14. Dante
DANTE
I was pissed off when Ricardo canceled on me. He’s always been unreliable, but with Ricci’s target on Samantha, he really needs to get his shit together.
And of course she’s with Reese. Alone, this time, not with Sofia like they usually are in their fucked up little trio. Anger rushes through me as I glance in the rearview mirror. Samantha’s leaning her head against his shoulder.
He’s stiff as he meets my eyes in the rearview. Looks scared.
Good.
He should be. Because if he touches her I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
“I need to find someone to have sex with.”
I swerve the car, nearly veering off the road. Samantha’s words are too loud, slightly slurred, but determined. Reese makes a squeaking sound in the back of his throat.
“I’m serious,” Samantha continues as I right the car with a curse.
I keep my mouth shut, gritting my teeth so hard it feels like my jaw will crack.
“Who was that guy at your party, Reese? Ethan? Maybe you could set me up with him.”
Reese clears his throat. “Sammy…”
My eyes shoot to his in the rearview mirror and he freezes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he rasps, and Samantha pouts, sitting up straight.
“It’s been too long since I’ve had a real boyfriend.”
A real boyfriend. Great.
“Maybe I could call up my ex from high school. Remember him, Reese? He was hot,” she goes on, and I know she’s just trying to get a rise out of me but…
It’s fucking working.
My heart pounds too hard against my chest. I’m speeding and don’t realize it, finally letting my foot off the gas so that the gauge goes below eighty.
“Um,” Reese manages.
“Derek. That was his name. Papa even liked him, remember?”
Reese nods, still looking at me in the rearview like a deer in headlights.
Who the fuck is Derek?
I want to ask for his whole name. Hunt him down. Kill him. At least maim him.
I grit my teeth harder and take the turn toward Reese’s apartment. God knows I’ve dropped his drunk ass off often enough.
Reese tries to scramble out of the car when I pull up, but Samantha grabs him, hugs him tightly, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for tonight,” she breathes, and Reese glares at her, clearly not a part of her game.
She’s only doing this to piss you off, I tell myself. Reese wouldn’t touch her. He’s too afraid.
But is he?
What happens behind closed doors?
Whenever she’s at a party or a bar and I’m not there? I know Ricardo doesn’t fucking watch her like I do.
Samantha climbs into the front seat awkwardly, nearly going ass over teakettle, but I don’t help steady her.
I can’t touch her right now.
If I do, I’ll break.
Tell her smitten is a fucking understatement. That I’m in love with her and if she doesn’t stop talking about Ethan or Derek or Reese or whoever the fuck, I’m going to lose my mind.
She finally seats herself and I wait for her to buckle her seatbelt too slowly, trying not to grind my teeth.
I don’t say a word as I take her back home.
She’s pulling out her phone, and I can’t help but glance over at the screen, seeing the contact number for Derek.
I’m going to wreck the fucking car.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask in a low voice, even though my brain is screaming at me to shut up.
“I’m doing whatever the fuck I want.”
“Your father–”
“Don’t fucking pretend this is about my father.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah? So? I’m a grown woman. I can get drunk with my friend if I want to.”
She’s texting something and I can’t stop myself from grabbing her phone and throwing it in the backseat.
“Hey!” She tries to clamber after it, but she forgets to take her seatbelt off. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and slam my other across her waist.
“Stop it.”
She huffs but doesn’t try again, looking at me with glassy brown eyes. “You don’t get to ignore me for days and then tell me what to do with my time.”
“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m telling you what not to do.”
“If I want a boyfriend, I’ll have a boyfriend,” she says stubbornly. I squeeze my eyes shut for a split second as I punch in the code for the gate.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, full of nervous energy, as I wait for it to creak open.
Elio needs to oil that fucking thing.
We pull up and Samantha clumsily takes off her seatbelt, getting out of the car and bracing herself on it.
Used to be I’d scoop her up, carry her inside.
This time I just watch her stumble her way to the door, her stilettos dangling from one hand.
Don’t follow her up the stairs.
I walk close behind her just in case she falls, but even though she sways, she makes it up the stairs, holding onto the railing. “Go away,” she says petulantly, turning to look at me.
She’s forgotten her phone in the backseat of my car, and I’m damn sure not about to remind her.
In this state she might call Derek to come over and I’ll have to get more blood on my hands.
“Samantha…tesoro…”
“Don’t you fucking call me that. Not after how you’ve acted.”
“I’m not…” I pause, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Save it,” she snaps. “You’re only sorry because you’re territorial.”
I open my mouth to protest but she jerks open her door, stalking in and slamming it in my face.
I stand there, staring at the closed door, for a long time.
“Goddamn it,” I curse, too loud, and head down to the basement gym. I’m already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and throwing my fist into something that isn’t someone’s face sounds like the best option right now.
I throw weights around, beating the shit out of the bag that Elio keeps down there for his kickboxing.
My knuckles split because I haven’t wrapped them, but I don’t care.
By the time I’m finished, I’m sweating, breathing hard, blood trickling down my fingers.
It doesn’t help the wildfire in my brain.
I know that I can’t be with Samantha.
I accepted that a long time ago. Actually, I never even thought of it as an option.
Not one that I survive. I’ve been friends with Elio for our whole lives, and Samantha is all he has left of Grace.
I’m a fucking asshole. And Samantha is right. She should move on.
But it will fucking kill me.
I don’t sleep.
