29. Problems
Chapter twenty-nine
Problems
(Dante)
Ipush my pasta around my plate, the same way I've been pushing problems around my mind all week. Even Missus Nell's mouth-watering carbonara can't tempt me tonight. My body craves sustenance, but my mind is too full of endless complications.
"You need to eat, my love," Danica says softly, reaching across the antique table to touch my hand. Her fingers are warm against my skin, which I know must feel cool to her touch—I've spent too many hours in that basement interrogation room again. I wonder if she can smell it on me.
We've only been back from Vegas for four days, but it's been beyond stressful. Dealing with missing shipments and frozen bank accounts and unhappy investors, and, and, and…It's just been one thing after the next.
It feels like we never left home. Like Vegas was but a drug-induced fever dream.
The weight of the world rests heavily on my shoulders, tainting everything with its darkness, its weight.
The world never pauses, no matter how hard you try. It certainly didn’t while we were away.
Outside the window, I notice Marco adjusting his patrol route to keep us in sight. The new security protocols are second nature now, but they're a constant reminder: we're not out of danger yet.
It doesn’t stop my mind from daydreaming about Vegas, though. About the most incredible wedding reception. My gifts…
Even now, I carry the bruises from Rani. Beautiful purples and yellows with healing red lines where she broke skin.
Every night, Danica makes me strip fully naked to inspect every single bruise, every cut, kissing them better before putting on salve.
She refuses to let me come though, much to my frustration. Something about needing to keep a clear head to solve our problems with the Russians. As much as I tell her that it’s having the opposite effect, that I can’t think when I’m so damn horny, my Queen has been impossible to sway.
I haven’t had a release since we left Vegas.
Since we got back, Danica’s been spending her days with the trainers, working on her fitness, her fighting skills, and even shooting practice. That and endless research, trying to find a way out of this mess.
I tried to get her just to relax, to enjoy the luxuries our status has to offer, but she wasn’t having any of it. “Stop wrapping me up in cotton wool,” she complained, and I dropped the subject.
It’s not like I would take my own advice either.
Last night, I fell asleep at my desk again.
Our happily ever after isn't quite proceeding as planned.
Turns out dismantling the Russian mob isn't as straightforward as we thought. As soon as I found a charger for my mobile after our intensely beautiful wedding night, the barrage of missed messages and calls flooded in.
There were complications. Unexpected deaths. Uprisings.
And just like that, our peace was shattered. Our honeymoon put on hold. An early flight home organized.
Now, trying to force myself to eat a table and not my desk, I can see Danica trying to keep her mood light, trying to make things easier for me. I wish I could tell her how much I appreciate it, but I don't know how. Everything feels like it's too much. Like we can't ever catch a break.
Biscotti's head appears in my lap, drawn by the untouched food. For once, I don't even attempt to maintain discipline, just absently offer him a piece of pancetta. His warm weight against my leg is oddly comforting.
"Tolya talked again today," I say finally, my voice rough from too little sleep. "Gave us another shipment schedule. Another shell company. Another..." I trail off, rubbing my temples where a persistent headache has taken up residence.
"That's good, isn't it?" Danica's voice is hopeful.
"It's endless, Tesoro. Every answer leads to ten more questions.
The ports are a maze of paperwork and shell companies and fuck knows what else.
Even with that idiot singing like a canary in our basement, it'll take months to untangle.
" I hear the despair in my own voice, feel my fingers cracking my knuckles out of nervous habit.
"But we got them out," she reminds me. "The Volkovs are finished."
"Are they?" My laugh feels bitter in my throat. "We've got their operations, their territory, their headaches. Those opiate shipments? They're still coming in. We can't just stop them—legitimate businesses are waiting. But I won't deal in that poison."
Biscotti whines softly, sensing my distress. I find myself scratching behind his ears—a gesture as much for my comfort as the dog's.
"We'll figure it out, darling. You need to pace yourself. This is too much stress." Danica's concern is evident in her eyes.
