Chapter Eighteen
Hazel
There was a moment of panic.
Waking up in pain in a strange room in someone else’s clothes would do that to a girl.
It took a few seconds for it all to come flooding back—the search for the body, the chase, the attack, the pain, the rescue, the caretaking, then drifting off to sleep with a notable throbbing between my legs because Dante’s damn bed smelled like him.
I sat up slowly, noting the random aches and pains in my body, then reached for the remote to check the time.
Just after one. Judging by the sliver of light slicing through the gap in the curtains, I figured that was in the afternoon, not night.
I’d only slept for a few hours, but I knew from the slurry of thoughts racing around my mind that there would be no going back to sleep anytime soon.
So with that, I climbed out of bed. My thighs ached like that one time a boyfriend dragged me on a hike I’d been wholly untrained for, leaving me with bleeding toenails, chafed thighs, and too sore to walk anywhere for a full two days afterward.
I’d actually wheeled around my house on my desk chair just to get food and go to the bathroom.
With no rolling chair in sight, I granny-walked my way to the bathroom.
“Of course it’s perfect,” I grumbled as I moved inside, finding that same rustic, warm feel the rest of the house had. Stone walls, wooden cabinets and ceiling, a soaking tub big enough for Dante’s giant body, and a walk-in shower niche that was set in deep enough that it didn’t require doors.
I had the sudden urge to strip naked and climb into a too-hot tub to see if I could soothe the soreness in my muscles.
The wraps on my hands were the only thing holding me back. And if I was still around later, I might seriously consider asking Dante if he could redo my dressings after I had a bath.
As it was, I tried to finger-comb my hair and used a wet washcloth to do a quick whore’s bath because I still felt sticky and gritty from all the running and crawling and such.
When I was done with that, I made my way down the stairs. Did I move at a glacial pace? Yes. But, hey, I got there.
The coffee pot had turned itself off in the kitchen, but the liquid was still warm enough to make a cup. I swore I could feel it bringing me back to life a bit with each sip as I listened to this strange, steady, thumping sound coming from below me.
I moved closer to the door of the kitchen, listening, wondering if maybe it was the washing machine knocking around.
Worried about it, I inched open the door, listened for a second, then made my way down the steps.
It wasn’t until I was at the bottom that I could see into the basement.
Then it was too late.
Because there was the source of the sound.
Dante on the treadmill, running like the devil himself was hot on his heels.
I’d seen men working out many times in my life. Never before had I felt such a gut-punch of desire. I swear I went back a step with the impact as my gaze took in his tight form, his focused face, hell, even the sweat trickling down his neck and chin.
As if that focus wasn’t troubling enough, I had the weirdest desire to go over there and bury my face in his neck, to smell his scent and sweat, to taste the saltiness of his skin.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Hazel,” he said, panting out my name, which only made me think of another activity that might make him sound like that. Preferably in my ear with his weight pressing me into the mattress and his—
No.
Nope.
I really needed not to be thinking about him that way.
“Hey,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I heard a weird noise. I thought maybe it was your washing machine knocking. I should have, uh, knocked.”
“On the basement door?” he asked, shooting me a smirk as he reached for a crisp white towel and wiped the sweat from his face before taking his water bottle and chugging. “It’s fine. You don’t need to knock around here,” he told me when he finished.
“So, wait. Why do you go to the gym if you have a gym here?”
“I like all the equipment. This is just for situations like this when I can’t go out.”
“We can’t go out?” I asked. Even I couldn’t tell if my voice croaked from fear or excitement at the prospect of being locked inside a house with Dante Grassi.
“We can,” he said, tone soothing, clearly thinking the sound was from the former. “But I told you I would be here when you woke up. I wasn’t going back on my word.”
“Oh, that was sweet.”
“I thought you’d sleep longer.”
“Me too. But I knew once my eyes opened that there would be no falling back to sleep.”
“Been there,” Dante said, finally moving off the treadmill. “How are you feeling?”
“Worse. Like you said.”
“Didn’t want to be right about that. I’ve got some ibuprofen upstairs to help with the body aches. And ice or a heating pad if that doesn’t work.”
“Your first aid kit impresses me,” I admitted.
“I’ve hurt myself more times than I can count.”
“Because of… mafia stuff?”
“Because I spend a lot of time running on uneven roads or picking up and dropping down heavy shit.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m not offended. I know a lot of people wouldn’t approve of my lifestyle but I’ve made peace with it. So it doesn’t bother me when you ask questions about it.”
“It’s not, you know, confidential?”
“You a Fed?” he asked, shooting me a smirk.
“I’d be a lot more interesting if I were.”
“You’re plenty interesting just as you are. But no. Not everything is confidential. Some shit is. But general things, you can ask about that.”
“Your mom…”
“Isn’t involved. The wives or sisters either. They’re not completely in the dark. For example, my ma knew she was being followed recently by one of my guys. And everyone is going on lockdown for the time being.”
“What does lockdown look like?”
“Mostly, trying to consolidate living quarters so we use fewer guards to protect everyone. So Valley is staying with my mom and Dom is going to be there with them.”
“Is he mad at me?”
“Dom?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would he be?”
“Because I was, you know, digging around.”
“Dom can be a little rough around the edges, but he’s a reasonable guy. He understands that you had no idea what you just stumbled into.”
“Really? Because I think a guy who just got out of prison might be really pissed off that I was going to go to the police.”
“He definitely doesn’t want to go back to prison. But that shit would fall on me, not him.” My stomach twisted violently at the mental image of Dante being dragged away in handcuffs. “You okay?” he asked, brows pinching.
“I… yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
“About what? Wanting someone you thought did a terrible thing to go to prison? That’s a pretty normal reaction.”
