Dante
Saffron, an Italian restaurant in Midtown, isn’t my typical choice when it comes to dining out.
For one, I don’t usually eat at small mom-and-pop holes-in-the-wall.
As a rule, I generally avoid Midtown like the plague.
Too many tourists polluting the streets.
Still, tonight’s a special occasion, and this restaurant has an undeniable New York charm.
Rain drizzles on our heads as Sara and I rush under the green overhang.
She slips through ahead of me, providing an excellent view of her delectable ass.
The lavender halter dress hugs her curves before falling loosely around her thighs, and a sinful pair of nude heels stretch her legs like a skyscraper.
The color of the fabric deepens the blue of her eyes and highlights the gold in her hair. The style reminds me of the way she used to dress.
“Table for two?” A tattooed twentysomething at the hostess stand gives us both a smile and grabs two laminated menus from a pile. I jerk my chin at her in answer, and she tucks a brown dread behind one ear and spins on her heel. “Awesome. Right this way.”
Placing a hand on the small of Sara’s back, I guide her through the restaurant after the young woman.
Beneath my hand, Sara practically vibrates with tension.
This is her first time out of the basement since we started fucking.
More importantly, it’s the first time I’ve allowed her out without either the collar or the leash.
If I were her, I’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop too.
The hostess leads us through a room with hanging bulbs and exposed brick that feels intimate despite packed tables, stopping at a booth across from the wood-carved bar.
Once Sara sits, I slide into the seat across from hers.
I could trap her, threaten her, but instead I tangle my fingers together on the table.
She eyes me suspiciously. “Why are we here?”
I raise a brow. She’s cute when she’s irritated with me, but I can’t afford to fall back into old habits. “To eat?”
Sara scoffs. “We were supposed to have dinner here the night…” She pauses to clear her throat. “That night. We were supposed to have dinner here that night.”
Turmoil churns in my gut, and I fight the swell of emotion. The fact that she remembers saves me from carving the message into her so she never forgets.
An older woman with a short gray ponytail drops off a couple glasses of water. “I’m Patty, and I’ll be right back to take your order.” With that, she flits off to check on another party in her section.
I barely notice, too focused on Sara. The way her throat works. The way she blinks too many times. The way her voice softens. “Dante.”
I can almost see the weight of history stripping her of her resolve. My lip curls, and whatever she notes in my expression prompts her to drop her eyes.
A knot forms in my stomach. I realize I don’t enjoy it when she draws back and goes meek. I know I’ve earned that reaction, but watching her roll over and accept my shitty treatment triggers a pained twist behind my ribs.
When she lifts her chin, some of the knot unravels. “If you brought me here just to terrorize me some more, get on with it. The sooner you have your fun, the sooner I can go back to my cell.”
Mind games are my weapon of choice, so why am I letting her get to me? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes blaze. “We’ve played this one before.” Sara leans in, and her fingers twitch with what I suspect is an urge to strangle me. “I complain, you insult me, then you threaten Jeremy, and—”
I interrupt before she can finish laying out all my terrible deeds. “I’m not hurting your brother, Sara. Jeremy’s fine.”
Her lips part. “What? How do yo—?”
“I had Luca run by SilverTech this morning.” I sip my water and eye her over the rim of my glass. “He’s fine. Happy. And buying whatever bullshit story you’ve been selling him, which benefits everyone.”
The words are a veiled warning to her and myself about what’s at stake.
Before Sara has a chance to respond, the server returns. “You two ready?” Patty glances between us hesitantly.
“We’ll share a margherita pizza, the pasta alla Genovese, and will have two house salads. No garlic. Oh, and bring your nicest bottle of red wine for the table.”
Once the server finishes scratching on her pad, she gathers the menus and hightails it to the kitchen, leaving Sara and me alone again.
A long silence follows. When Sara finally speaks, her shoulders droop. “What do you want from me? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
The reminder that Jeremy’s continued safety and happiness exist at my discretion obviously landed, so why does the realization leave me feeling flat?
I drum my fingers irritably on the table. “I just want us to have a nice night.”
True, to a degree.
For me, the most notable thing about Saffron isn’t the food, or the atmosphere, or its history in the community.
It’s more personal. I planned to propose to Sara at this restaurant.
Instead, my kidnappers ambushed me from the back of my SUV, dragged me to their hideaway, and subjected me to the worst months of my entire life. All because of her.
After spending hours whipped and beaten, I lay in the dark and assembled the jagged pieces of truth. That excruciating discovery rivaled the physical elements of my torture.
My abductors had the spare key to my Land Rover. The same key I’d given Sara in case her ancient car ever died while I was driving the Audi. And she was the only person I told about my planned trip to Long Island to buy custom rims for the Audi.
The man holding me captive merely confirmed my horrible suspicions, and when I asked why, he shared that they paid Sara a big chunk of money.
That night was supposed to kick off the rest of our lives together, not my own personal nightmare.
Sara studies me for a long moment, as if assessing my sincerity. I watch the tension bleed from her muscles in real time as she resigns herself to something. What, I don’t know.