"Ha! There are so many problems we never even considered. Now the dock workers are threatening to strike, Emilio tells me." I sigh, finally taking a small bite of pasta. "Can't blame them. The management changeover hasn't exactly been a smooth transition."
"I spoke to their union rep yesterday," Danica offers, and I feel my eyebrows rise slightly.
"You did?"
"What? You're not the only one who can handle business. I've been learning, darling, figuring it out."
"What did the rep say?" I'm genuinely curious now, feeling a small spark of hope.
"He's worried about job security more than anything. I assured him we're keeping all legitimate operations running." She takes a sip of wine. "Though that accident at Pier 7 yesterday—that wasn't an accident."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean?"
"The crane operator said the controls malfunctioned, but I had our tech team check. Someone tampered with them. Could have killed three workers if he hadn't noticed something off about the cable tension."
"Cazzo." I rub my face, feeling the stubble I haven't had time to shave. "And now this morning's threat..."
"The note about 'rivers of blood' at the security gate? Bit dramatic if you ask me." She keeps her tone light, though we both know how serious it is. "I've already increased security at all access points, and I'm having cameras installed at the blind spots we found during the audit."
I stare at her for a long moment, struck by her competence. "When did you become so...capable?"
"I've always been capable. Now I just have better resources." She meets my gaze steadily. "Let me do more, Dante. You don't have to carry all of this alone."
"I don't want you—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Get hurt? Yeah, I know. But keeping me locked up like Rapunzel won't keep me safe."
"I'm doing my best." My voice sounds defensive even to my own ears.
"I know you are, baby. But let me be by your side where I belong. I'm not the damsel in distress you saved at the restaurant all those years ago when we met."
"I know," I say softly, looking down at my barely-touched meal. She’s right. We both know it.
"What are the other families up to?" she asks, pushing her finished plate aside. Unlike me, Danica has no issues with stress eating.
"Circling like sharks. Everyone remembers the port wars. Nobody wants another bloodbath, but nobody trusts anyone else to control them either." My voice catches slightly as unwanted memories surface—my mother's death, the bullet meant for my father that made me an unwilling part of port history.
"When was the last time you slept properly?" Her question draws me back to the present.
"It’s been a while." I don't even try to lie. "Every time I close my eyes, I see paperwork. Shipping manifests. Bank accounts. And somewhere in all of it is the key to making this work, to keeping the peace, but I can't find it…"
She stands, moving around the table to massage my shoulders. Under her fingers, I can feel how tense I've become, muscles like solid granite.
"You're not alone, my love," she murmurs. "The other families helped us take down the Russians. They'll help us figure out the ports."
"Or they'll tear each other apart trying." I lean back into her touch, craving the comfort. "We need a solution that doesn't end in war. That doesn't end with more bodies, more grieving families..."
"We'll figure it out." She presses a kiss to my temple.”
I know she’s trying to comfort me, but the dread refuses to leave my body. It’s a risky game.
“We better, because if we don’t—” I stop myself from finishing the sentence. We both know that if we don’t find a solution soon, it won’t just be our honeymoon that is ruined…but our lives too.
Not too long ago, I vowed to protect my Queen for the rest of our lives. But right now, I have no idea how I will make good on that promise.
"You won’t solve it all tonight,” Danica says. “Tonight, you're going to eat, then sleep."
"Danica…” I start, even though I know she’s right.
Biscotti chooses this moment to steal the pancetta directly from my plate, making us both laugh. The sound feels foreign after so many heavy discussions lately.
"Terrible guard dog," I mutter, but my hand is gentle when I push him away.
"Good timing, though." Danica returns to her seat. "Eat. Then bed. Doctor's orders."
"You're not that kind of doctor, Tesoro."
"No, but I am your Domme, and that's still an order."
I pick up my fork with a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.” I’m too tired to argue.
We both know tomorrow will bring more complications, more decisions. The Volkovs might be handled, but their ghost lingers in ledgers and shipping lanes and nervous dock workers wondering if they'll keep their jobs.
But for now, in this moment, we have pasta and each other and a spoiled dog who thinks he's people.
One day at a time.