Chapter SIX
Dante
––––––––
Three days. Three days of radio silence and curt brush-offs as she avoided me, ignored every call and text and attempt to bridge the frigid distance suddenly yawning between us. Three days of slowly losing my fucking mind, torn between fury and frustration and a gnawing, unshakable fear. As if in the space of a night, a handful of overheard words, I've become nothing to her.
And it's killing me. Carving out my insides with each click of her hanging up the phone, each clipped "Ginetta's not here" from her well-meaning roommate. I didn't realize how essential she'd become to me until she was ripped away, a serrated blade to the most vulnerable part of me. Gone is the sunshine warmth of her smile, the satin heat of her skin, the welcoming of her arms after a long day of death and deals.
I feel like I'm going fucking insane without her. The ugly words she overheard at the gala rattle around my skull, taunting me with their spiteful accuracy. Because they weren't exactly wrong, were they? I swooped in and seduced an innocent, spinning pretty words and prettier gifts, dazzling her with my world while conveniently ignoring the blood staining my hands.
I convinced myself it was better that way, that I was protecting her from the brutal reality of my life. And it allowed me to keep touching her, tasting her, burying myself in her honeyed warmth without tainting her further. Well, I've never claimed to be a good man. Selfish, ruthless, far too possessive for anyone's good - but never good. Never pure.
Until Ginetta. My sweet, brilliant girl, the only spot of true light in my dark and violent world. I wanted so badly to be better for her, to deserve the precious gift of her love. Of her trust. And instead, I stomped all over it with my own arrogant belief that I knew what was best, that omitting the truth was somehow noble instead of utterly fucking dickless.
Dios, what a mess.
I force myself to focus on the papers scattered across my desk, contracts and deeds swimming before my stinging eyes. Running the Russo empire is a full-time job on the best of days and this...this is about as far from my best as it gets. Every instinct is screaming at me to say fuck it all and storm over to Ginetta's place, bang down her door and beg her forgiveness. Grovel at her feet and confess every dark secret, every ruthless deed, until she understands that none of it, not one fucking part of my sordid life, could ever touch the purity of what I feel for her.
What I felt for her before I even knew her name.
But Gallo has been sniffing around my territory like a rabid fucking dog, just waiting for a sign of weakness to strike. And as much as it guts me, I can't afford to show any cracks right now. Not when that bastard would like nothing more than to hit me where I'm most vulnerable - and Ginetta has become both my greatest strength and my Achilles heel.
My cell buzzes with an incoming call and I snatch it up, my heart kicking painfully against my ribs. But it's just Enzo, no doubt with another update on this never-ending pissing contest.
"What?" I bark, not bothering to soften my tone.
"Gallo's crew hit the warehouse on 5th," Enzo says, sounding as weary as I feel. "Shot up a couple of our guys, made off with a big shipment of product. Getting real bold, boss."
I pinch the bridge of my nose against the throbbing in my skull. "Fuck. Okay. Get Luca and Gio to handle it. I want round- the-clock security on all our holdings until this shit is handled, capisce?"
"You got it." A pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. "Boss...not for nothing, but you can't keep doing this."
"Doing what, exactly?"
Enzo sighs. "This whole 'trying to have it all' thing. The legit businesses, the clean money, the civilian girl...it's spreading you too thin. Making you look soft."
I close my eyes, exhaustion and anger a leaden weight on my shoulders. "Don't start, Enzo. I'm not in the fucking mood."
"I'm just saying, Dante. This shit with Gallo, it's only gonna get worse. Man's looking for any weakness to exploit and right now, that pretty little piece has you wrapped around her fuckin' finger, and I..."
"Finish that sentence," I snarl, my free hand clenching into a fist on the glossy desktop. "I fucking dare you."
The line goes heavy with tension, crackling with the unspoken. I know Enzo means well. He's been my right hand since we were snot-nosed kids running numbers in the neighborhood, always guarding my back. But Ginetta...she's my line in the sand. The one thing I won't compromise on, no matter how much blood I have to spill.
"Just think about it," Enzo says finally, his tone grim. "Before you end up getting yourself killed over a piece of tail."
I end the call without responding, too furious to speak. He's not wrong about Gallo, about the bloody war brewing on the horizon. But he's dead fucking wrong about Ginetta. About what she means to me. I'd burn my whole goddamn empire to ash if it meant keeping her safe and happy. In my arms.
And if I don't find a way to convince her of that, and soon...I might just have to.
But first, I need to get my woman back.
***
"Faster. Harder. Come on, you pussy, fucking hit me!"
My trainer, a shredded monster named Vince, grits his teeth and swings at my head with a meaty fist. I duck the blow and come up swinging, catching him in the ribs with a vicious left hook. He grunts in pain and I press my advantage, raining punches onto his torso until he's stumbling back against the ropes.
We're in the private gym at my penthouse, going at it old school in the boxing ring. Forty-five minutes of ruthless sparring and my muscles are screaming, sweat pouring down my bare chest and back. But the gnawing restlessness, the seething whirl of pent-up emotion and impotent fucking fury, it's still crackling just under my skin like a live wire. Threatening to explode.
