14. Dante
DANTE
T he cameras don’t lie.
I stand at the counter with my eyes glued to the feed.
My pulse moves steadily, but every muscle coils beneath my skin as I watch the figure outside pace the driveway like he’s got all night to fuck with my head.
He’s not out there for a stroll. He’s casing us. Watching. Testing how close he can get.
He picked the wrong family to fuck with.
Whoever this asshole is has no idea who he’s playing with. Wrong house. Wrong family. And definitely the wrong man.
I’ve buried threats for less.
Cassie’s behind me, wound so tight I can feel the tension burning off her. But I can’t afford to comfort her right now. Fear’s useful. Fear keeps people alive.
I’ve got people to protect. A kid sleeping down the hall. A woman breaking apart from the weight of secrets she thinks I can’t see.
The guy’s still there with his hoodie drawn low like he fears nothing. He’s cocky. He thinks this is a game. Oh, by the time I’m done with him, he’ll pray for an entry to hell itself. The porch light flickers, casting him in and out of view, just enough for my blood to burn hotter.
The rage builds quietly and lethally under my skin, but I keep it leashed; otherwise, I’ll let it blind me. Can’t let that happen with Cassie, Aria, and Tina under my roof.
I drag open the drawer beside me, fingers curling around the knives tucked in the back.
Not my preferred weapons, but they’ll do for now.
I sling one into my belt. A blade at my ankle.
Another under my shirt. Silent insurance policies I’ve carried half my life.
Cassie flinches watching me arm myself, but I see the fear in her eyes—it’s not just for me. It’s for her. For the kid.
“Dante,” Cassie whispers, voice tight with fear, “what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry, Cass,” I tell her, hiding a few knives in my boots as well, just for good measure.
“Stay here,” I tell her as I leave the kitchen.
Cassie Russo doesn’t exactly specialize in obedience, though.
Of course, the second I step toward the living room, I hear her trailing after me, barefoot on the tile like some rebellious angel who never learned fear properly.
I glance back, jaw tight. “Cass, stay.”
She folds her arms, chin tilted high like she’s not scared. But I see the cracks beneath it. She’s afraid.
“I’m not some helpless princess, Dante,” she snaps. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m just going to make sure there’s no trouble outside,” I give her some kind of answer. She deserves that much.
I round the corner into the living room and stop by the painting—abstract bullshit Tina insisted on hanging years ago.
It proved to be a good cover, though, so I didn’t mind footing the bill.
I drag the painting aside, exposing the hidden compartment in the wall.
My fingers click the latch, and I curl around the gun, pulling it into sight.
When I pocket it, Cassie’s eyes widen, fear bleeding into her stubborn expression.
“Why… why the hell do you have a gun?” Her voice is quieter now.
“Self-defense.” I don’t look at her as I lie smoothly. “The world’s not as soft as you want it to be, Cass.”
Cassie doesn’t know the monster I was raised to be. And I’m not ready just yet to tell her. Maybe someday… But right now, trust is a fragile thing we’re still building. Honesty, in my eyes, comes after trust.
“Stay inside,” I tell her sharply now. “Lock the door behind me.”
“What? No!” She grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t go out there. We should call the police.”
“If we wait, he could enter. If we wait, we might never know who he is. Just let me handle this right, Cass.”
“Handle what, right? There’s just some creep outside! It could be a mistake, it could be?—”
“It’s not a mistake,” I cut her off again. “That’s not how mistakes look. That’s how threats look.”
Cassie hovers, torn between arguing and freezing. Her hands curl at her sides like she wants to hold me back, but she doesn’t.
“I’ve got this,” I say, softer now. “But I need you to stay inside. Stay with Aria.”
She nods.
I slip out the back door. The motion lights kick on as I step onto the porch, flooding the driveway with harsh white light. I scan the yard for shadows that don’t match the trees.
Nothing.
My boots eat up the distance to the driveway. The night stays quiet around me.
Too quiet.
But by the time I get there? Gone.
Like smoke. Just empty fucking air and the hum of crickets under the porch light.
