2. Dante
DANTE
Three years pass, and I try to see Samantha Capetti as little as possible. Which isn’t easy, since her father isn’t just my best friend but my boss. Sometimes I have to pick her up from bars. She’s a bit of a club rat, loves to dance. I try not to think about it too much.
She’s twenty-five now, and no less outgoing and flirty as she was at twenty-two.
Christ. She’s just a kid. Which is why I shouldn’t be looking at her thick thighs as she hustles toward the SUV, putting her hand on the door.
“Mr. Bianchi,” she breathes, even though I’ve repeatedly asked her to call me Dante.
With all the time that’s passed, though, I think if she used my first name I might combust.
I grunt in response. She pouts. “What about ‘hello, Sam. Nice to see you again.’”
I roll my eyes, but a ghost of a smile plays at one corner of my mouth. “Hello, Samantha.”
She draws in a sharp breath. When I look at her she’s staring at me, pouting mouth parted.
Fuck. I look away, back at the road.
Samantha hasn’t exactly thrown herself at me, but it’s a near thing. I know for a fact that if I’d let her, she’d seduce me.
Which is why I have to stay vigilant. Because she’s off limits. Even if she does make my heart race.
I drive her back home and she tilts her head on her hand against the window, looking out. She seems a little melancholy. I hate that it makes me worry.
“Did you have a good night?”
“Mm.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not much of an answer.”
She shrugs.
I frown. It’s not normal for her to be so quiet. “No one messed with you, did they?”
She snorts. “If they did, Papa taught me how to use my knives.”
Atta girl. I nod. “Just making sure.”
“I’m fine. So don’t go telling Papa otherwise,” she scolds.
I hum and let down my window, punching in the number for the gate.
“Something kind of weird did happen,” she finally says.
My eyes shoot to hers. “Weird?”
She nods. “Somebody gave me a package.”
I frown again. “Show it to me.”
She rifles in her purse and brings out a small box, around the size of my hand.
“Get out of the car.”
“What?”
I reach across her lap, ignoring her gasp, and open her door, taking the package from her hands. “Get out of the car,” I say, more firmly, my voice lowering, and she swallows visibly.
She gets out of the car.
“Shut the door.”
Samantha huffs out a breath but does it.
I look down at the box. It could be a weapon. An explosive of some kind. Or maybe a toxin. I rip open the paper on the outside and open the box, drawing in a deep breath when I see the contents.
A dead canary, run through with a pin, blood coating its breast. I grit my teeth.
A message. Someone’s targeting Samantha.
She stands at the window, her small hands on the glass, frowning in at me. “What is it?” she yells.
I close the package and get out of the car. “Get in the house.”
“Quit telling me what to do.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her cleavage bulges. I keep my eyes on her face.
“I need to speak with Elio.” I brush past her, striding up the stairs to the front door.
“Dante.” My hand is on the doorknob when for the first time since I met her, Samantha says my first name. I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut.
“What is it?”
Her voice is right behind me now. I turn around slowly, opening the box and showing it to her.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she gasps, gagging. “Is that a canary?”
“It’s a sign. You’re in trouble, Samantha.”
She goes silent and pale. “Wh-who do you think sent it?”
“Tell me everything about the man who gave you this.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t a man. It was a girl, about my age. She said some guy paid her a thousand bucks to give it to me. Seemed pretty cheerful.”
“When did it happen?”
“Right before you pulled up.”
My jaw tightens. “You should have told me right away.”
“I didn’t think it’d be a fucking dead bird, Dante,” she snaps.
I draw in a deep breath, trying not to lose it. “You’re in danger, Samantha. You have to start listening to me.” I pause. “To your father.”
She jerks open the door and stalks inside. Elio’s sitting in the living room, watching television, used to her late nights. “Hey, cara mia,” he calls to her, but I walk into the living room first.
“We have a problem.” I drop the package in his lap.
He frowns and looks down at it. He goes as pale as she did. “Who gave this to you?” He cranes his neck to look at Samantha.
She stares at him, looking shell-shocked and still a little annoyed at me. “Some girl. Someone paid her to do it.”
Elio’s dark eyes shoot to mine. “You think this is Ricci?”
I nod tightly. Luciano Ricci has been Elio’s enemy for twenty years, ever since we were kids.
They fell in love with the same woman—Samantha’s mother.
Grace was a sweet, fiery woman, not unlike Samantha. I’d liked her a lot, and was sorry to hear she’d passed on.
Elio became don when he was twenty-two years old, when his father passed on, and I was there, only twenty at the time.
His first act as don was to send me overseas to gather information on the allies we had in Sicily.
