20. Dante
20
DANTE
I can’t stop worrying about Victoria.
I also can’t help but blame myself for not handling this better.
I know better.
I should’ve moved her somewhere remote while I waited for her passport and fake ID. There’s nothing to do now but wait—and I’ve always had a hard time doing that.
And, to make my typical impatience worse, I actually care about her.
I’m slightly obsessed with her.
Victoria is constantly on my mind. The woman is a damn plague that won’t fuck off. It’s those sapphire blue eyes that haunt me and the memory of how it feels to sink deep inside her that gets me hot and bothered.
I should be bothered.
Just strictly bothered . In the annoyed businessman kind of way, not the sexually frustrated addict way. My mind is taking this whole wife bullshit to a whole other level.
Yes, I’m responsible for her, but no, she’s not fully mine.
She can’t be.
You can’t always get what you want and life is more than ready to slap me in the face with that truth again.
My brain can barely remember that I still have hands, my restraints are so tight. The chair I’m sitting in is a fucking piece of shit and I can’t stop my foot from bouncing along the polished hardwood floors. Who the fuck puts hardwood in their torture basement? No wonder Angelo needs cash.
I need something to do.
At this point, I’m the only person who cares enough to save my wife from the nightmare she’s likely about to walk into.
But if I get too in my head imagining her fate, I’m going to lose focus. If I permit my temper to get the best of me, she’s gone.
I’m gone.
And that means a shallow grave for me and no chance of anyone ever rescuing Victoria.
Not even my stupid-ass nephew. Not now that he’s dead and buried in suburbia.
Out of my peripheral, a guard moves and I already know who’s striding in without even looking.
There aren’t many options. Plus, Angelo’s new favorite hobby is taunting the living fuck out of me.
It must make his dick hard.
Regardless, I keep my chin tucked into my chest and wait to see what bullshit he’s going to spew to rile me up this time. What stories will he tell, what threats will he make to try and convince me to submit to him?
I know he’s never going to hand over Victoria. He’ll never give me any intel so I can get her back.
That’s the truth. There’s no fairy tale ending to be had here.
“I see you’re still conscious,” Angelo drawls. “You must’ve been a good boy for my men.”
Go fuck yourself.
Even if I did throw a fit of epic proportions, I’m not getting anywhere with my ass bound to this damn chair.
“Victoria will be leaving the premises shortly. I just thought you should know?—”
“I want to see her,” I demand, concentrating on a dark sliver of wood. “Now.”
Angelo chuckles, obviously amused. We both know how this game works.
He’s never going to allow me peace. I’m never going to follow his orders.
This only ends when one of us is dead.
And it looks like I might be the one dying first.
“I can’t allow that,” Angelo says, finally stopping in front of me so that I’m forced to look up at him. A slice of moonlight from the window illuminates his features. Something about him looks slightly off, not his normally pristine too sure of himself assholeness and maybe a bruise or two… And that’s when I notice a dark, matted stain at the base of his skull.
The fuck happened to ? —
Victoria.
“We don’t need you making a scene and scaring her new man off.” He grins at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no way in hell I’m not wreaking havoc on his bitch ass. He can’t cage me like an animal forever. “You might want to rethink whatever plan you’re imagining, Dante. I did say I could get your wife back if you behave.”
I ignore him, knowing it’s just another one of his lies. Honestly, I’m not sure why we’re beating around the bush here. We might both be monsters, but we’re different. I don’t like playing with my food. I ran with one of the most powerful mafias in Italy. Angelo has either underestimated my intelligence or convinced himself that I’ve forgotten how to spot a liar in my time away from the Giordanos.
“And I’m supposed to believe you because…”
Angelo shrugs. “I’m a man of my word.”
“Are you now?” I challenge. What a line . “Because I remember us talking about paying you with money from my wife’s trust . Not money from selling off my wife .”
The douchebag waves a dismissive hand in the air. I’m going to enjoy breaking that hand. “You never gave me much detail on those arrangements, did you? No real schedule of payment, correct? I can’t be held at fault for choosing a more expedient means of collecting what’s mine.”
I exhale slowly, fighting to keep my composure. Losing my shit won’t get us anywhere.
“Come now,” he sighs, as if disappointed that I’ve slighted his honor. “You work for me and you’ll see her again.”
“And the man you sold her to? What will he think?”
Angelo lifts his shoulders again and looks past me. “I doubt he’d make a spectacle by seeking to reclaim a woman he bought at a secret auction. Especially considering his political career.”
I hum thoughtfully. It depends. Men do crazy shit for what’s theirs.
Besides, who’s to say he won’t throw Angelo under the bus and alert the authorities? If he has power, he’s used to flexing it. It’d be easy enough for the bastard to spin things around and make himself out as the wronged party who stumbled upon a human-trafficking situation.
And I don’t see Angelo risking his business for any woman, not even Victoria, so long as he has his money.
“She’s a spicy one, that wife of yours,” Angelo muses, and his smug tone is like an ice pick to my skull. “I can see why you’re so determined to keep her.”
His dark eyes descend to mine and a million and one scenarios race through my brain in a split-second.
He’s fucking with me.
But knowing it doesn’t stop the rage pumping through my veins. I’m going to kill this motherfucker the first chance I get. He has no idea what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.
“I just love how she screams.”
My body jolts upward—big mistake—and my legs buckle, sending me crashing to the floor in a heap.
Along with the damn chair.
