Chapter 17
ADRIANO
I glance at my phone again.
Three hours till I can head back to the compound.
Three hours that'll drag like thirty.
For the first time since I was a teenager learning the family trade, I'm rushing through meetings, cutting short conversations, keeping my eyes on the clock like some corporate drone counting minutes to freedom.
Not that I'm sloppy.
If anything, I'm sharper now, more efficient.
Last week, I negotiated a deal in half the time Alessandro expected, walked away with better terms than we'd outlined.
Two days ago, I tracked down Reginelli's cousin who'd been skimming, had him confessing in under twenty minutes without leaving a mark on him, until I killed him.
Yesterday, I reorganized the entire eastern distribution route, cutting our exposure by thirty percent.
All these results and efficiency come from the desire to get home to Eva and Mirabella.
"You're in a hurry," Dominic comments as I check my watch again.
"Got somewhere to be."
“Hot date?”
I ignore him, checking the last crate of weapons personally, making sure each piece matches our manifest.
My phone buzzes with a text from Eva. A photo of Mirabella with chocolate all over her face fills my screen.
Warmth fills my chest. I’m sure I’m smiling like a loon, but I can't bring myself to care.
Four years ago, my father noticed this same distraction. "Love makes men weak," he'd said with contempt. "With your head in the clouds, you'll get us all killed."
He was wrong.
Having something to protect doesn't make me weaker.
It makes me more ruthless, more calculating, more determined that nothing threatens what's mine.
I push away the thoughts about why he thought Eva was a threat. Why he made her leave knowing she was carrying my child.
I thumb through more photos as Dominic handles the payment. Eva at the piano teaching Mirabella, both of them laughing. Mirabella napping with her fairy dolls. This is the family I’d wanted but thought I'd lost.
Alessandro's suspicion is the only dark cloud.
He watches Eva like she's a bomb about to detonate.
Maybe she is.
She's still hiding something.
I'm not stupid enough to miss that.
But I'll get it out of her eventually, on my terms.
Whatever it is, we'll handle it.
"We're done here," Dominic announces.
"Good." I pocket my phone. "Let's move."
We're back at the compound forty minutes early, and I don't give a shit who notices my hurry. I've spent four years thinking Eva was dead, missing every moment of my daughter's life. I'm not wasting another minute.
I find her in the garden, sitting on a stone bench watching Mirabella chase butterflies. For a moment, I take in the sight of them both. The scene is so fucking perfect, it makes my chest ache in that way that feels like at any moment, it’s going to be taken from me.
Three weeks they've been here. Each day, I grow closer to my daughter. Each night, I hold Eva, memorizing every inch of her body like it might vanish again by morning.
But something's off. I see it in the way Eva's smile sometimes freezes, the way her eyes dart to exits when she thinks I'm not looking.
The way she flinches at unexpected sounds.
She’s fearful, and I get why.
Alessandro is a scary dude.
But I see calculation in her eyes as well. As if she’s planning her escape.
Last night, she left our bed, and for a moment, I thought she was making her move. I don’t know where she went or what she did, but she returned to my side. I want to believe it means her behavior is just a reaction to Alessandro and not that she’s planning to leave.
I approach, and Mirabella spots me first.
"Daddy!" She races toward me, arms outstretched.
I scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How's my little fairy princess today?"
"I almost caught a butterfly!"
“You know, if you sit still, sometimes they’ll come and sit on you.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really.” I set her down and she trots off to sit at the edge of the flower garden, her hands in her lap as she sits still, her eyes watching the butterflies.
When she's out of earshot, I sit beside Eva. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." She leans against me, but there's tension in her shoulders. "Everything's perfect."
"Eva. I know when something's wrong. Talk to me."
"It's nothing. Just adjusting."
The lie pisses me off, but I swallow the irritation down. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. But I can't protect you from what I don't know."
Her eyes flicker away. "We're safe here. That's all that matters."
Fucking hell. If push too hard, she'll retreat further. But my patience is wearing thin.
"I want to believe you," I say quietly.
Her fingers tighten around mine. "Then believe me."
She won’t look at me, a sure sign of deception. Patience, I remind myself. Four years on the run makes people skittish. I need to get Alessandro off her back so she can relax and see that she’s safe here. That she can trust me.
"I've got a surprise.” I change the topic.
"What kind of surprise?"
"The kind where you put on a black dress and we take Mirabella out for the night."