I’d spent twenty-five years there. The old ones died. The new generation took over. Elio finally called me home.
And then I met Samantha with those golden brown eyes of hers, a perfect mixture of her mother and father’s best features.
The first time I saw her, all I was able to do was stare. She's drop dead gorgeous, prettier even than her mother, who was a head-turner herself. And that body of hers. It’s downright sinful, wide across the hips and bust, narrow at the waist, thick thighs and calves.
But I shouldn’t be thinking about Samantha’s body right now. I should be thinking about her life. Her safety.
“If it is Luciano, I’ll kill him,” Elio growls.
“You can’t do that, Papa!” Samantha’s cries jerk me back to reality and I shake my head.
“She’s right, Elio. It would start a war.”
He throws the package on the ground and the poor canary flies out, landing against the wall. “This starts a war. He threatened my child.”
“We don’t know for sure it’s him,” Samantha says quickly. “And Papa—I’m okay. Really.” She holds out her arms as if to show him she’s unharmed.
Elio stands and blows out a breath. “I’ll handle this.”
“Please, Papa, don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll handle it,” he says again flatly, then heads toward the stairs. He jerks his head, gesturing for me to follow. I look at Samantha. She stares back, a flash in her nearly golden eyes.
I should have been there. Should have kept her safe.
I tear my eyes away from her, following Elio into his office.
“Shut the door behind you.” His voice is low and calm. Which, knowing Elio, is dangerous.
He's always been a bit of a hothead. I’ve always been the stoic one, the cold one.
Elio’s fiery. So when he goes calm and still, he’s pissed.
It keeps replaying in my head. Should have been there. Should have kept her safe.
I know that my feelings for Samantha are more than they should be. I shouldn’t feel anything for her except for something paternal. But there’s nothing paternal about the way I feel about her.
I think about her when I close my eyes at night. When I open them in the morning. I’m well aware I’m half in love with her.
But I’ll never take that step. I’m here to help keep her safe.
That’s it.
“Elio–”
“Don’t talk. Just listen.” He doesn’t go behind his desk, instead pacing around the room. “Ricci has to be behind this. He’s pissed off that his men failed to steal that last gun shipment.”
“The ARs?”
He nods sharply. “I know you weren’t there, but Ricardo took out three of his best men.”
I’m actually impressed. I’ve always thought of Ricardo as kind of an asshole, but I guess he can back it up after all.
I do plenty of work for Elio, but I’m mostly the muscle.
An enforcer, if you will. I’m technically caputo of this area.
Elio delegates to me and I represent him in the city and surrounding areas.
Further out, he has different caputos. Ricardo Juarez is one of them.
Not Sicilian, but he’s been in and out of prison his whole life. Sided with the Italian gangs inside.
He earned his title. I’m not sure that I did. I was a couple years behind Elio in school, but always bigger than him. Meaner, too. Nobody messed with him while I was around.
So when my parents split and dropped me off in foster care when I was fifteen… it was Elio’s father who took me in. Said he appreciated my loyalty to his son.
I’ve tried to earn my keep ever since.
“We can’t make a move,” I warn.
Elio grits his teeth. “We can’t. But fuck, I want to. That’s my daughter, Dante.”
“I know.”
“And now I’ll have to find someone to protect her.”
“I know.”
Elio looks up at me and I shake my head. “No, Elio, you can’t be thinking–”
“You’ll do it.”
“No!” I nearly shout and then sigh, lower my voice. “No. I’ve got too many collections to handle—”
“You can do those when she’s home with me. Or I’ll take over again.” He shrugs. “Not like I ever needed you to do it.”
“I’m well aware you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, but you’re busy,” I argue, my heart pounding.
But you should have protected her. This is your chance.
“You’re the only one I can trust, Dante.”
That does it. I drag a hand across my face. “Fine. I’ll be a glorified babysitter.”
“She goes out a lot. You’ll have fun. Maybe meet a woman.” He pauses, a grin spreading across his face. “You do still like those, right? Women?”
My fist flies out to sock him in the shoulder and he groans dramatically. He holds out one hand as if in defense. “Just asking. Haven’t seen you with one since you got back.”
“There have been women.”
“How many?”
“Enough,” I mutter.
In fact, there’s only been a handful of one night stands. Three, to be exact. In three years. I’m not good at meeting people, and even worse at seducing women. Usually I just wait for a bold one to approach me.
I’m pretty easy on the eyes, or so I’m told.
“You’ll have to move in here.”
I give him a half smile. “Like old times?”
“You can even have your old room,” he says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. He’s enjoying this.
I chuckle. “Alright. How bad could it be?”