Angelo’s chuckle rings through the air as I flail around like a fish out of water, determined to break free from my restraints. Maybe it’d be more accurate to describe my efforts as those of a rabid dog fighting at the end of a chain.
I’m going to kill him.
I can’t wait to watch the life drain from his eyes as I hold his throat in my hands.
“You didn’t think I’d resist going back to try again to taste her for myself, did you? Didn’t your nephew date her and then risk his life to get her back? Now, I have a grown-ass man—the legendary Mors, no less—risking everything to keep her in his possession. There had to have been something special about her.”
“Your days are numbered,” I promise, still attempting to wiggle life into my fingers. “You think this is some fucked up game, Lombardi? I’ll show you?—”
“Get him up,” Angelo barks out, stepping away as two of his men immediately return me and the chair to an upright position. He leans over, eyes narrowed.
“How many times are we gonna do this?” he asks, his tone that of a disappointed father. “I’m only human, Dante.”
“If I find out you touched her?—”
“You won’t do shit,” he snarls back, lips curled haughtily. “ I’m in charge. I make the rules. You’re nothing and no one. Just some old has-been without purpose. You couldn’t even keep one girl safe.”
Touché, motherfucker.
I’ve already beaten myself up plenty for allowing any of this to happen. But I won’t just sit here and continue my self-flagellation for this asshole’s pleasure.
“That may be true,” I agree, “but at least I’m not a rapist who forces women who want nothing to do with me.”
“True,” he admits with a smirk. “But, my God, was she tight.”
I bite my tongue as bile rises in my throat. I can’t stomach the thought of her being pinned down, held at this bastard’s mercy. I’d rather die right the fuck now than allow Angelo to torture me with the details.
“She fought, though,” Angelo says, almost as an aside. His voice drips with ill-concealed glee as he sees how much this is killing me to hear. “Hit me with a lamp. You should be proud.”
A lamp.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up to the word, to understand its meaning. For me to focus on images of her fighting back, fighting for herself, rather than of her being made a victim.
He’s right, I am proud.
But it still may not have been enough.
I eye Angelo head to toe and tell myself there’s no guarantee he could even get it up, let alone have the energy to do anything about it if he did get hard.
Don’t think about it.
“Let me see,” I growl.
Angelo cocks an eyebrow, his tone skeptical, “See what ?”
My lips curl into a shitty smirk. I might not have been able to keep a girl safe, but at least I didn’t get my ass kicked by one. “If I know my wife, Lombardi, she left a mark.”
“Why would I bother to show you anything?”
“Then it didn’t happen.”
His nostrils flare, but he turns his head, showing me a glimpse of the back of his skull. There’s a sizeable lump but the full extent of his injury is hidden by his hair. “Did you want to touch it, too?”
“No,” I decide. I may not know what he did to her, but at least I know she made sure he had something to remember her by. “Just remember how easy she went on you, Lombardi, when I get a hold of you.”
“That’s the problem, Dante. You fuck around and I’ll kill you without hesitation. You die and she continues living her life elsewhere. Make the right choice.”
I part my lips, ready to offer my own piece of wisdom, but a not-too-distant boom interrupts me before I can say a word.
Angelo snaps to attention then, focusing immediately on the windows as his men inch closer to offer protection. “What the hell was that?” No one answers him, since obviously we’re just as clueless as he is, having been in this basement with him. “ Move. ”
All three men exit in a tight grouping, leaving me to stew on what’s just happened—what Angelo revealed—when a dark figure appears at the corner of my eye not a moment later.
I straighten my spine on instinct, blinking a few times before my brain registers the familiar face. A wave of relief washes over me, but I fight the urge to relax.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim, watching Enzo striding confidently toward me. He’s dressed in all black: jeans, a sweatshirt, and even a ski mask that’s rolled up to his forehead. “Took you long enough.”
He quirks an eyebrow, his grin roguish. “Dante, I thought I told you to stop getting yourself into sad and lonely situations.” He rounds my chair and begins working on the zip ties.
“I’m not in Italy anymore.”
“Which means you shouldn’t have gotten into shit in the first place, yeah?”
I scowl at empty air since the bastard’s behind me. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong. “Shit got complicated.”
“You got married.”
I feel one of my arms sway, finally free, and I flex my fingers while the blood rockets through my veins. “Yeah, well… Thought I’d mix things up.”
“Didn’t you learn anything from the last time you fucked a married woman?”
“This isn’t the same, asshole.”
“She is a woman, right?”
Before I can make a retort, my other hand is freed and I’m dragged to my feet. I nearly crash to the floor, but Enzo’s hands come under my elbows and steady me.
Sandy brown hair and blue eyes, my old friend stares back at me, unimpressed by my situation. Then he jerks his head toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Where’s Victoria?”
“Safe.”
Not good enough.
“Where?”
“The roof, brother,” he replies with a hard slap to my bicep as he urges me to walk forward. “I figured I’d get the interior sorted first rather than put her in the middle of a firefight.”
“You put my wife on the roof? ” I bark out, pinning a glare on him. What the fuck?
“ I didn’t put her anywhere,” Enzo states flatly. “She got to the roof all on her own.”
I shake my head. This wouldn’t be the first time my wife escaped out of a window. But now’s not the time to reminisce or speculate as to how she got out this time. “Catch me up.”
“Can’t,” he claims. “We need to go.”
Right.
I need to concentrate on getting the hell out of here. With my wife.