“I doubt Alessandro will allow me—”
“Fuck that, Eva. Do you want to go out or not?” I snap.
She flinches, and I hate that I’ve startled her.
I take a breath. “Alessandro doesn’t control everything. Come on. We’ll go out as a family. What do you say?”
“I say that would be lovely.”
An hour later, Eva emerges in a sleek, elegant dress that hugs her curves without being overtly sexual. She's pinned her hair up, exposing the delicate line of her neck, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. She’s so fucking beautiful.
Mirabella bounces beside her in a midnight-blue dress with silver stars, looking like she might burst from excitement. "Daddy! Look at my sparkles!"
"The most beautiful girls in New York," I tell them both, meaning every word.
I drive us into Manhattan for dinner. The ma?tre d' escorts us to a private corner table with views of the entire restaurant. It’s a long-formed habit. I need to see every entrance, every potential threat. The place is nice, but not so nice that it doesn’t have spaghetti for Mirabella.
“I’ve got us tickets to see Sleeping Beauty,” I say as we wait for our meals to arrive.
“The movie?” Eva asks.
“The ballet.” I look at Mirabella. "It has fairies."
Her squeal of delight draws looks from nearby tables. I couldn't care less.
After dinner, we head to the theater and take our seats in a private box. I’ve experienced many great thrills in my life, but nothing compares to watching my daughter's face as the curtain rises and dancers fill the stage.
"Daddy," she says in awe. "The fairies are real."
"Yes, they are.”
Mirabella is transfixed, for the first part, but then she climbs into my lap, and not long after, she’s sleeping.
When the show ends, I carry her in one arm, my other hand holding Eva’s as we move through the lobby toward the exit.
"The blue fairy was the prettiest," Mirabella mumbles, half-asleep. "Can I be a fairy?"
"You already are," I tell her. "The most magical one."
Eva catches my eye over our daughter's head, and the warmth in her gaze pleases me. For tonight, whatever haunts her isn’t present.
We’re nearly at the exit doors when the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
My hand tightens around Eva's hand, pulling her closer to my side.
“Adriano Dante. I didn’t know you had an interest in the arts.” Ivan Vasiliev steps in front of us.
Every muscle in my body coils for violence.
I calculate what it would take to put a bullet between his eyes right now.
But the theater lobby teems with civilians and my daughter sleeps against my shoulder, innocent and vulnerable.
"Ivan," I acknowledge, keeping my voice conversational while my eyes promise death. "Didn't take you for a ballet fan either."
His smile reminds me of a snake. "Art transcends our petty conflicts, doesn't it?"
Two of his men shift positions, blocking the exit. Ivan takes a step closer, and I feel Eva tremble against me.
"I didn’t realize you had a family.” His eyes drift to Eva, watching her with disturbing familiarity.
Eva shrinks further into my side.
"You seem unusually interested in my woman," I say, dropping all pretense of civility. If Eva won’t tell me what the fuck is going on, maybe he will. "Why is that?"
Ivan's expression shifts to amusement. "Your woman? Interesting."
The crowded lobby fades away, my focus narrowing to the space between us. "Choose your next words carefully, Vasiliev."
"Or what?" He spreads his hands. "You'll gun me down in front of all these witnesses? In front of the child? I think not."
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that I could snap his neck before his heartbeat registers the movement.
“You always act like we’ve taken something from you, young Dante, but let me remind you that you’re the one who took my brother.”
“You killed my father.”
He shrugs. “Maksim was wrong to do that.”
“You haven’t answered my question. What’s your interest in Eva?”
Eva’s gaze shoots to me, horror filling her eyes. A sinking feeling dips in my stomach as I realize she’s afraid of what he might tell me.
Ivan watches us with interest. “She hasn’t told you?”
Eva's hand squeezes so tight, I nearly wince.
He laughs. “Clearly not.”
One of Ivan’s men leans in and whispers in his ear.
“Alas, I must go.” Ivan turns his attention to Eva. “I’ll see you again soon, маленькая шпионка.”
The Russian phrase makes Eva gasp. Little spy.
"Touch her, and I'll skin you alive," I promise quietly.
Ivan waves his hand dismissively. “No need for that.”
His men move out of our way, and I tug Eva along as we exit the theater.
I’m doing my damnedest to keep my face impassive, but inside my brain, questions are ricocheting.
Why did he call her his little spy?