Chapter 28 Dante
DANTE
The fashion show is drawing to a close by the time we return.
Enzo doesn't even turn to look at us as we sit down beside him. He sniffs and repositions his chair away from us.
He can really be a drama queen sometimes, but Grace was right. I shouldn’t have snapped at him the way I did. I could have set boundaries without making a scene.
"Hey," I whisper, leaning forward to catch his eye. "Are we cool?"
"You left me alone at a fashion show," he says. "We are most definitely not cool."
"I'm sorry," I say.
Enzo’s head snaps toward me. His eyes widen before shifting to Grace.
“No seriously, what have you done to him?" he asks her. "He's like a whole another person."
"He's always been nice to me." Grace shrugs. "Mostly."
“He’s full of surprises lately,” Enzo says, shaking his head and returning his attention to the show.
I look at Grace. Her eyes are sparkling in a way they've never done before. There's no apprehension in her eyes anymore. It's just pure trust.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, letting it linger there.
“Honestly, get a room," Enzo says.
"We already did," I tell him.
"You're going to get us kicked out of here if you keep up the PDA," he tells me.
"I don't think it's offending anyone,” I say.
"Uh, I beg to differ." He turns his chair even farther away from us.
Everyone's looking at the stage, but I can't stop looking at my wife. Something had shifted between us after we made love. In the afterglow, when I was just holding her in my arms, time itself seemed to freeze.
I noticed the sunlight on her skin. I noticed the beauty of the paintings.
For the first time in a long time, I was paying attention to the world around me.
Grace rests her head on my shoulder and watches the show. A singer performs live on stage as the models showcase the designer’s collection. There seems to be a nautical theme. All of the dresses are inspired by pirates, mermaids, and sea creatures.
The music swells as all of the models are brought out. They stand behind the designer, who's wearing a long black dress that glitters to life under all the lights. She's beaming at everyone in the audience, so comfortable on stage that she looks like she was born to be in the limelight.
“It’s Ivy Blackwood," Grace whispers, looking starstruck. “I adore her.”
Enzo turns to look at her. "Would you say that you like her more than you like Dante?"
"Go back to ignoring us," I tell him.
“She’s so iconic,” Grace says.
I wonder if she knows that Ivy Blackwood is also the leader of a criminal organization in Chicago. It was her father's legacy, and she takes care of it to this day. The fashion line acts as a creative front to the real business.
Grace is wiggling around in her seat. I've never seen her this excited about anything before, and it only reminds me of the difference in age between us.
When she cranes her neck, I see the love bites darkening on her neck and chest.
Instead of feeling like a bastard about it, it only makes my cock harder. I like that I left a mark on her skin. I like that I left my come inside her pussy.
A sick satisfaction courses through my veins now.
After a lifetime of being with monsters, I think I became one in the process.
When I look back at the stage, my eyes land on one of the models. She's tall, blonde, and has the smile of a pageant queen. My heart drops in my chest.
It can't be.
The girl is squealing with joy and dancing on stage. But I've studied body language. I notice the little details—the way her smile doesn't reach her eyes, the way everything she's doing looks rehearsed, the way her eyes have a hollowness to them.
My head fills with white noise.
Grace tugs on my hand. "How gorgeous is Ivy’s Bvlgari necklace? It matches so perfectly with her dress. Did you know that 50 percent of that dress is made of ocean waste?”
When I don't reply, she looks up at me, then follows my gaze to the model on stage.
"Do you know her?" she asks.
I can't bring myself to speak.
I've waited my entire life for this moment. I spent years hoping for the smallest piece of luck. And now I'm looking right at it.
I have to tear my eyes off the girl to look at Grace.
"She's..." I can't get the words out. "I'll explain later, baby."
I look back at the model. I'm afraid to even blink. I don't want her out of my sight for even a second.
"Enzo," I say. "The blonde in the green dress."
He searches the stage. It takes him a moment longer to recognize her.