I need this. The violence, the pain. I need to hurt something, break it apart with my bare hands until the howling ache in my chest stops feeling like it's going to swallow me whole.
Vince comes at me with a roar, meaty arms swinging. I block and parry on autopilot, my mind a million miles away. With Ginetta. Always, eternally, with Ginetta.
It's been a week since I last laid eyes on her. Seven days without the silk of her skin, the sunlight in her smile. I'm crawling out of my fucking skin, a junkie jonesing for his next hit. The need to go to her, beg her forgiveness, is a physical thing, clawing at my guts like a rabid beast. I've lost count of the number of times I've gotten in my car to do just that, pride be damned...only to chicken the fuck out at the last second like a pathetic prick.
I don't know how to do this. This...feelings shit. I've spent my entire adult life ruthlessly suppressing any weakness, any vulnerability. Emotions are a liability in my world, an Achilles heel just begging to be exploited. I learned that lesson young, at my father's knee. Watched him lose fucking everything - his territory, his influence, his life - for love of a woman. Swore I'd never make the same mistake.
And yet here I am, laid low by a sweet, curvy little college student with a spine of steel and a heart so big it terrifies me. I know Ginetta heard some ugly shit at that gala, but Christ, doesn't she realize none of it fucking matters? That she could ask me for the moon and I'd find a way to lasso it for her?
I've never felt this way about anyone. Didn't even know I was capable of it, this all-consuming need to possess, cherish, worship. But from the second I laid eyes on her, flushed and perfect in that shitty nightclub, I was ruined. Destroyed for anyone else. There's no going back to the man I was before, the ruthless bastard who cared for nothing and no one.
Because she's in my blood now, a fever I can't sweat out. And if I have to spend the rest of my miserable fucking life convincing her of that, earning back the trust...it'll be worth every second. Every drop of blood and sweat and motherfucking tears.
If she'll even fucking see me, that is.
I've sent flowers, jewelry, first editions of her favorite books...all returned unopened. I've called, texted, e-mailed...all ignored. I even wrote her a goddamn letter like some pussy-whipped asshole in a bad romance novel, pouring my fucking heart out in shitty prose. Nothing. Not a word, not a whisper.
And it's killing me. The silence, the distance. I have no idea what she's thinking, feeling. If she's hurting even a fraction as badly as I am. I just need to see her, talk to her face to face. Convince her that whatever garbage she heard from those catty bitches, it couldn't be further from the truth. What I feel for her...it's the most genuine fucking thing I've ever known. The purest.
I just need the chance to prove it.
A sudden, sharp pain explodes in my jaw, snapping my head back on my neck. I taste blood, the coppery tang flooding my mouth.
"Shit, boss!" Vince looks horrified, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I thought you saw that one coming."
I shake my head to clear it, wiping the blood from my split lip. "S'fine," I grunt, rolling my shoulders. "I needed that."
And I did. The sting, the blood...it's centering. Grounding. A reminder that I'm not some maudlin pussy, pining for a woman like a bitch in heat. I'm Dante motherfucking Russo, capo di tutti capi. When I want something, I take it. And what I want is Ginetta, in my home, my bed, my life. For keeps this time. No more secrets, no more half-truths.
But first...I need a plan. A grand fucking gesture to show her just what she means to me, what I'm willing to do for her. For us.
I'm toweling off, my mind already whirring with possibilities, when Enzo comes bursting into the gym. His normally taciturn face is pale, etched with dread.
"Dante," he says, slightly out of breath. "It's Ginetta. Gallo's crew...they fucking took her."
The world narrows to a pinprick, a roaring in my ears. I feel the words like a punch to the solar plexus, driving the air from my lungs.
No. No no no. This can't be happening. Not her. Anyone but her.
"What the fuck do you mean, they took her?" I hear myself ask, my voice a distant, tinny thing.
"Snatched her right off the fuckin' street outside her apartment." Enzo drags a hand over his ashen face, genuine regret in his eyes. "No one saw it coming, boss. Gallo's never gone after civilians before."
The snarl tears out of me, wild and agonized. I welcome the rage, the unholy fury. It's all that's keeping me upright, stopping me from falling to my knees and howling at the cruel, merciless God I stopped believing in so long ago.
My Ginetta, my sweet girl...in the hands of that sadistic fuck Gallo. Because of me. Because I was too weak, too stupid, to stay away from her. To keep my poison well away from her light.
"Boss?" Enzo's voice cuts through the swirling chaos in my head, tentative in a way I've never heard from him. "What do you want to do?"
I close my eyes, the image of Ginetta's face rising behind my lids. Her shy smile, the spark of challenge in her eyes. The soft give of her under my hands, around my cock. I'd fucking burn the world to ash for her. Kill and main and destroy until she's back in my arms, safe.
Mine.
"Call the men," I say, my voice a scrape over gravel. "Every fucking one of them. We're going to war, and we aren't taking prisoners."
I don't wait for his response, already moving for the door. I have calls to make, favors to cash in. There will be blood tonight, rivers of it. I just pray it won't be hers.
Hold on, amore. I'm coming for you, and God fucking help anyone who gets in my way.