Chapter 16
Nita
A week passed before I realized I was smiling more than I wasn’t.
It wasn’t the kind of grin that announced itself.
It was subtle. Sneaky. Natural. The sort that lived in the corners of my mouth when I was reading emails or stirring coffee or listening to Dante hum low and off-key in my kitchen while he pretended not to know I was watching him.
We didn’t name what we were doing. We didn’t need to.
He stayed. I didn’t ask him to leave. That felt like enough of a truce for two people who had spent most of their lives bracing for impact.
On Monday morning, I logged into work from my dining table, hair pulled back, blazer over a soft T-shirt like I could fool the world into thinking everything was exactly the same. I told my supervisor I would be remote for the week, family situation, complicated but contained.
It wasn’t a lie.
Dante existed in the periphery of my days at first. Coffee already made when I emerged half-awake. Quiet presence behind me while I took calls. The steady weight of his hand on my lower back when he passed, grounding without demanding.
By the next Wednesday, he was woven in. We fell into an easy rhythm that surprised me. Mornings slow. Afternoons separate but connected. Nights were deliberate. Sometimes heated, sometimes just quiet conversation stretched thin by exhaustion and comfort. He didn’t push.
That was the thing that kept undoing me. This was a man who could bend rooms to his will by simply standing in them, and yet with me, he waited. Watched. Adjusted.
I never had that before. I took a call from Char on Thursday while Dante was out grabbing groceries.
Her name lit up my phone, and for half a second, I considered letting it go to voicemail.
Secrets had a way of rotting from the inside.
I needed to tell her. I just wasn’t sure what the words were to explain.
I answered.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“You sound different,” she replied immediately.
I smiled. “Hello to you too.”
“No,” she pressed. “Different like, relaxed. Where are you?”
“Home,” I replied. Then, because I wasn’t going to do this sideways, I added, “Dante’s here.”
Silence. It stretched on for a beat. “Dante as in, Dante Verdone?”
“Yes.”
Another beat. “Like staying-with-you here?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled slowly. “Well. That’s not what I expected to hear today.”
“I didn’t want there to be secrets,” I shared. “Especially not with you.”
“I appreciate that,” she replied honestly. “I just, wow. I’m not sure what to say. I know you have always held him in a high regard of sorts. I assumed it was because he saved my life or it was his connection to Lamonte. But Nita, it’s been years. Why would he visit you now?”
“I know.”
She laughed softly. “Does he know you’re terrible at relaxing or slowing down?”
“He’s learning,” I stated, smiling again despite myself.
There was a pause, then her voice shifted, lighter, but with purpose. “Eli and I were actually talking about dinner this weekend. You should come. Both of you.”
I hesitated. “Char—”
“Nita,” she interrupted gently. “I want to see this with my own eyes.”
Dante came back just as I agreed, grocery bags in hand, eyebrow lifting as I mouthed dinner Saturday. He nodded once. No questions. He was simply in.
Saturday came too quickly. Char and Eli’s place was warm in the way homes became when people chose each other deliberately. Soft lighting. A lived-in couch. The smell of garlic and something roasting that made my stomach growl the second we stepped inside.
Eli opened the door. He took one look at Dante and didn’t hesitate.
He stepped forward and held out his hand.
Eli was the opposite of Dante. Short, but mighty in stature.
Softer features compared to the sharp lines of Dante’s face.
Eli had this ease about him where Dante carried himself in an unspoken way of posing a threat without even meaning to.
Dante blinked, then took it. “Thank you,” Eli began, voice steady. “For protecting her all those years ago. My life is better because she’s in it and that wouldn’t be without you.”
Dante swallowed, grip tightening just slightly. “I didn’t do anything special.”
Eli shook his head. “You did enough.”
I felt something tighten in my chest. Char came in behind him, eyes bright.
She hugged me first, long and tight, then turned to Dante.
She studied him for a moment, really looked, then smiled before wrapping her arms around his waist pulling him in close for a hug while he raised his arms up in surprise before finally settling in and patting my sister gently.
The mutual respect of two people who cared once for each other, but knew they weren’t ever meant to be more.
Dinner was easy in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Stories flowed. Laughter came quickly. Dante stayed mostly quiet, but when he spoke, everyone listened. Eli asked thoughtful questions. Char watched us like she was seeing a picture come into focus.
At one point, she set her fork down and looked directly at me.
“Nita,” she leaned over and whispered gently. “You relax when he’s around.”
I opened my mouth to deflect. She turned to Dante instead. “You’re a good man. Too much man for me.” She smiled softly. “I wasn’t, and I’m not a strong enough woman for a man who lives under the kind of code you do. I knew it then, I know it even more now.”
Dante shifted uncomfortably. “Char—”
“No,” she stated firmly, holding up a hand. “Let me finish.” She reached for Eli’s hand, squeezing. “But you and my sister?” Her voice warmed. “This fills my heart. I am happy you found someone, Dante. You deserve good.”
