6. Dante
DANTE
“I trust you got Sam home safe last night?”
My shoulders stiffen when Elio asks me that. “I did.”
He nods, pouring us both a scotch. I usually don’t drink this early in the day, but so be it. One won’t hurt.
“I appreciate you watching out for her. She’s getting to that age.”
“That age?”
“The age where she’s going to meet some greaseball to marry.”
The thought of Samantha getting married makes my breath catch in my throat. “She’s only twenty-five.”
“I married her mother at twenty-two.” He smiles at the thought of her, something bittersweet behind it. “Sixteen years wasn’t enough,” he says softly, and then shakes his head as if to clear it. “What about Ricci? Any movement on his part?”
I shake my head. “Not that I can tell. He sends Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to do everything.”
“And he hasn’t touched our shipments.”
“Not in weeks. Not since before—”
“The canary,” he finishes for me.
“The fucker is just biding his time.”
“Until he makes a real move, it’s too risky.”
“You’re right. And I can’t keep Sam on lockdown. You just have to be her shadow, Dante.”
Thought I already was. Is he saying he wants me to spend more time with Samantha?
“I’m going out of town for a week. I’ll be checking the cameras here, making sure everything’s on the up and up, but I trust you to keep her safe.”
Great. Perfect.
Elio leaves in a couple of hours and I head downstairs, sitting on the couch and flipping on the television to something mindless. There’s nothing to do but wait.
Samantha comes down the stairs wearing a pair of tight yoga shorts and a sports bra, her skin dewy like she’s just been to the gym or freshly showered or both. “Papa already leave?”
“About an hour ago.”
She nods. “I told him to take his time. I’m not going out this week.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not?”
She grins. “Yeah. Gonna stop giving you grey hairs. Sofia and Reese can come over here if they want to see me.”
It does make my muscles relax that she won’t be trying to sneak out the whole time Elio is gone.
“Gonna go out to the pool for a while, do some laps,” she says, and then treks back upstairs. I don’t think much of it until she pads back downstairs, wearing a barely-there string bikini.
“No,” I say before I can stop myself. She laughs out loud.
“No? You don’t like the bikini?”
“Doesn’t matter if I like it.”
She smirks. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Because I’m going to wear what I want.” Samantha brushes past me and I groan inwardly, following her out to the pool. “You could get in, if you wanted.”
“Don’t have any trunks.”
“Underwear works just as well.” She sits at the edge of the pool, dipping her feet in.
“There’s cameras everywhere. Your father will see.”
“See what? You taking a dip in the pool? He won’t care.” She pauses. “Besides, you think I’ve lived here twenty-five years and don’t know where the camera gaps are?” She points to the corner of the pool. “Camera can’t see there because of the angle.”
“Still doesn’t mean I wanna get wet.’
She pouts up at me. “Come on, Dante. Live a little.”
I can’t fucking resist that pout. I walk over, checking to see that she’s right—the cameras have a gap here about twenty feet wide. I shuck off my clothes and slip into the water. She swims over to me and I’m careful to stay in the gap.
Samantha wraps her hands around my neck and my throat goes dry. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Samantha.”
“I’m just treading water. You’re the tall one. I can’t stand at this depth.”
I reach down to grab her waist, holding her up in the water. She presses her lips to mine.
I groan into her mouth as her tongue slides past mine, her legs going around my waist. I can feel her core hot against my belly and my dick stands up against her stomach.
Then she pulls away, teasing, splashing me. I splash her back, grinning, and she yelps and goes under, sputtering as she comes back up.
“Better go to the shallow end before you drown,” I warn her, and she huffs out a breath, making her way closer again.
For the next hour, we play in the pool together.
It’s almost like we’re a real couple, except for the fact that I have to stay in the camera gap. She’s hanging off me like a spider monkey when the sound of a car pulling up makes her spring apart from me like I’m something poisonous.
Every good feeling I had over the last hour or so dissipates.
“Your father insisted on ordering pizza,”
Her eyes widen. “Dante, I didn’t mean–”
“It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. It fucking hurts. I know we aren’t… anything. I know I’m just a rebellious secret for her.
It’s not like she really cares. And this just proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I get out of the pool despite her protests, toweling off and dressing before grabbing the pizza from the front door.
I set it out on the coffee table and she comes walking into the living room. “Get it white it’s hot.”
“Dante. We should talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“About… what just happened back there.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt—”
“You didn’t.” My voice is flat but firm. I’m hoping she catches the hint, because there’s no part of me that wants to talk about this. “Eat your pizza.”
She slowly sits down on the floor, eating. I change the television to a mindless action movie and soon enough Samantha is laughing and cheering at the screen. I raise an eyebrow. “You like this movie?”
“It’s a classic action-comedy.”
“It’s a buddy cop movie.”
“I like buddy cop movies.”
“Really?”
“Quit asking me like that. I’m not just some girl who’s only into pumpkin spice or whatever,” she grumbles.
I can’t help but laugh. I’m still annoyed. Not mad at her. She can’t help it. It’s not her fault that she’s off-limits. That I shouldn’t be doing this.
Shouldn’t be sitting here with her, smiling at her as she cackles at the movie.
She heads upstairs to shower after a while and I make a drink, watching some sitcom that autoplayed after the movie. She comes back downstairs in her kitten pajamas. My heart clenches in my chest. “Make me one of those.”
“A scotch?”
“Sure. I drink them with Papa sometimes.”
I put my drink down and stand up, making her one with a ball of ice and handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She sips it, making a face. I chuckle. “It’s been a while,” she says defensively.
I give her a half-smile. “It’s an acquired taste. First time I had it, I thought my throat was on fire.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Your grandfather had me try it when I came over to stay the night the first time.”
“The first time?”
I nod slowly. “I moved in a couple nights later. Once your grandfather figured out I didn’t have anywhere to go except for back to the foster home, he took me in.”
“You and Papa really were like brothers.”
We were. Which is why I’m such a piece of shit for looking at his daughter the way I do. For touching her the way I do. Loving her.
“We are,” I say quietly.
She goes silent.
I guess there’s nothing more to say, is there?