I don’t go downstairs until lunch, my stomach growling. Samantha’s nowhere to be found.
Still holed up in her room, I guess.
Or… she’s snuck out.
I haven’t been exactly paying attention, trying to fight my own thoughts all night.
Panic rises in my throat.
I turn on my heel when I don’t see her in the dining room.
Elio still isn’t back from his date, so I suppose it went well. I head back upstairs and knock on her door softly. My knuckles sting.
“Yes?” she calls, and relief washes over me, nearly weakening my knees.
“Can we talk?”
Silence. I wait a beat. Then another. “Samantha?”
Nothing. I try the doorknob. It’s locked. I curse under my breath.
I lean my forehead against the door, breathing out slow through my nostrils to try and calm myself. “Samantha. Please.”
There’s a shift behind the door and her voice gets louder. “Leave me alone.”
“I just want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Just open the door, Samantha.”
“I told you not to tell me what to do.”
I draw in a sharp breath, irritation rushing through me. “You’re being a child.”
“That’s what you’re always calling me, anyway. I’m too young for you, remember?”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what’s it about, Dante?” Her voice raises even louder. She’s angry. And she has every right to be. I handled this badly, and I know it.
“I want to apologize.”
There’s another shifting sound behind the door and slowly, she opens it. She peeks at me with flashing brown eyes, not fully opening it.
“Won’t you let me in?”
“No.”
I want to scream. Instead, I run a hand through my hair again, mussed from me doing it so many times last night. “I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“Yes, you did,” she says flatly, and goes to shut the door again.
I wedge my foot in it, and it fucking hurts because I’m barefoot. But it keeps the door open. She glares at me, stepping back as I walk into her room, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“You should eat something,” I say softly. She looks pale, face puffy. Still beautiful.
She doesn’t answer.
“I know your head has to hurt,” I hedge, my voice low and calm. “Let me bring you some coffee and something to eat.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” I say slowly. “But you’ll feel better if you put something on all that liquor in your stomach.”
She doesn’t soften, her arms still crossed, eyes still on mine and angry. I sigh heavily. “Do you think this is easy for me?”
“It’s easy enough for you to ignore me, isn’t it? You didn’t seem torn up about it.”
“It wasn’t easy. None of this is fucking easy, Samantha.”
“Just go home,” she says flatly. “I’ll get my phone out of your car and you can go. I’ll have Papa send someone else to be my bodyguard.”
I blink as hurt pierces the shell around my heart. “Wh-what?” The stutter surprises me. I haven’t stuttered since I was in foster care.
“Just get out,” she says again, but her voice is thick. “Maybe the next bodyguard will be hotter. He might actually want me.”
More hurt settles over me like a shroud. It feels like someone’s twisting my stomach from the inside. “Is that what you want?” My voice goes soft and quiet. Small.
She whirls around to face me, and tears stream down her cheeks. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To be done with me?”
“I never said that.”
“You never say anything!” she bursts out, sniffling, wiping angrily at her face.
“Tesoro,” i say softly. “Please don’t…” I trail off, not sure how to finish.
“Please don’t what?”
“Don’t hate me,” I rasp out, my eyes searching her face.
Samantha’s face crumbles and she puts it in her hands, sobbing, her shoulders shaking. The shell around my heart cracks even further. I want to run. Want to hide from this.
I step forward, reaching out to touch her shoulder, and trace my finger along the scar from the bullet graze. Samantha leans into the touch, dropping her hands from her face and drawing in a shaking breath.
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“Wanting you is the problem, little one. You know that.”
“You don’t want me enough.”
I let out a breath through my nostrils. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“Then tell me, Dante. Please.”
I draw her into my arms, my thumb brushing across the skin of her bare arm.
She’s dressed in pajamas with cookies on them and a black camisole, barefaced, just the way I love to see her.
Tears track down her pretty face, her brown eyes red-rimmed.
That shell around my heart is like a windshield, spider-cracking but not shattering.
It’s only a matter of time. And I can’t fucking stay away from her.
I press my forehead to hers. “I do want you.” It’s not what I want to say. It’s not I love you. I need you. I don’t know how to let you go. But it’s something.
I wonder if it’s enough.
She looks up at me with her bottom lip trembling. “You mean that?”
I let out a dry chuckle. “Samantha, if I could choose not to want you, I would.”
“Me too,” she says shakily, smiling slightly.
I brush my nose across hers, pulling her even closer, her chest bumping mine. “I’ll give you your phone back if you delete Derek’s number.”
Samantha laughs thickly at that, sniffling again and wiping the last of the tears from her face. “Alright. Deal.”
“We have to be smart about this, tesoro. We nearly got caught, and you know what that means.”
She nods slowly.
“So you can’t touch me in public, especially not around your father. You can’t flirt with me like you have been.”
“And you can’t ignore me,” she shoots back, wrinkling her nose.
I smile. “Alright, little one. I won’t ignore you anymore, and you won’t push me.”
“Not much, anyway,” she says with a little grin, almost looking back to normal, and then I do kiss her, briefly on the mouth. She melts against me, whining into my mouth, and I swallow it down, kissing her deeper.
My hands have just gone around her waist when I hear Elio’s voice and freeze. She jerks apart from me, and it stings, even though it shouldn’t.
I sneak out of her room, creeping to mine and closing the door before Elio gets up the stairs. I let out a long breath in relief when I’m alone.
This isn’t forever. It can’t be, and we both know that.
But I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.