Chapter 9 - Dante
I led Alisa through the front door as gently as I could, but the worry stormed through me. I ushered her with my hand at the small of her back, and she barely looked up from the floor, allowing herself to be led like cattle.
What the hell happened today?
I was ready to tear the city apart to look for her. When her bodyguard called, saying she’d vanished, I had felt terror unlike any before.
But finding her outside the courthouse with tears streaming down her face, looking like someone had just died, had knocked all that fury right out of me.
Whatever had happened in there had shattered something in her, and suddenly, my anger at her disappearing act seemed about as important as yesterday’s weather forecast.
“Alisa, here,” I said, guiding her toward the living room couch. She walked like she might collapse at any moment, and her silent compliance freaked me out even more.
Alisa literally never listened to me.
“I think you need a drink,” I suggested softly as I moved to the bar and poured her one. She looked like she needed something strong, and frankly, so did I.
When she disappeared, the first thing I did was put a trace out on my ad-hoc card, the one she uses. When I got an alert that it had last been used to pay for a taxi service at her father’s office, my mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario.
By the time I arrived, I had mentally prepared for war, believing that Alisa must have told her father everything about being kidnapped.
Never in a million years had I imagined I’d find her wandering the streets, looking broken and lost, with tears falling down her cheeks.
I poured two whiskeys and carried the glasses back.
“Here,” I said, forcing the drink into her trembling hands.
She took it without looking up, her eyes still fixed on the floor, as though she wasn’t really here. She clutched the glass tight, but didn’t drink.
Alisa always loved a good scotch. Always.
“It’s Macallan 30,” I tried to encourage her.
She nodded listlessly and went through the motion of taking a sip, but I could tell she barely even tasted it.
I sat beside her, not knowing what else to do. For a minute, we just existed in silence—her staring at nothing, me watching her face for any clue about what the hell had happened.
“Did something happen with your father?” I finally asked, keeping my voice gentle. I figured it had to be something to do with Marc since she had just left his building.
The question seemed to break something loose in her. She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh tear escaping down her cheek. “Don’t ask me about him.”
The venom in her voice when she said “him” made my blood run cold. What I saw in Alisa wasn’t just sadness. It was rage.
Though it made me curious, I also knew how much Alisa loved her father, despite the fact that he wasn’t around much in her formative years, given how hard he worked.
She used to talk about him for hours. He raised her single-handedly since her mother died young, and for her to speak of him that way?
He must have done something very, very bad.
“Okay,” I agreed, sipping my whiskey. “We don’t have to talk about him.”
She and her chin trembled with the effort of holding back more tears. Then, to my complete surprise, she shifted closer to me on the couch until her shoulder pressed against mine.
And then, I heard her let out an ugly sob.
“Oh, Alisa.” My heart melted immediately, and I lifted my arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. For weeks, she looked like it pained her to even stand in the room I breathed in. Now she was leaning into me like I was the only thing helping her keep it together.
While this was progress, it wasn’t the kind I wanted.
What I wanted most was for her to… not feel this way.
“Shh,” I whispered into her hair, tracing patterns down her back to help her calm down. “Whatever it is… It’s going to be okay.”
She crumpled against my chest, sobbing even louder. Every cry she let out felt like a twist in my belly.
I tightened my hold on her, needing to do anything I could to help, though I wasn’t sure it would work. Her tears soaked through my shirt. “I’ve got you,” I murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Her fingers clutched at my shirt, bunching it into her fists. I set my drink aside and brought my other arm around her, cradling her against me as she broke apart.
This wasn’t the fiery Alisa I knew. This was someone weak, sad, and lost, and I hated seeing her this way. It scared the hell out of me.
“What happened, Alisa?” I tried again, running my hand up and down her back in slow, soothing motions. “Let me help you.”
She shook her head against my chest. “You can’t.”
“Try me.”
“I can’t talk about it,” she whimpered. “Please, Dante, just let it go.”
God, how could I help her without knowing what went wrong? I wanted to push for answers, but the desperate way she clung to me held me back.
I knew that whatever she’d learned at that courthouse was so bad that pushing now would only break her further.
So I just held her and let her tears soak my shirt as the minutes stretched on. My mind kept spinning through scenarios, each worse than the last.
Had her father refused to help her?
Or was it something else entirely?
Had something happened to him?
Eventually, her crying subsided to hiccupping breaths. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at me with those swollen, bloodshot eyes.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked hoarsely, her eyes glued to mine.
The question caught me off guard, and I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and took my time to answer. “Because you’re hurting.”
“But I’ve been horrible to you,” she whispered, sitting up just a little, but somehow, ending up even closer.
I shrugged and tried to tease a little, needing to see her break into a smile. “Even I know I deserved it.”
She let out a weak chuckle. “You kind of did.”
Something shifted behind her eyes. The pain turned to a focus. An intense kind that reeled me in and made time stretch thin. She was still in my arms, her eyes still on mine, and for a brief second, it felt like old times when we used to cuddle together and watch TV.
“See?” My voice came out hoarse. “You keep me on my toes.”
Her eyes lingered on mine a moment too long.
