Chapter 31 Grace
GRACE
I've never seen Dante's face go white.
He wasn’t expecting to see his Don so soon. He doesn’t even blink until I squeeze his hand in mine.
"Wasn't your Don in a US federal prison?" Nico asks.
“He started a fire and escaped in the chaos,” Damian says.
“I need to meet this icon,” Nico says, his eyes shining with reverence.
"What are you going to do?" I whisper to Dante.
"I'm going to go see him. He doesn't like to be kept waiting," Dante says, standing. He glances at the men. "I'll be in touch.”
He heads toward the door like a man walking to the gallows.
I hurry to keep up with his long strides.
I try to read his face, but his stony expression doesn't give much away. His whole world is about to change tonight. It's natural that he's resistant to that.
While descending the staircase, he stops walking abruptly.
"Enzo doesn't exist," he says, looking forward.
"Sorry?"
"Don't mention his name before the Don," Dante says.
I have no clue what that's supposed to mean, but I nod. My mind is whirling with a million thoughts as I follow Dante to the entrance.
Before stepping outside, I glance up at the mezzanine. Ivy and the men are watching us leave. Something tells me that it won’t be my last time seeing them.
When I look back outside, my eyes immediately catch on Don Savastano.
He's leaning against a Rolls-Royce like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
My breath halts in my lungs.
I know his face from photographs, but the man before me is something else entirely.
As we get closer to him, I hear whispers about the things he's done to his ex-wives. He emits a strange kind of aura, like a dying star that's about to go out in a supernova.
He's also much, much larger than the average man.
Dante stands over six feet, but this man is almost a whole head taller than Dante. If I were to guess, the Don must be closer to seven feet than six. Just being in his presence feels like standing too close to a flame.
"Don Savastano," Dante says, bowing his head respectfully. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."
“Try to contain all the excitement, Dante,” the Don says dryly.
“Had I known you were coming, I’d have arranged a proper welcome,” Dante says.
“And trouble the newlyweds? Never,” he says, glancing in my direction now.
I hold my breath.
His ice-blue eyes make everything inside me freeze.
"So you're the woman who captured Dante's attention," he says. "It's nice to meet you, Grace Thorne."
I feel like a puppet before him. He's so large that I have to tilt my head all the way back just to look him in the eye. And when he shakes my hand, I realize that he could crush every bone in my hand if he wanted to.
"Nice to meet you, Don Savastano," I say, fighting to keep my voice calm.
"You made such a beautiful bride," he says. "Dante couldn't take his eyes off you for even a second."
I glance up at Dante. If he’s caught off guard as well, he doesn’t show it.
"I didn't realize you were there," I say to the Don.
"Oh, I'm everywhere.” He turns to Dante. "I see everything."
I feel a shift in Dante's energy. His face remains the same, but he's uneasy.
"I have a dinner reservation," the Don says. "Will the two of you join me?"
Dante looks a little dazed, but he nods. "Of course."
The Don smiles abruptly and hands him the car keys.
I hold my breath once again. I've been focused on his rugged form and enormous height until now, but his smile is arresting. It changes everything about his face, making all the hard lines disappear.
The man who is rumored to have killed six of his ex-wives has a beautiful smile.
The Don sits in the back. Dante guides me into the passenger seat and shuts the door. For a handful of seconds, it’s just the Don and me inside the car.
I glance in the rearview mirror and find him staring out the window. I still get the eerie feeling like he's watching me.
There's a reason he appeared like a dying star.
Despite the harshness of his form, there's something tragic that clings to him.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief when Dante gets into the driver's seat. None of us says a word as Dante begins driving.
“The Eiffel Tower,” the Don says.
"I thought we were going to dinner?" Dante asks.
"That's where we're having dinner," the Don says. "I can’t stay for long, but I want to see the whole city tonight."
The two of them start speaking in Italian, catching up on business stuff.
The party was on the outskirts of the city, so it’s a long drive. Don Savastano and Dante speak in low voices, but there's still a tension between them.
When we reach the center of Paris, the Don stares out of the window.
I know that look.
Wonderment.
It's the same way I looked at the city yesterday, when I saw it for the first time.
"How much do you know about me, Grace?" he asks, suddenly turning to look straight at me.
Something about having his undivided attention makes me feel like a cornered animal. I open my mouth to speak, but Dante gives me a subtle look. His eyes hold a warning.
“I only knew that you existed,” I say. “And that you stayed in touch with Dante while you were away.”
“Is that all you know?” he asks.
I know I shouldn’t speak about the rumors of his past, but there’s a challenge in his eyes.
"I know that you hate the Cosa Nostra," I say.
A sinister smile spreads across his lips. "Did Dante tell you why?"
"Because you're competitors?" I ask.
"It's more than business, tesoro," he says. "Since you're a part of the family now, you should know our history. You need to know about Rebecca."
Dante shifts in his seat. The Don has a faraway look in his eyes, like he wants to return to a time when she was still alive.
I remember what Dante told me earlier this evening. Don Savastano had six ex-wives, but before them, there was a woman. A woman who didn't love him back.
"Who was she?" I ask.
He blinks. "My everything. She was born into a crime family, just like I was. I fell in love with her the day I met her. I was ten years old at the time, but I knew even then that my life would never be the same. I would never be the same again."
He goes quiet.
I have so many questions, but I wait for him to speak.
"It's the kind of love that happens once in a thousand lifetimes," he says.
"She was older than me, so I decided to wait.
Stolen glances and the memory of her perfume were enough.
It didn't even matter that she didn't see me the same way.
It was the truest, most unselfish kind of love.
I learned everything about her. All that she liked, all that she disliked.
I learned that what she hated most in this world was the mafia.
She was a free thinker. A modern woman who craved freedom.
She dreamed of going to America and becoming a doctor.
But her father had other plans for her. He was a scummy bottom-feeder who was ready to do anything to climb the ladder.
On her eighteenth birthday, he made a deal with the Cosa Nostra.
He forced her to marry Antonio Cavallari.
Her husband was a cruel man. He broke her.
Six weeks into her marriage, she escaped the only way she could. "
I think the woman he loved took her own life.
Despite everything Dante told me, my heart reaches out for this man. I feel bad for him.
I have no clue why he's telling me all this, but I know that the pain in his eyes is real.
"The Camorra and the Cosa Nostra used to be cordial to each other back in the day. But all of that changed after Rebecca," he says, his voice dropping. "We've been at war with each other ever since."
The pain in his eyes morphs before my eyes. It grows claws and fangs and wings, turning into a living, breathing monster.
"Did you get revenge?" I whisper.
"Yes," he says. "But it's not enough. It's never enough. Isn't that right, Dante?"
I look at Dante. The vein in his neck is pulsing against his skin. I've never seen him this affected by anyone. I've never seen him on edge like this.
"Yes," Dante replies.
“This was why I took Dante under my wing when he was only a child,” the Don says. “He reminded me so much of myself. He was filled with broken dreams and rage. I had to make sure he wouldn't end up making the same mistakes I did."
"We've arrived," Dante says.
I glance out the window. The Eiffel Tower glitters directly above us.
I've been so caught up in the conversation that I barely noticed the city around me.
As we leave the car and take the elevator to the restaurant floor, it strikes me just how many layers these men seem to have.
Dante’s words from earlier play in my head.
Enzo doesn’t exist. Don't mention his name before the Don.
I thought I knew Dante.
But maybe I don't know him at all.