting into? Or did she get trapped the way so many women do—thinking she could fix him, soften the edges, survive it?
It doesn’t matter. She’s out now. But her trouble is not over. Things might’ve calmed down, but Espositos are known for not letting things go. They let it simmer. Fester. And then, they come back when their victims least expect it.
I wanted to run to her last night. Every damn cell in my body was ready to knock on that door, cross her porch, walk through her walls—straight into that bedroom I haven’t stopped thinking about for three goddamn years.
But showing up like that? With the way I’m wired for her? Would’ve ended messy—her up against the wall, my hands everywhere they shouldn’t be.
No, smarter to let the night pass. To play it cool.
This isn’t about old feelings, I tell myself as I jump behind the wheel first thing in the morning.
I take the car, head toward Main Street. The bakery’s up ahead—Honey & Hearth. Cozy with its small-town charm. I always knew Cassie could turn ashes into an empire.
The bakery sign still reads closed, but I park anyway. Fuck semantics. The lights are on, and that’s enough for me. I sit there in my car like a creep with a front-row seat to the one thing that can bring me to my knees faster than Super Bowl tickets at the fifty-yard line.
Through the window, I see her. Cassie, with her smile that makes men forget their fathers’ names.
She and Aria are turning chairs over, wiping down tables. The kid’s giggling so hard she’s practically doubled over. Cassie laughs too, with her head thrown back. Like she didn’t get chewed up by life and spat out.
I stand in my car, pretending I’ve got my shit together, but inside? Wreckage.
She looks… happy. Radiant, even now that the world’s letting her breathe, at last. And fuck me, it shouldn’t sting, but it does.
There’s this low, grinding tension beneath my sternum, like a car crash slow-motioning inside me. I should’ve been the one to give her that life. The one making plans for us. Not some sadistic fuck with an Italian last name and fists he can’t control.
I should’ve been there, but I wasn’t.
And that’s on me.
But I’m here now. And the only way Gino Esposito is getting to her is over my dead fucking body. Hiding out in my car like a coward? That’s not my style.
Before I can think twice, I’m out of the car, across the street, pushing open the bakery door.
The bell jingles, but I step in quietly, carefully, catching Cassie’s eye across the room. Her cheeks flush, and her mouth hangs open. I see her chest heaving.
And me? Well, I feel fucking hopeful. Like a man chasing the end of a rainbow for a Leprechaun with a pot of gold.
Seeing Cassie and Aria pushes the feeling of nothing to lose into a distant memory now.
They’re mine. Mine to protect.
Aria’s wiping crumbs off a chair, humming to herself, too distracted to notice me.
Good. Because this conversation isn’t for little ears. I walk over to Cassie and whisper. “We need to talk. Somewhere private.”
Cassie goes rigid, knowing it can’t be good.
There are things that we need to address that can’t be ignored any longer. But first things first: her ex—an asshole that won’t stop coming.