And something changed in the air.
She cast down her gaze and lingered on my lips a moment too long. Every spot I touched her at turned hot, curled between us like smoke.
Her breath hitched, and she leaned forward. I knew what was coming, knew it might muddy things up, but I cupped her cheek with one hand, my thumb brushing lightly over the wet cheek beneath her eye. “You really scared me today,” I murmured.
Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” My voice dropped, hoarse.
The silence between us stretched thinner and thinner—until it snapped.
Her lips parted just slightly, and in that breath of hesitation, I leaned in.
The soft sweetness of her lips paralyzed me for half a second. Her mouth was warm and salty from tears, and her lips trembled against mine. I let her kiss me softly, until the kiss settled in my nerves, travelled through my veins, and then…
Instinct took over, and I was kissing her back hard, in disbelief that after four years, it felt just like it did back then.
My hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading through her silky hair. She made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat that sent lightning down my spine. Her tongue swept across my lower lip, and I let her in until my mouth was full of her.
Our breaths turned to gasps and little whimpers.
She tasted exactly like I remembered—sweet with an edge of fire. My body remembered hers, too, and I pulled her closer, nearly into my lap, as our tongues tangled and stroked against one another like we were dancing.
Her fingers trailed up my chest to my shoulders, then higher, until they were buried in my hair, tugging with just enough pressure to make my blood simmer. I groaned against her mouth, my hand sliding down her back to the curve of her waist, squeezing gently.
I’d dreamed about this moment for years. Imagined it a thousand different ways. But the reality of Alisa in my arms again was better and worse than anything I could have conjured.
Better because it was real. Worse, because I knew what was driving it.
She wasn’t kissing me because she wanted me. She was kissing me to forget whatever pain her father had caused her.
The realization turned me cold like I’d plunged into ice. With a groan of a man fighting being possessed, I broke the kiss and gently pushed her back.
“Alisa,” I whispered. “Stop.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and I saw the confusion in them. “What? Why?”
“Because you’re upset.” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone. “And I’m not going to be your distraction.”
She jerked away from my touch, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” I asked gently. “Ten minutes ago, you were sobbing in my arms. Now you’re trying to climb into my lap. You don’t think that’s connected?”
“So what if it is?” she shot back, a flicker of her usual fire returning. “Maybe I just want to feel something else for a while.”
“And I’d love to help with that,” I said, meaning every word. God, I wanted her. Had wanted her since the moment I saw her on that auction stage. “But not when you’re hurting and confused.”
She looked away, her jaw clenched tight. Her eyes were distant again, haunted by whatever had happened earlier.
I stood up, extending my hand to her. “Come on. I know a better way to clear your head.”
She eyed my hand suspiciously. “What?”
“Something that doesn’t involve us doing something we might regret when you’re thinking straight again.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she took my hand and let me pull her to her feet. I led her straight to my private gym at the back of the house—one filled with free weights, punching bags, and enough equipment to satisfy a professional athlete.
“Working out,” I explained, flipping on the lights, “is the best cure for clearing a fucked-up head.”
She looked at me like I’d sprouted an orange nose. “You want me to… punch things?”
“If that’s what you need.” I shrugged. “Or run. Lift. Swim. Whatever makes your body tired enough that your brain shuts up for a while.”
I walked over to the cabinet and pulled out some bandages and demonstrated how to wrap her hands, then guided her to the nearest punching bag. “When words aren’t enough, sometimes this helps.”
She stared at the bag, then at me. Then, her face softened almost as though she knew I, too, understood what it meant to carry pain too heavy for words.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, stepping back. “Stay as long as you need.”
She nodded, already turning toward the bag.
I left her finding her rhythm with the bag and headed straight for my office. Once inside, I closed the door and called Federico.
“What’s up, brother?”
“Federico. I need another favor.” I cut straight to the chase. “About Marc Montes.”
Federico stayed silent, then screeched. “The federal prosecutor? Are you out of your mind?”
“I just need some basic information,” I clarified. “Just an update on what he’s working on currently. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Why?” Federico’s voice sharpened with suspicion.
I chose my words carefully. “I needed to build a more complete file on him.”
“Bullshit,” my brother shot back. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. Skipping family dinners, asking about auction crews, and now this? What aren’t you telling me?”
I pictured Alisa in my gym, working through her pain the only way I could offer her. Whatever her father had done to put that look on her face, I needed to know. But I couldn’t drag Federico into this.
Not yet.
“Can’t a man be curious?” I deflected. “I’ve been busy, that’s all. You know how it is—too many girls, too little time.”
My brother sighed heavily. “Fine. But whatever you’re into, be careful. Marc Montes isn’t someone we want to cross. Caspian would have your balls if you stirred up trouble with the feds.”
“I know that, and Caspian won’t care if I keep an eye on dangerous men. You know that,” I said dryly. “Text me what you find.”
I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the desk, rubbing my hands over my face.
I’d told Federico I was too busy with women to look into Montes myself.
The truth was that Alisa was the only woman who’d occupied my thoughts in a long, long time, and now that she was back in my life as my wife, I didn’t want to go digging her father myself and bring trouble to her door.