She looked back at me, eyes shining. “And you,” she barely got above a whisper, “you deserve a man who will move mountains for you. Who will protect you with everything he has. A man who is strong enough for the fierce woman you are.”
My throat tightened.
“You need a man who doesn’t need you to be the strong one all the time,” she continued. “You’ve been carrying that weight for so long you forgot what it feels like to set it down.”
Silence wrapped around the table. Char’s gaze moved between us.
“You two were made for each other. So make it work. However you have to.” Then, softer, but heavier, “If not for me, make it work for Lamonte.” The name landed like a held breath finally released.
“Because he would want this for you both.”
Dante didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
But under the table, his hand found mine, fingers threading together with quiet certainty. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t pull away. I stayed. Because maybe strength didn’t always look like standing alone. Maybe sometimes, it looked like letting someone stand with you.
The call came on a gray Tuesday morning, the kind where the sky pressed low and the city felt heavier than usual.
Dante didn’t say anything at first. His phone buzzed on the counter while I was rinsing a mug, and I watched his shoulders tighten before he even looked at the screen. That told me everything I needed to know before he answered.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hear you.”
I turned away, giving him privacy, but the apartment was small and we’d grown used to sharing air. His voice dropped, the cadence shifting into something older, harder. Club business. I didn’t need names or details.
When he hung up, the silence felt louder than the conversation had.
He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. “I’ve gotta go back to North Carolina.” The words settled into me slowly, like cold water soaking through cloth.
“Okay,” I managed, because I was good at that word. Because I knew how to accept reality without flinching. But it still hurt.
I dried my hands and crossed the room, stopping in front of him. Up close, I could see the conflict etched into his face—duty pulling one way, something newer tugging the other.
“How long?” I asked.
“Not sure,” he admitted. “Couple weeks. Maybe more.”
I nodded. “I figured.”
He reached for me then, arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I let myself rest there, breathing him in, memorizing the feel of his heartbeat under my cheek.
We lived two different lives.
That truth had been there from the beginning, like a quiet witness in the corner of every room. DC and North Carolina. Structure and chaos. Federal buildings and clubhouses. I knew this moment was coming.
Knowing didn’t make it easier. “I’m gonna miss you,” I admitted softly.
His breath hitched. “Yeah. Me too.”
The last day passed too quickly. We didn’t try to cram meaning into every second. No grand gestures. No dramatic declarations. Just small, intimate moments, coffee on the couch, a shared shower, his hand brushing my back as he passed like it might be the last time for a while.
When it was time, he stood by the door with his jacket on, helmet tucked under his arm. The sight of him like that, ready to leave, already half-gone tightened something in my chest.
He stepped close, cupping my face, forehead resting against mine. “I don’t want this to be undefined,” he stated carefully. “I don’t want to walk away without knowing where we stand.”
I closed my eyes for a beat, choosing my words. “No,” I whisperedgently.
His brow furrowed. “No?”
“We don’t put promises and pressure between us,” I explained. “Not now. Not like that.”
He straightened slightly, searching my face. “I’m not trying to cage you.”
“I know,” I admitted. “And I’m not trying to keep you at arm’s length. I’m saying we let this be what it is.”
He waited.
“What this is,” I continued, “will stand on its own. It’ll work if it works. And if it crumbles, then it was supposed to. Building a life with someone has challenges, but it’s not something you force into shape with pressure or obligation.”
His jaw flexed. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I won’t see other people,” I stated plainly. “And I expect the same respect from you.”
That got his full attention.
“We seem to enjoy each other’s bodies,” I added dryly, “without using protection. We’re adults. Old enough to know better.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“I’m clean,” I went on. “I get regular checkups because as a female this is important.”
He nodded immediately. “Same. I always use condoms, except with you, and I was tested not long ago. Everything’s fine.”
There was a pause. Then, quieter, more personal, he added, “After having you, my dick couldn’t get hard for anyone else anyway.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But honest,” he countered.
I smiled, warmth spreading even as uncertainty lingered. “Still. I don’t know that this will work.”
He stepped closer again, hands resting on my hips, steady and sure. “Neither do I.”
He kissed me then, not desperate, not hurried. Just deep and grounding, like a promise without words. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark but calm.
“What I do know,” he added, “is I’m not walking away from this just because it’s complicated.”
“I wouldn’t respect you if you did,” I replied.
He smiled at that. We stood there for a long moment, neither of us in a rush now. When he finally turned toward the door, I felt the absence already forming, a hollow space where he had been all week.
At the threshold, he looked back at me. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes,” I responded honestly. “I always am.”
He nodded, accepting that answer even if he didn’t love it. “I’ll call.”
“I know.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I stood there, listening to his footsteps fade, to the distant sound of the building returning to its usual rhythm.
My chest ached, but it wasn’t regret. It was hope, cautious and unguarded.
I didn’t know if this would work. But for the first time in a long time, I was willing to let something unfold without trying to control the ending.
And that felt like its own kind of strength.