Chapter 5 - Dante
I rounded the corner too fast, my mind far away on whether I’d like a snack with my coffee, when I slammed straight into her.
Alisa gasped in surprise as her nose smacked right against my chest. “Jesus Christ. You don’t believe in personal space or what?”
I steadied her by the elbow before she tripped over herself. “You always come out of your room this angry, or is it just when you sense me nearby?”
Her face flushed with irritation. “Mostly when I hear your ego scraping against the walls.”
I bit back a laugh and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms and passing her that smirk I knew drove her crazy.
Her eyes narrowed at me, and just like that, my day got far more interesting.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I grinned.
“We wouldn’t have to meet at all if you’d stop lurking around corners,” she fired back, smoothing down her shirt. Today she was wearing jeans and a simple blue t-shirt. Her clothes were as casual as they come, but somehow she still made me look twice.
“It’s my house,” I reminded her, trying to keep my sight above her neck and not at how low her shirt dipped. “I can lurk wherever I want.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Some rival to threaten? Drugs to smuggle?”
“Not really. Got a pretty empty evening up ahead and I’d hate to get bored,” I shrugged, stepping closer just to enjoy the way she tensed. “So I was thinking… dinner tonight?”
“Sure,” she said sweetly, then immediately ruined it with, “if having my ears bleed ever starts sounding like fun.”
“Doubt it,” I replied, matching her tone. “But I was thinking Italian could be nice.”
“Let me be clear.” She stepped forward and jabbed a finger into my chest. “I’d rather be stranded on a desert island with nothing but sand to eat than have dinner with you.”
I really shouldn’t have, but she touched me first. On impulse, I grabbed her finger before she could pull it away.
Her eyes widened in shock just as my heart began to hammer. For what felt like a moment, neither of us moved.
“That’s a no, then?” I whispered after the silence stretched into borderline uncomfortable territory.
“That’s a never.” She yanked her hand back and stepped around me with red cheeks. “Not tonight, not tomorrow, not if you were the last man on earth with the last pizza in existence.”
I watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she stomped away, annoyed.
“So, I gather, “I bellowed after her, “you like pizza?”
She didn’t even bother turning back. She simply flipped me off, and this time, I didn’t bother holding back my smile.
That woman had an exceptional talent for telling me to go to hell in creative ways.
And I couldn’t get enough of it.
The truth was, I’d been asking her to dinner every day since our “marriage.” Each time, her rejections got more obvious, more biting. I sometimes felt like she thought I was a dimwit who didn’t get the hint.
Oh, I got the hint, alright. Yet each time, I found myself looking forward to the next time she’d turn me down.
Yesterday, I banged into her in the library. She’d told me she’d rather have dinner with a pack of rabid wolves. The day before that, I’d found her in the kitchen, and she’d asked if it was that hard for me to go make some friends.
It was becoming a game of sorts, and I found myself growing strangely addicted to it.
At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I found myself replaying these invitations and rejections, and often wondered what it was about these little stolen moments that brought me such joy.
The only conclusion I could reach was that these were the only times her walls dropped enough for me to see flashes of the Alisa I remembered—the funny, quick-witted woman who could make a man want her and to tear his throat out in the same breath.
And sometimes in the morning, when I’d wake up in my empty bed, I’d think of that Alisa and how soft she used to feel in my arms on cozy Sunday mornings.
Luckily for me, before I burrowed any further into that painful hole of nostalgic memories, Federico called.
“Hello?” I threw one last look around the corner through which Alisa disappeared before heading down to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.
“Brother,” Federico sounded excited. ”Remember, you asked about the crew that ran the auction at last week’s charity event?”
Of course, I remembered. How could I not, when I’d made it my priority to get the fuckers who shoved Alisa up there on stage in a room full of mobsters and let them believe she was up for grabs?
The first thing I’d done, after Alisa and I got married, was to put Federico on the hunt to find them. When he asked why, I kept it vague. Told him a friend had been given a fake art piece.
I wasn’t ready yet to tell my family about my newly wedded status to Alisa, the daughter of the god damn federal prosecutor. Ha. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how red Caspian would’ve gotten if he had heard.
“What’d you find out about the crew?” I asked Federico.
“They’re small and call themselves the Volkov crew,” Federico explained. “Just a bunch of misfits, honestly. Small-time hustlers who stick to petty extortion and low-level drug dealing. They volunteered to source items for sale at the auction to get a foot in the door to party with the big boys.”
“Anything else?”
“We got a location for them. Want me to send some of our guys?”