"After all these years," he says, exhaling slowly.
"I know." My eyes brim with tears. "I know."
"Dante, who is she?" Grace asks.
It feels like there's something wrapped around my throat, keeping me from speaking. I'm afraid that if I were to say her name out loud, she'll disappear into thin air. Because this feels too good to be true.
"It's not safe to speak here," I tell her. "I'll explain everything later."
She nods, biting down on her bottom lip. And then she reaches up to cup my face. Her affection is so sweet that it only makes the tightness in my throat worse.
"I think you're my lucky charm, piccola," I say, kissing the inside of her wrist. "Good things only started happening to me after you walked into my life."
Ivy Blackwood and the models head backstage. I stand the second the show ends. I can’t risk her slipping through my fingers.
I wrap my arm around Grace’s waist as I weave through the crowd with her. Enzo stays back. He has to.
When we near the backstage area, we’re met with a line of bodyguards. I recognize them for who they are—trained killers. They're not part of some security agency. They're here to protect their boss.
A man steps forward, blocking our path.
“I’m sorry, but this area is off-limits,” he says. “I cannot let you inside.”
“They’re with me,” a man says from behind us.
I turn around to find Nico Monte, a tall man with black curls and clear blue eyes. He’s from a prominent Italian American mafia family, and I know he’s friends with Ivy Blackwood.
“You’re the Grim Reaper, right?” he says. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
“Just the Reaper,” I say.
“Sorry?”
“It’s just the Reaper,” I say. “I’m not the Grim Reaper. That’s someone else.”
“Nevertheless, big fan,” he says. “Ivy told me that you would be coming.”
He looks curiously at Grace, waiting for an introduction.
“This is my wife,” I say, placing my hand on the small of her back. “Grace, this is Nico Monte.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
He gives her an easy smile. “Pleasure is all mine.”
The security guard lets us through.
As soon as we enter the backstage area, my eyes scan the space for the blonde girl. My heart is swollen now and permanently lodged in my throat. Or at least that's what it feels like.
There's a flurry of activity all around us as people go in and out of the dressing room.
“How long will you be staying in Paris?” Nico asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I tell him. “But I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
“Not even a little bit?” Nico smirks. “Everyone saw the two of you sneaking in when Ivy’s show was about to end.”
“Okay, maybe a little pleasure.” I smirk.
When the door to the dressing room opens, all of us glance that way.
Grace’s hand tightens over mine.
“It’s her,” she whispers.
Ivy Blackwood walks straight toward the three of us. She gives Nico a warm hug, then smiles at Grace and me.
"I'm Dante Mancini, Caporegime of the Camorra," I say, introducing myself. “And this is my wife, Grace.”
“I know who you are, Dante,” she says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. And it’s lovely to meet you as well, Grace.”
Grace is completely starstruck right now.
I know that Ivy’s schedule is packed today, so I get straight to the point.
“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person. It’s something I believe we have mutual interest in,” I say, glancing once again at the dressing room’s door. A few people filter out. They’re photographers and crew members.
"Continue," Ivy says.
"It's a sensitive topic," I say.
"Would you be more comfortable speaking in my private office then?" she asks. "I have ten minutes before I'm needed elsewhere."
I glance over at the door again. I can't leave. She could walk out any second now.
"No, this is fine," I say.
Ivy crosses her arms and tilts her head expectantly, waiting for me to speak.
I find myself wishing that Enzo were here. He’s better at talking. He performs well even under pressure. I can feel Grace looking at me. When seconds pass without me saying anything, she comes to my rescue.
“I just wanted to say that the show was spectacular,” Grace says. “It felt like a childhood dream come to life.”
“That’s such a beautiful compliment, thank you,” Ivy says, pressing a hand to her heart.
“All of your collections are magnificent, but you’ve really outdone yourself with this one,” Grace says. “I especially loved the iridescent mermaid finale look.”
Ivy’s smile widens. “That dress was completely handmade. It took my team four months to finish the piece. It’s my personal favorite too.”
