10. Dante
DANTE
B y this hour, good men around the world have put their kids to bed, made love to their wives, sent in those work e-mails, and read that book. Good men don’t have demons to run from. They’re lying back, eyes closed, lost in dreamless sleep.
But I wasn’t raised to be one of those men.
Sleep? Out the fucking window. Might as well have set my bed on fire and called it a night.
It’s well past two AM, and I’ve been pacing my room for hours. With every step, the walls shrink. Every thought? Louder than the last.
Cassie.
Her mouth. Her fire. Her taste is still fresh on my tongue from that kiss.
She’s in my head, and she’s not getting out anytime soon.
The kind of woman a man doesn’t just walk away from. The kind of woman who fucks a man up just by breathing.
I drag a hand down my face, burning with the weight of it. I’ve kissed women before. I’ve wrecked women before. But this? This one’s branded. Stamped. Etched into me like a goddamn tattoo I didn’t ask for.
I’ve been pacing so long I’m about to wear a trench into the floor. But standing still feels worse.
Because if I stop moving, I start thinking. About Cassie. About Aria.
And when that little kid walks through my mind, I’m back there again—ten years old, trembling while my father teaches me the first of many brutal lessons.
“Please,” the man cries, on his knees. “Think of my children.”
“Leon, I’m begging you,” my mother nearly screams in fear. “Don’t do this. Not here. Not like this.”
He ignores them both.
“Lesson number one, boy,” his voice still rasps through my skull. “We protect our own. At any cost.”
I hear the shot. The man’s head snaps back. He crumples to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.
My mother makes a sound—half-gasp, half-sob—and turns away. But I don’t. I can’t . I’m frozen, staring at the eyes that don’t blink anymore.
All I see is blood—the way it pools fast under a body, the way it stains tile permanently, the way my mother’s eyes—wet and hollow—lock onto mine.
Then, she screams. Roars like a lioness.
Rushes to my father, grabs him by his collar.
Reminds him that she had begged him not to kill that man in front of me.
My father pushes her aside like she’s nothing and no one.
My father forgot what it meant to raise a ten-year-old. Thought I was Rocky Balboa training for the final round, and he was Mickey with a goddamn death wish.
The problem is you beat a kid into a fighter; all he knows how to do is swing.
And my mother? Despite being mafia royalty, she spent her life ducking blows that weren’t meant for her, but landed anyway. She was a soft woman, always has been. She loved art, music, and dancing. My father caught her teaching me to cook once. I still remember the rage in his voice.
She was collateral damage. The cautionary tale. The woman with a bruised pride who kissed my scraped knuckles after every fight, like love could wash the violence off me. Who told me to close my eyes when my father killed a man in front of us, like that would make the screams go away.
For years, she shrank under his shadow, breaking into smaller, softer pieces, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But monsters always notice.
Fucking memories. They’re like landmines—buried deep, forgotten until one gets stepped on and boom . Everything explodes.
And now…
Now I look at Cassie. At that little girl. Christ, that kid—those blue-gray eyes. Like mirrors. Like fate sucker-punched me in the ribs and told me to pay attention.
I swear to God—I’ll torch this whole fucking world before I let history repeat itself.
That little girl? She shouldn’t grow up calling a piece of shit like Gino “daddy.” That stain on humanity parading around like he’s earned the title.
I know men like him—the scars they leave behind, the damage they wire into a kid’s bloodstream.
She deserves more than that. Deserves the kind of father who guards her like a goddamn vault, not some asshole who hides behind threats and dirty money. A kid like Aria? She gets the world handed to her. I’ll fight anyone who stands in the way of that.
Aria and Cassie deserve better.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to exorcise them from my mind. But they stick. Cassie has always stuck.
Sitting still? Not an option.
Not with her words still ricocheting through my skull.
It’s just threats. It’s probably nothing. I’ve handled it for three years…
Bull-fucking-shit.
The tremor in her voice? The way her eyes darted to the door, like the walls were closing in? That level of fear can’t be faked.
She thinks I’m going to sit back and pretend everything’s fine because she said so?
Not happening.
I shove my jacket on, keys in hand, before I’ve even made the decision. The streets outside are dead quiet, but under the surface? Monsters always lurk.
Not tonight.
I’m going to make damn sure none of them are following her. None of them gets within a mile of that house. Cassie thinks I’m walking away? Cute.
She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks. Or at all.
I slide behind the wheel, engine low and steady as I roll through town. Streetlights flicker, store windows glow faintly behind locked doors, but my eyes? They’re zeroed in on one thing.
Cassie’s street.
It’s tucked back in the sleepy part of town—the part where people leave their bikes unlocked on porches because they believe in the good in people.
Idiots.
I slow at the corner, killing my headlights, creeping up like a ghost. When I step out, just to take a look around so I can sleep easy, the night air is cool on my skin. The streets are empty—not even a stray cat moving in the shadows.
Except.
There.
At the edge of my vision. A figure. Still as death. Watching her house from the same side of the street I’m on, but about half a block down.
My blood runs cold. Every instinct I have honed through years of surviving in the Bratva screams danger.
I’m no wide-eyed rookie fresh off the bus—I know a predator when I see one, and no man’s standing outside her house this late unless he’s hunting.
I melt back into the shadows, becoming part of the darkness. The man doesn’t move. Just stands there, watching. Patient as a snake waiting for a mouse.
I circle, keeping to the tree line, moving silently as a lion in the Savannah. Who I am kicks in without conscious thought. I’m on autopilot, searching for where to land my fists.
I’m closer now and able to make out more details. Male. Medium build. Black hair. There’s something in his hand—small, glinting in the moonlight.
A phone? A knife?
He shifts slightly, and I freeze. But he’s not looking my way. He’s taking pictures. Of Cassie’s house. Of the windows where she and Aria sleep.
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding together so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack. A cold fury settles in my chest. The kind that doesn’t burn hot and fast, but freezes everything in its path.
The man finishes whatever he’s doing and starts moving. Not toward the house, but away. Down the street. To a car parked where the streetlights don’t reach.
I follow. Every muscle coiled and ready.
He gets in the driver’s side, and I slip up to the passenger window, just enough to glimpse him without being caught. Peer in.
What I see makes my blood turn to ice.
Dozens of photos that have no business being there. They’re pinned above the dashboard to the inside of the car. Cassie walking Aria to school. Cassie at the bakery. Aria playing in the park.
And one—that one damn near socks me in the chest. Cassie and I, back at the Romano barbecue. Standing close. Talking. Her looking up at me like she can’t believe I’m real.
But it’s what’s written across it that socks me harder than a bar brawl on dollar whiskey night.
“Confirm paternity. Then terminate.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint. Every sound fades except the rush of blood in my ears. The cold fury in my chest spreads, turning my veins to ice.
I should kill him now. One quick move. Break his neck. End the threat.
But that would only solve half the problem. Gino sent him. Gino wants to know if Aria is his.
Gino wants to “terminate,” and it’s Gino who’ll be seeing the end of my barrel.
I return to the shadows as the engine starts. Watch as the car pulls away, taillights disappearing around the corner.
This isn’t just about Cassie and me anymore. This is about Aria.
My jaw tightens as I stare after the car, my decision already made.
This ends now.