“No!” I said, a little too fast. Damn it, I didn’t want Federico getting suspicious and feared he and my brothers might come sniffing around and discover Alisa. “My friend wanted to handle it himself.”
“Alright then,” Federico sounded like he couldn’t have cared less. “I guess you can pass him the location.”
“Where are they?” I asked, already looking around for my gun and wallet in the foyer cupboard where I kept them so that I could leave.
“We traced them up to some abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. It used to be a fish processing plant. The place reeks, so no one asks questions.”
I got my keys too and moved toward the garage. “Anyone keeping watch that I should warn my friend about?”
“My guys just passed through, but didn’t stay. They said it looks like a temporary setup and they’re probably just using it for this operation.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, ending the call.
I’d spent the last week trying to track down the men responsible for putting Alisa on that stage. Not just because of what they did to her, but because I needed to send a message: You don’t traffic women in my city without consequences.
***
While I drove, my mind was racing faster than my Range Rover, already imagining all the gruesome ways I’d make them pay.
The warehouse came into view after a forty-minute drive. It was an ugly concrete structure with broken windows and rust-stained walls. I parked a block away and walked over while keeping to the shadows.
I had no idea how many men were in there, or just how dangerous they were, so I’d called ahead for back-up.
Two of my men were already there, waiting in an unmarked van. On seeing me, they exited.
“Any movement you noticed inside?” I asked.
“Nothing since we’ve been here,” one replied. “A guy left carrying duffel bags a while ago.”
Shit. I motioned for them to follow me, approaching the building from the side where a loading dock provided cover.
The door was unlocked, which was never a good sign.
Inside, it smelt exactly as bad as Federico said it did. The main floor was mostly empty except for a couple of scattered chairs, a folding table, and trash littering the concrete.
“Check the offices,” I ordered.
We moved through the space carefully and with our guns drawn, but it became increasingly clear with each empty room that we were too late.
It seemed that the Volkov crew had packed up and disappeared.
I looked around a little longer and was about to call it a day when I found a stack of papers forgotten in one of the rooms that must have been used as an office. I picked them up, and my blood turned cold as I scanned the list of female names with their descriptions and… estimated values?
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
This wasn’t just about Alisa. This was a whole operation. They were identifying potential targets—daughters of wealthy businessmen, politicians, even women from the mafia.
They were running a full-fledged racket for selling and purchasing women. Whatever I had planned to do with them earlier started looking like a real treat compared to what I had in mind next.
Once I’m done with them, those bastards won’t ever lay eyes on a woman again, let alone with the intention to sell her. This wasn’t just about Alisa anymore. This was about stopping these animals before they could destroy more lives.
***
By the time I got home, I was so damn furious that I needed a drink and some time to think and calm down. I also needed to check if Marc Montes had reported his daughter missing yet.
One whole week, and not a peep from the federal prosecutor about his missing daughter. Either he was handling it quietly, or he didn’t even know she was gone.
Both options left me feeling uneasy.
I headed straight for my office, loosening my tie as I walked. The door was slightly open, which immediately set off alarms in my head. I always closed my office when I left.
Silently, I pushed the door open wider just an inch, somehow aware of just who was snooping around in there. She didn’t know, but I’d found a loose hair clip on the carpet the other day.
Since then, I’d been careful about what I left accessible, creating a breadcrumb trail that would keep her occupied without revealing anything that could get her, or me, arrested or killed.
Alisa was bent over my desk, rifling through a folder I’d purposely left out with some information about our legitimate businesses. Nothing too damaging, but enough to let her think she was uncovering secrets.
I just watched her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, but some strands of curled honey-blonde fell over her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and parted as she tried to read as fast as she could, and she did that thing I used to adore: The one where she bit her lower lip in concentration.
I wondered what she was looking for. Information about me? About the Bratva? Or maybe she was trying to find a way out of this marriage with the hopes of finding something to blackmail me with.
Just then, a loose sheet of paper strayed to the ground on her left. She let out a groan, and I smiled as she chased behind it, bending over to pick it up.
Time slowed, and I swear, I saw her skirt ride up.
Just a little.
But enough to reveal the smooth skin of her upper thigh—creamy and far too tempting for a man who hadn’t touched her in years but remembered how fucking good she felt.
That teasing flash of skin and the way the hem clung to her legs for half a second longer than it should have brought back every memory of her in my bed.
I felt heat stir low in my spine.
My eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the back of her legs and the slope of her hips as she stretched to reach the paper.
That body had always driven me crazy, but fuck, this wasn’t the time. Not while she was snooping around in my office, for god’s sake.
I stepped into view and cleared my throat, hoping it would clear my head too. “Find anything interesting?”