“Mine too,” Nico adds. “It would make the perfect gift for my wife.”
“I can have one custom-made for Luna,” Ivy offers.
“You’re the best,” Nico says.
A woman rushes to Ivy’s side and whispers in her ear. Ivy nods as she listens, then shifts her gaze to me. “Unfortunately, I must go, but I hope you’ll attend my after-party this evening? We can talk in private there.”
She flutters her fingers at us, then slips away.
A sense of defeat envelops me.
I’m wasting precious time. I haven’t accomplished anything in all the years I’ve worked for Don Savastano, and I’m failing my sister yet again.
Grace tugs on my arm.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
I turn to look at her, but my eyes catch on Nico Monte. He has a look of understanding on his face, like he knows exactly why I’m here.
“It’s about the children and the women, isn’t it?” he asks in Italian.
I hesitate for a moment. I’ve heard things about Nico Monte. He’s volatile, hotheaded, unpredictable. But my gut feeling tells me I can trust him.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said that I follow your work,” he continues in Italian.
“I know what you do. And I would like to offer my support. If you’re planning to attend Ivy’s after-party tonight, I can arrange a meeting with the heads of the other families.
I know people who will be happy to support the cause. ”
I’ve never been more grateful for someone in my entire life. Relief dissolves all of the tension that’s been building inside me.
I look at Grace.
“We’ll be there.” I nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll introduce you to everyone tonight,” Nico says.
I extend my hand for a handshake, but he pulls me into a hug. And then he leans down to kiss Grace on each cheek.
Just as he leaves, the door to the dressing room opens again. My heart is slamming hard against my breastbone before I even turn around.
It’s her.
A million thoughts fight for control in my head. I can’t believe my luck. After two decades of endless work, I’ve been blessed with serendipity.
"Paige," I call out.
The girl turns to look right at me. Her eyes widen before she quickly looks away.
Strange.
I walk toward her as she picks up her stride. I'm faster than her, though.
"Paige Dawson, am I correct?" I ask, coming to a stop before her.
She's a tall woman, over six feet with her stilettos on. Her eyes flick up and down my face.
"I'm sorry," she says. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else."
“Summer of 2007,” I say. "You were playing in the park where a white van was parked. Two men snatched you off the swing set, and you were never seen again.”
She takes a deep breath. "Sir, I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“My sister was taken that same year,” I tell her. “It’s the reason I know who you are. You weren’t forgotten, Paige. There were others, too. I learned your stories. I remembered your faces. I guarded your memory in the hope that one day I’d find every one of you.”
“Can you please step out of my way?” she says. “I have another show to attend.”
For a moment, I doubt my own reality.
The girls were only children when they disappeared. I had to use artificial intelligence to recreate the faces they would have grown into. And I assumed that the girl standing before me was Paige Dawson, one of the forty-five girls who went missing in London that summer.
I could be wrong.
But I don’t think I am. I notice the rapid pulsing of her jugular vein. Her face remains eerily composed, but her body language gives her away.
"What is your name?” I ask her.
"I'm sorry, who are you again?" she says, placing a hand on her hip.
I discreetly hand her my phone. There's a hitch in her breathing, but she takes it from me without taking her eyes off me.
"You just look so much like someone I know,” I say. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
"Sir, please leave before I call security,” she says, briefly glancing down at the phone even as she keeps her head tilted up in a haughty manner.
She finishes typing and hands the phone back to me.
With a dramatic sigh, she sidesteps me and walks off without looking back.
I glance down at the Notes app on my phone.
Skylink
37 Rue des Lumières
A name and an address. I have no clue what either of these means, but I'm going to find out. I send Enzo a text.
"I have so many questions," Grace says from beside me.
"You and me both, piccola," I say, pulling her closer toward me. Her arms come to wrap around me. I never thought I'd find solace in the arms of another person, but this girl is always everything I need. "Let's get out of here. I need to be alone with you."