“Maybe. But you guys have been nothing but nice to me.”
“Babe, you found a body. I think we can all agree that you were out of your depth there.”
It was just then that there was a slam from upstairs, making me jolt and yelp. I suddenly remembered the gun. On the nightstand. Since I’d been reasonably sure I wouldn’t need it.
“Stay here,” Dante demanded, grabbing something that may or may not have been a piece of lead pipe, and ran up the stairs.
Fearlessly.
Ready to… whack someone over the head.
While I hid in the basement.
I shrank back against the wall, my legs suddenly too weak to even think about trying to find somewhere to take cover. My body finally seemed like it hit its max. It didn’t have it in it to run for my life again.
Besides, there was nowhere to run. The basement had no exit, save for the steps I was looking up.
The door whipped open.
My heart sank to my feet.
But then there was Dante, holding the pipe to his shoulder like a baseball bat.
“You can come up, babe,” he called. “It’s my cousin.”
Cousin.
And I was walking around in his shirt.
I tamped down the surge of insecurity and crept my way up the steps.
“Hazel, this is Smush. Smush, Hazel.”
Something flew through the air so fast it was nothing but a whir of white before it thwacked Dante in the chest.
His hand was just as fast, catching the bottle of conditioner before it hit the floor.
“You’re lucky that didn’t splatter all over me.”
“What were you going to do?” Smush, a gorgeous woman in an all-black outfit, asked. “We both know I’m faster than you.”
“I was thinking of telling Aunt Adrian that you’re seeing one of your clients.”
Smush’s mouth fell open, snapped shut, then tensed. “My name is Sofia. My asshole cousins and brothers call me Smush because it was my nickname when I was a fat baby.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, throwing out a hand. “And after I ran all over town for this asshole. You were right about her size, though,” she said, looking me over.
“My size? You had Smu—Sofia buy my clothes?”
“Figured you might want something to wear if we have to go out for any reason.”
“Oh.” I glanced down at my bare legs. “Right. Thanks.”
“He also had me get you all the other stuff you might need: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofah, shaving cream, razors, hair ties, toothbrush, the works. Oh, and a really nice blanket. I figure if Dante is anything like my brothers, he keeps this place about five degrees too cold to be comfortable for us girls.”
“It is a little chilly in here.”
“Exactly. I would stay and put the food away like usual, but I have an impatient brother about to honk at me from the car. So, yeah. I’m out.”
“Thanks, Sof. I appreciate it.”
“You know how to show your appreciation,” she said, shooting him a look. “Hazel, nice to meet you. I hope you feel better soon. And Aunt Giulia’s gotta be eating this up,” she said, gesturing between the two of us before she disappeared out the back door.
“Like usual?” I asked as Dante leaned the lead bar against the wall near the basement door before going over toward the grocery bags to start putting things away.
“Smush runs a service the men in the family have been using for years. She does all our shopping for us and even puts it all away. I only use her on occasion, but she makes sure nothing ever runs out.”
“So, your appreciation…”
“Money,” he said, shooting me a smirk before putting the vegetables in the crisper.
“This is really too much,” I said, pulling all the clothing and personal care items out of the bags.
“It’s not.”
“She’s very thorough,” I decided when I noticed she hadn’t missed a single thing that I used in my daily life, save for maybe some makeup. But I wouldn’t be putting anything on my face until the scratches healed anyway. Well, unless I needed something to cover them up for work.
“Hey, what about the garden center?” I asked, looking over at him as I ran my fingers over some fuzzy socks.
“What about it?”
“The shipments… the school trips…”
“It’ll go back to usual, sans you for the time being.
Domenico and my guys can handle anything that comes up.
Might not be as good as when you’re navigating it, but they will keep it from burning down, at least. Dom already got the shipments earlier today.
He’s having the other employees set shit up.
Worried?” he asked, coming over to the table to pull the pasta out of a bag.
A lot of pasta. Who was he feeding, an army?
“Yes, no. I don’t know. It feels weird not being there.”
“It’s not forever. And you’re getting paid.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“No? After what happened to you?”
“You make a good point,” I decided.
“Think I actually owe you hazard pay.”
“Are the guests going to be safe?”
“The place is teeming with soldiers now,” he said, shrugging. “Nothing is going down there that isn’t supposed to. You don’t have to worry about that place right now. You need to focus on recovering.”
“I’m not that hurt.”
“You’re barely staying on your feet right now.”
That was annoyingly astute.
“That’s my own fault.”
“How the fuck is any of this your fault?”
“For not exercising as regularly as I was raised to.”
“As someone who is a bit of an exercise junkie, think the way your family approaches fitness is fucked.”
“Because it’s not about fitness,” I said. “It’s about aesthetics.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re not into your aesthetics?” I asked, gaze tracking down him.
“Not gonna say I don’t like being bulky. It’s good to be strong. Especially in my life. Besides, the more muscle you have, the more fat it burns. So I can stuff my face and not have to worry about gaining weight like I did as a teen.”
“That’s a good point. And with that much pasta, I’m starting to regret not hitting the weight bench for the past few years.”
“Your job is active,” he said, shrugging off my worries. “Working out doesn’t have to be in a gym, strapped to a treadmill for an hour.”
“True,” I agreed. “So, uh, how long do you think everyone is going to be on lockdown?”
“Hard to say until someone figures out who the bastard was who attacked you. But we’re pretty good at figuring things out fast. If for no other reason than our moms and sisters are on our asses day and night about their lives being upturned.”
“Are you worried about them?”
“I’m more worried about you.”
They were simple words, understandable ones, considering I’d just been attacked, but they still managed to make my belly swoop.
“Well, I seem to be pretty safe here.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”