My gut knots, rage simmering low beneath my ribs. I circle the property twice, my pulse steady, scanning every shadow, every sound. I check the spots where he stood, finding only damp grass and, near the tree line, the butt of a cigarette. Still warm. Fresh.
Son of a bitch.
He ran the second I stepped outside. As if he were just here to send a message, not to engage. It’s the calling card of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. And exactly who they’re dealing with.
Fucking coward.
I pocket the cigarette butt, thinking of prints. DNA. Any leads to trace this back to the source.
Back inside, I find Cassie exactly where I left her, hovering in the kitchen over the camera footage like she’s afraid to even breathe. Her eyes widen when I walk in, scanning me like she’s expecting to see blood.
Who does she think I am? John Wick?
“He’s gone,” I tell her, moving back to the security feeds. “Disappeared before I could have our... chat.”
Her shoulders slump with relief. “Thank God.”
I check each camera feed again, making sure he hasn’t circled back. The property looks clear, but that doesn’t mean it is. There are blind spots. Weak points in the security that I never bothered to fix because this was supposed to be our retreat.
My phone’s in my hand before I’ve made the conscious decision to call. Muscle memory.
“Viktor,” I say when he answers. “Need you to run surveillance on the Romano property. Someone just paid us a visit.”
“What kind of visit?”
“The kind that stalks and doesn’t stay for introductions.”
I send the security footage directly to his phone, hearing the ping as it arrives.
“I’ll have someone run facial recognition and try to see who the plates belong to,” he says. “We’ll hack into street cameras and see if we can find a destination. We’ll find something.”
“I want everything. Where did he come from? Where he went.”
“On it. You want a team there?”
I glance at Cassie, who’s watching me with those wide, fearful eyes. Having a security detail show up would raise too many questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Not yet,” I tell Viktor. “Just information for now. Find me all you can about this man. I want him.”
I hang up, and Cassie’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Someone who can help.”
“The police?” She sounds hopeful, naive.
I almost smile. “No. Not the police.”
Her face falls. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
“What else am I supposed to do? Wait around for him to come back with more trouble? More men?”
“Dante, please. Whatever you’re thinking of doing...” Her eyes flick to where the knives and guns are hidden. “Please don’t. For Aria’s sake.”
For Aria’s sake. The words hit like a sucker punch. Because she’s right—that little girl sleeping upstairs? She doesn’t need violence in her life. The kid doesn’t need to know her father—if I am her father—is the kind of man who knows exactly how to make people disappear.
But what Cassie doesn’t understand is that violence isn’t black and white. If I don’t do something? There’ll be something worse edging in through the night.
Something far more violent.
I turn back to Cassie, jaw tight. “I’m not going to kill him. Just want to have a conversation.”
The kind of conversation that leaves marks, but she doesn’t need to know that part.
Her eyes narrow, not buying it. “Promise me you won’t hurt him. Not unless you absolutely have to.”
I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
“I promised to keep her safe,” I say sharply. “That’s what this is.”
Her shoulders slump, eyes shining like she wants to keep fighting but knows she won’t win. I soften, barely. “Go to bed, Cass. I’ll handle it.”
Her jaw clenches, stubborn as ever, but she leaves.
I follow, but not to sleep. Not yet.
I drift down the hall, past closed doors and quiet rooms, stopping outside the one that matters.
Aria’s.
She’s asleep, tiny body curled beneath the blankets, one fist tucked under her chin. Even in sleep, she’s got my damn face. My eyes. My storm-blue stare.
Every inch of her screams mine.
It hurts to look at her. My chest feels too tight, ribs banded with something heavier than air.
Just then, my phone rings. I close the door, take the call down the hallway, and stare out the window.
“Viktor?”
“Boss. We believe it was Gino Esposito.”
“Gino Esposito?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“We’re quite positive, boss. The plates belong to him, and we traced it back to his place in Chicago. The height and build from the footage match.”
“Fucking Gino.” The words slice through my teeth. I snap the phone shut, pulse steady, mind already calculating how this ends.