Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dante
I floored it.
The speedometer climbed as the empty highway stretched ahead. Street lights streaked across the windshield, the engine roared beneath the hood, and every seam in the road jolted straight up my spine.
None of it could drown out that face in my head.
Natasha.
But in her eyes, I was probably already something disposable—something she'd throw away sooner or later anyway.
And I'd done this to myself.
All this time, I'd been bouncing between two women like an idiot.
My heart already belonged to Natasha, but I couldn't cut ties with the past. I kept telling myself she was where I belonged, but then a few tears from Vera would hook me back in, and I couldn't make the call.
I thought I had time, that I could sort it all out eventually.
I was wrong.
My hands shook on the wheel. Regret made it almost impossible to think straight. I yanked the steering wheel hard, and the car scraped past the guardrail onto the exit ramp. The tires screamed. My shoulder slammed into the door.
Get it together, Dante.
Crashing and dying on this road would do nothing but harm her—and the child.
The iron gates of the manor swung open.
Every light was on, but the place echoed empty. Marble, crystal chandeliers, paintings worth millions—all there. Just missing one person. The studio I'd set up for her was still locked on the second floor. Paints, easels, that big south-facing window—untouched, gathering dust.
I parked at the steps and slammed the door. The two guards at the entrance saw my face and backed up half a step. Neither said a word.
These men already feared me. No one in this manor dared look me in the eye or breathe too loud around me. But lately, their fear ran deeper.
Made sense. A man who couldn't hold onto what he wanted was the most dangerous kind.
I didn't even know what I was capable of anymore.
I took the stairs two at a time, wanting nothing more than to lock myself in my room with a glass of whiskey until I couldn't see Natasha's eyes anymore.
I shoved open the bedroom door.
A naked woman lay sprawled across my bed.
Vera.
Her blonde hair fanned across my pillow, the covers kicked to her feet. One leg bent up, she looked at me with that satisfied, predatory gaze. The bedside lamp made her skin glow.
For two years, I'd dreamed of having this woman in my bed. I'd given her diamonds, cars, and a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I thought I loved her—loved her deeply.
Now, standing in the doorway watching her naked and posed on my bed, all I felt was tired.
"You're finally home." Vera's voice dripped honey. She slid off the bed, bare feet crossing the carpet, circling behind me.
I wasn't in the mood.
But Vera pressed herself against my back, soft breasts flattening against me, hands sliding from my waist to my chest, unbuttoning my shirt one by one. Her breath hit the back of my neck, carrying alcohol and that cloying perfume she always wore.
"Stop thinking about work." She breathed in my ear. "You've been running yourself ragged. I've been watching. Let me help you relax, hmm?"
Vera's hands slipped inside my open shirt, fingertips circling my chest, her whole body draped on mine.
I finally reached back, sliding my hand down her bare spine, inch by inch.
Vera took it as permission. Her back arched, pressing harder against me, grinding her most vital parts against me in a slow rhythm. She tilted her face up, eyes hazy, leaning close to whisper the kind of filth she used to say that made me lose control.
"Dante... I've been going crazy wanting you. Tonight, let's just enjoy ourselves. However you want me, I'm yours..."
Vera's body was still on fire, her technique still expert. Those hands had already slipped inside my pants, teasing around my limp cock.
I closed my eyes, waiting for that familiar heat to surge up from deep inside, waiting for that pathetic reproductive instinct to hijack my brain.
I waited.
Nothing.
This body I'd obsessed over for two years was offering itself to me, and I felt nothing.
Eyes closed, what surfaced wasn't Vera's burning skin, but scattered fragments.
Natasha in the studio, chewing her pen, lost in thought. Her cold fingertip the first time she'd shyly reached for my hand. That one time she'd painted until midnight, then quietly slipped into bed and rested her head on my shoulder.
Those moments were gone forever.
How had I ever thought I could keep hurting her and she'd just keep loving me? What the hell was I even holding onto back then?
My irritation didn't ease. It climbed higher, lodging in my chest.
I shoved Vera away.
Caught off guard, she stumbled backward naked onto the bed, landing hard in the center of the mattress. She stared at me, disbelief written across her face, blonde hair plastered to her cheeks.
"Dante?"
I looked away, refastening my shirt buttons.
"I'm tired," I said, voice flat. "Too much work."
"Too much work?" She forced the words through her teeth, then suddenly laughed—a sharp, ugly sound. "Right. Dante Romanov, you think I'm stupid?"
Her laugh didn't last. Her eyes went red. Tears spilled down onto her bare shoulders.
"You're thinking about Natasha. You went to her, didn't you?" Her voice shot up. "You can't let her go, can you?"
She'd dragged into the open what neither of us wanted to admit.
Yes.
I couldn't let her go.
That girl I'd used as a replacement, whose wedding dress I'd torn in front of everyone, who I'd called a scheming bitch—that girl I'd left standing in the freezing rain without a second glance—somehow, at some point, she'd gotten under my skin for good.
Every time I closed my eyes, there she was.
Every time I let my guard down, I thought of her.
"You're right," I said.
Vera froze. Probably didn't expect me to admit it so easily.
"I am thinking about her." Saying it out loud loosened something in my chest. "Vera, we're done."
"What are you—"
"The engagement's off." Each word deliberate. "As of today, there's nothing between us."
Tears brimmed in Vera's eyes, but she was still smiling. That twisted smile.
"Is this revenge?" Her voice went shrill. "Do you have any idea that all of New York is waiting to see us get married? You left me hanging here, made me the laughingstock of high society—"
"I know." I cut her off. "That's on me."
I paused.
"What I owe you, I'll make up for however I can. Money, reputation, whatever you want. Your father and your family will have my support. But only one thing I can't give—I can't come back to you."
Vera's expression shifted. She went soft.
"Have you forgotten?" Her voice trembled, one hand pressed to her chest. "Dante, I might not have much time left. You really want to push me away now? You want to leave me alone, all by myself..."
I used to fall for this. Not anymore.
Back then, I'd always thought she'd been with me for two years. I couldn't be too harsh.
"If you're really sick," I stared at her, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice, "I'll get you the best doctors in the country. All expenses covered. That's what I owe you. I acknowledge that."
"But—" I stepped back, putting distance between us. "I'm not spending the rest of my life pretending I can fool even myself. Vera, what I felt for you—it's gone. Completely gone."
"Gone?" Vera laughed, tears still streaked across her face. "Because of Natasha? Dante, wake up. You're doing this for her?"
"Yes."
My voice wasn't loud, but Vera went silent. She stared hard at me, chest heaving. She was probably searching my face for what she needed—doubt, guilt, weakness, anything.
I had nothing left to give her.
"You'll regret this." Each word shook. "Dante, you'll regret every word you said today. I promise you that."
"Maybe." I walked over and pulled the bedroom door open, stepping aside. "Now put your clothes on and get out."
She glared at me for a few more seconds, then jumped off the bed and bent down, grabbing her scattered clothes off the carpet, yanking them on in a frenzy. Her movements were jerky, frantic. She didn't even zip up her dress.
At the door, she stopped and looked back.
I thought she'd say something else.
She didn't.
She raised her hand and slammed the door with everything she had.
The room was mine alone now, thick with Vera's lingering perfume.
I'd never felt so alone.
But that loneliness was the only thing that gave me any peace.
All this time, I'd taken Natasha's love for granted, assumed she'd always be there, waiting for whenever I got around to noticing her.
I'd forgotten that even the deepest love wears thin when you keep breaking it.