10. Riley
Riley
H ours tick by.
Me. The corner café. A two-dollar coffee that’s long since gone cold.
Seriously, I’ve been nursing it so long the waiter’s giving me the stink-eye every time he walks past. I glare right back and lift the nearly empty cup to my lips, sipping nothing but air.
Across the street, Kennedy’s dance studio pulses with activity. Hard hats swarm like ants, shadowed by suits blending as subtly as blood splattered across white linen.
The suits scan the street. Watching. Waiting. Circling the building like vultures over fresh meat.
Kennedy…
Because, of course, it would be just like a dickwad D’Angelo to extend her gilded cage across half the damn city.
Those have to be D’Angelo’s men.
Unless…it’s Zver’s.
No.
I shake my head, annoyed at myself. Right, Riley. Zver the Psycho is so fascinated by you that he sent a battalion of suits to babysit your sister. Please. Zver’s a lone wolf, probably knee-deep in fresh corpses without a spare thought for anyone, especially me.
A new sign is hoisted into place over the studio’s entrance. Renovating a dance studio doesn’t exactly scream ruthless kingpin. More like a dark fairytale offering. A gift from the underworld.
My thumbnail catches between my teeth as I scan the suits again. One of them pivots sharply and points right at me.
My heart rockets to my throat, and I snap the menu up over my face.
Breathe. Inhale, exhale.
Another careful peek—only to lock eyes with the pissed-off waiter instead.
“Another cup?” he asks pointedly.
“No, thanks,” I mutter.
He rolls his eyes and stalks off.
When I look back, one of the guards is now sprawled across my front step, stretched out like he’s making himself comfortable. Legs crossed at the ankle, casual as hell.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Message received, assholes. Loud and clear.
He’s not going anywhere.
Before I can plot my next move, a plate clatters down in front of me. “Burger. Fries. Coke.”
I blink, annoyed. “I didn’t order?—”
My words dry up faster than my two-dollar coffee.
Because it’s not the waiter. It’s Dante. Dark eyes, smug grin, dropping into the seat across from me like he owns the place, daring me not to memorize every muscle beneath those jeans and charcoal tee.
A serpent tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of his bicep. Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves. Dante wears a warning.
My spine snaps straight. My glare locks onto him. “I’m a vegetarian,” I lie.
His eyebrow arches, amusement flashing briefly before he shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He pulls the burger closer, biting into it like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.
I try not to notice the way his jaw flexes with every bite.
I can pretend all I want that fries aren’t my kryptonite and that I’m not famished enough to do very wrong things for food. But they’re right in front of me—hot, golden, perfectly salted. And letting hot fries go has to be a cardinal sin, right?
Dante just watches, smirking behind another bite. I should be telling him off. But if he’s half as dangerous as his brother, that would be a mistake.
Plus, because I’m clinically insane, I don’t want him to go. Not yet.
There’s something about him I can’t put my finger on. Like he knows he gets under my skin. Just like he knows I’m lying about being a vegetarian as he takes another teasing bite.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
“I wanted to see Enzo’s progress on his gift to Kennedy.”
“He gifted her the dance studio?” I blink. “Why? Guilty conscience?”
Dante holds the coke to his lips. “If there’s one thing D’Angelo men don’t have, it’s a conscience.” He sips. There’s something about the way he says it, like a confession.
Then, he holds the straw to my lips, expecting me to sip as well. Why I do, I don’t know.
He leans in. “Heroes disappoint. Beasts and monsters deliver exactly what they promise.”
“According to the newspapers, the D’Angelo’s aren’t exactly known for promising the moon.” My tone is harsher. Harsher than I mean it to be.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and unflinching. “Look at me, Riley.”
I do.
“If you see anything but a beast, that’s on you.”
And just like that, whatever tether I feel for him slices away. I hear the warning in his voice, loud and clear.
His brother killed our father. He’s no different.
The D’Angelos are nothing. He is nothing.
Not to me.
Or at least, that’s what I repeat in my head until the words finally sink into my stubborn skull. Until the wrecking ball of rage and tears I’ve been choking back blur. Until I feel…
Nothing.
My patience evaporates, and I’m done waiting.
I glance quickly at the studio again. The suits are distracted now, grouped loosely as though it’s break time.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I say crisply, leaving the asshole implied as I shove back from the table.
I storm past the wall of suits outside the studio, who remarkably don’t stop me. If anything, they step aside.
The second I see Kennedy, tears sting the backs of my eyes. Because, really—what do I say now that I’m here?
Except, “I need to talk to you.”
Kennedy rushes to my side immediately, murmuring gentle reassurances to the dozen adorable ballerinas gathered around her. She taps play on a Taylor Swift song, unleashing an echo of delighted squeals as tiny dancers leap to the beat.
Swiftly, she guides me into the hallway, away from curious eyes and bouncing tutus.
Her brows pinch together, confusion clear as day. Probably because I’m supposed to be in Italy right now, sipping cappuccinos and living my idyllic little exchange-student life. A fantasy provided by her husband, no doubt, to keep me conveniently out of his way.
I’m a Mullvain, so fat fucking chance of that.
The truth burns straight through me, rising like bile until the tears I’ve fought to hold back spill over, messy and unstoppable.
“You married him,” I choke out, voice shaking with disbelief.
Kennedy blinks, bewildered, and quickly steps toward me, her gentle hands gripping my arms. “Yes, Riley. I married him. You were there.” Her eyes narrow slightly, worry threading into confusion. “Shouldn’t you be in Ita?—”
“He killed Da! ”
The words tear free like ragged shards of glass, a silent grenade shattering everything between us.
Kennedy’s knees nearly buckle. All the color drains from her face. It’s at that point I realize it.
She didn’t know.
She staggers backward, breath hitching sharply. “Who did?”
His name barely makes it past my lips. “Enzo.”
“Yes.” The lethal, familiar voice splits the moment like a paper cut—so soft, the pain takes a heartbeat to register.
We both whip our heads toward him.
Enzo strides closer, a dark storm wrapped in Brioni and tight, unrelenting control. Two golden eyes pin me in place, his voice unnervingly calm. “What’s wrong?”
Just the sight of him sends tremors ripping through my body until I—I can barely breathe.
Kennedy’s hand slips from mine, and raw fear claws its way up, gripping every nerve.
Fight or flight, Riley?
Fight! my Scottish blood snarls back.
But if I confront him—attack him—what happens to Kennedy?
His wife.
If a worthless scumbag like our stepfather could make life fucking unbearable without consequences, what fresh hell can Enzo dish out? He’s rich. Powerful. Untouchable .
My heart tears down the middle . One side demanding justice. The other strangling on pure fear.
No, I can’t lash out. Not while my sister’s wings are crushed beneath a D’Angelo thumb.
I swallow hard, forcing the knot of fury down just enough to shove past him and bolt for the door.
Behind me, Enzo’s voice rings out, cold, unbothered. “Let her go. My men will catch up to her.”
The hell they will.
I barely make it ten feet before strong fingers clamp around my arm, stopping me cold.
Dante.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
“Fuck off!” I jerk my arm, desperate to break free of the man’s grizzly bear grip. “Let go or I’ll scream.”
“Be my guest. Half a dozen D’Angelo guards will swarm in and you’ll still be locked in my hold.”
He’s right. Behind him the guards are already looking our way.
He scoots me to the alley, out of earshot of a dozen construction guys and guards who’ve all suddenly stopped what they were doing to casually listen.
My back taps the brick wall. Two massive arms cage me in. “You’re crying.”
I wipe my cheek. “No, I’m not.”
“Tell me who upset you, and I will kill them.”