Chapter 21 #2
His gaze holds mine in unbending passion as his mouth nears until it caresses my lips. Our breaths tangle for space, and where his end, mine begin. We fuel each other’s bodies, like his love fuels my soul.
“Are you ready?” he asks, pulling back enough to see my eyes.
I know what he means: for Carlito to be brought back in. For him to die. Because I know he’ll kill him. There’s no doubt.
“Yes.” The aches on my body burn under the fabric, reminding me what Carlito did.
“Raquel…” he says, our eyes connecting as he holds me to him. “You have to know, when I hurt—when I kill—I’m not the same man I am when I love you. I become someone else. Someone you might not want.” He sucks in a long, hard breath. “And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
I place my hand on his cheek, letting the stubble graze my sensitive skin. “I don’t know who you see when you look in the mirror, but you know who I see?”
When his eyes drift to a half close, I continue.
“I see a man who risked his own life to save the daughter of a man he clearly hates. Someone strong, brave, loyal, and with a heart big enough to chase all my villains away. That’s who you are, Dante. You need to start seeing that man. Because I do.”
“Baby…” He inhales sharply.
Then his lips are on mine, kissing me slowly, and in our kiss, there’s more than just love. There’s forgiveness wrapped in redemption.
This kiss…it heals a part of me I didn’t realize was this broken. The part that always needed someone to hold her hand, to love her, to tell her she wasn’t alone and that the burden of the fight wasn’t just hers to bear. That’s what he’s done for me. That’s who he is.
He gently draws away, walking us to the corner where there’s a brown leather sofa I didn’t notice before.
“You gonna be okay here?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Okay.”
He lowers me onto the couch, kissing my cheek, then my lips. His eyes remain on me as he treads back, as though leaving me here is too unbearable. He lets out a loud whistle, then footsteps hit the floor like an army marching toward their commander.
I recognize the first two who walk in as Dante’s brothers. I don’t know any of the others. There are six of them in total, not including my tormentor and the man who calls himself my father.
Dominic grips Carlito around his throat, dragging him inside. His face is already marred. One of his eyes is practically closed, and the other has a bloody gash under it.
My father is held by Enzo, whose expression is enraged.
“Drop him, Dom,” Dante says.
His brother does as he’s told, kicking Carlito in his back once he’s down.
Dante squats, retrieving something from both his calves, and when he pulls them out, I realize they’re knives. I’m close enough to see the shiny metal.
I’m instantly there, when it was just Carlito and me, when he was hurting me while I begged him to stop. My pulse races and my throat closes in as I recall every detail.
My hands ball into tight fists over the top of my thighs. I want to see that man dead. As for my father? I don’t know. Because that little girl who loves him is still somewhere deep inside. I’m not ready to face his mortality, and I don’t know if I can watch the man I love take his life.
“What was it you said to me when you held that gun to her head in the van?” Dante asks, creeping closer until his sneaker bumps Carlito’s face.
He did what?
I don’t remember any of that. It must’ve been when I was knocked out.
“Let me refresh your memory.” He kicks him hard in the face. Carlito grumbles, blood spilling from his mouth. “I believe it was, let the best man win. I guess that’s not gonna be you.”
I get up, needing a better view. Wanting his blood. His pain. Wanting everything.
Dante rotates to the sound of me coming.
“You okay, baby?” Concern spirals with his darkness.
“I’m fine here. Do what you have to do.”
My eyes find Carlito, glaring into the ugliness, but he doesn’t try to lift his head.
I love you, Dante mouths before turning back around.
I want to say it back, but I want those words to come when my mind isn’t polluted. When I can solely think about us and nothing else.
“There’s one thing I don’t forgive—what neither one of my brothers forgive—and that’s when someone hurts the people we love. And that woman…” Dante gestures toward me with his head. “…was mine before she was ever handed to you like you bought her.”
His foot lowers on Carlito’s outstretched hand. Those groans would sadden me if they belonged to just about anyone else, but from him, they sound like victory.
Dante lifts his shoe in the air, and Carlito’s hand crunches when the two meet. His screams color the walls in bright revenge, and all I want is more. I want the brutality. I want the savagery to slam over every part of Carlito’s body like it did mine.
Dante meets my eyes, darkness clouding over tenderness. His breaths are harsh, but my exhales are harsher. An unspoken bond forms between us. His blood interlaced with mine. His vengeance entwined with my own.
A vow.
Unbroken.
Ours.
“Did he use a knife on you?” Disdain and compassion war for residency on his face.
I nod as my body folds into itself, protecting me from the memories.
His focus returns to his enemies, and I watch them from the side, able to see both.
“You allowed your daughter to be brutalized?” The knife in Dante’s hand crawls to my father’s throat, whose expression lacks emotion.
That’s the way the Bianchi men operate. Emotions equal weakness.
But it’s the opposite. Men who are afraid of expressing what they feel are cowards, and my father is the worst kind. I see that now.
“You had my family killed. My mother. My father. My little brother. All of them are gone because of you and your brothers, and you were about to have your daughter killed too?”
He did what?
A hand clasps over my mouth.
No.
Anguish for what Dante endured hurts more than my own pain. Losing that many people…
How could my family have been involved in that?
“Your mother wasn’t my idea,” my father adds. “I tried to tell him not to, but Faro—”
A menacing laugh is Dante’s only response as he takes a step back, flipping the knife in the air before he catches it.
“Wow. What a hero. How about a round of applause. Hmm?” He starts to clap, and all the men around them join in.
Then, suddenly, he’s on my father again. The blade tips up into his throat, making droplets of blood pool around the pointy edge. My heart thrashes in my rib cage.
“And my eight-year-old brother? My—”
I gasp. Dante glances back at me, but my eyes only know my dad.
Eight? Who is this man I call a father?
My pulse pumps wildly as tears leak from the edges of my eyes. I step forward, one foot after the other, until I’m right in front of him now. My hand whips out, striking his cheek as my lips curl with disgust.
“You killed a child?” My voice jitters with raw pain.
He swallows. “Not me…Raquel… Your uncle. He—”
“Stop!” I bellow, my palm in the air. “Were you there?! Did you watch it happen?!”
His silence tells me all I need to know.
“Did you try to stop it? Did you do anything at all?!” I scream.
He tightens his mouth and avoids my eyes, glancing down instead.
“Show me you’re worth something! Show me you have some humanity!”
But he continues to avoid my accusations.
“I don’t know you.” I shake my head. “This isn’t my father.”
I fail to keep the ache out of my voice. It’s broken, just like my family.
“Hurting children. Women. Your own daughter. You disgust me.”