What I do know is that, for the next hour and a half, she allows herself to unwind as she sips a glass of one-hundred-dollar Cabernet Sauvignon. Some of the lightness from the other day in her cell returns, so I decide to pretend, if only for a while, that my abduction never happened.
Is this how things would have played out that night, under different circumstances?
Where would we be if the last few years had only been a bad dream?
The thought jars me, especially when I’m the supervillain in her story, but that’s what she deserves. A woman willing to betray the people she loves doesn’t get a happy ending. I hate how her blue eyes lie, how the hurt in them pleads her innocence when we both know she’s guilty as sin.
“Have you thought any more about me working in the clinic?”
Irritation settles into my bones, anchoring me to the reality of the situation.
This isn’t a date. She’s not my girlfriend, and I can’t continue pretending that her requests matter. I’m tempted to agree just to witness her unguarded reaction, but I nix the idea almost immediately.
She’s safer locked up. It’s easier to maintain boundaries that way.
“No.”
Her entire body deflates. Disappointment distorts her features, and then they smooth to show a blank acceptance that sets my teeth on edge.
Dinner continues to go downhill from there. Every time I glance at Sara’s emotionless face, a burst of wrath floods me.
The chatter of the surrounding guests reminds me to maintain control. Wrestling with my roiling temper, I deliberately set down my fork and inject warmth into my voice. “Do you want dessert?”
As intended, the sudden change startles her. Her eyes widen like a doe’s before her expression adopts a far-away look. I wonder if she’s recalling the last time we shared a dessert together.
Then her jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
Intrigued by the glimpse of resistance, I reach out and cover her hand with mine. If I push too hard, she’ll only withdraw further.
My thumb strokes her soft skin, but I freeze at her wince. Her knuckles and hand are reddened, with small, jagged cuts from her nails. “You don’t seem fine, Sara.”
“And why do you care? I thought my pain was the point.” She punctuates the statement with a long drink of wine.
Regret sours my tongue. I shouldn’t feel bad about the shit I’ve done, because she’s right. Why the hell am I trying to soothe her when her pain is the point?
Maybe because I don’t want to play this game anymore.
It’s good to admit, if only to myself, that a weak, sick part of me wants her back. Not as another recipient for my revenge, but as Sara, my Sara, the woman I once loved more than anything. The woman I intended to marry.
But without this rage, this hate, I have no idea who I am anymore.
A heavy silence descends between us.
At some point, I will find the Ghost, and once he’s dead and the destruction ends, no one will be left to punish. No battle to win. I always assumed Sara would be either dead or at least ruined by then, but…what if she’s not?
What if I…forgave her?
I scowl into my wine glass. The man who met and fell in love with Sara no longer exists. Even if I relinquished my thirst for vengeance, Sara and I could never return to the past. The Dante who emerged from the ashes of his shattered life is a man she could never love.
I hate that thought a little too much. Most of all, I hate feeling like a lovesick puppy over a woman who sold me out.
That single fact pulls the pin on the grenade of my fury, and I welcome the emotion like an old friend. Sara doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. The second I let myself trust her again, she’ll stab me in the back. That’s just who she is.
I smooth my napkin in my lap and cock my head. “You know what I appreciate the most about you?”
Sara pales as she examines my expression. Licking her lips, she slowly sets down her glass. “Whatever you’re doing, please don’t.”
Ignoring her, I pour us both refills. “How considerate you are. After all, you taught me what love truly means.”
I speak loudly enough for the other tables to overhear, and bit by bit, the room quiets.
As I fish the ring box out of my pocket, a woman across from us gasps and grasps her companion’s arm.
“I know that I’ll never find a woman as loyal and honest and real as you are. I want you to be mine…forever.”
Amid the excited murmurs, Sarah’s chin trembles. Only she can sense the mockery in my voice, along with the dark intonation on forever. I expect tears, so she surprises me by curling her hands into fists, her blue eyes sparking like a lightning storm.
When I falter, Sara plucks the fake diamond ring from the box herself. She slips it onto her own finger while holding my gaze.
“How could I refuse such a heartfelt proposal from such a loyal man?”
Over all the clapping and cheering, I can’t tell for sure if her voice breaks. In keeping with the ruse, I rise and round the table to place the softest of kisses against her waiting mouth.
The contact crackles through me like I’m gripping a live wire with both hands, shocking me with pure heat and instant regret.
But I had no choice. Sara’s humiliation is the only reason the Council approved my request to bring her to a nice restaurant. Otherwise, they’d lose their minds.
Sara hooks her arm around my neck and leans back far enough to reveal her venomous smile. To our audience, she’s an ecstatic bride-to-be. But to me, she’s a woman finally pushed over the brink.
“Complimenti, Signor Argento.” Poison drips from her words, and shock that she remembers any of the language I taught her roars through me.
Her sharp nails in my jaw drive home the message that she’s done playing timid.
“You’ve finally destroyed every good memory I’ve ever had of you.
” With her free hand, she hoists her wine glass in a toast to the room at large. “Bravi!”
Sara tosses back the rest of her wine in one go at the cries of “Brava!” and “Tanta felicità!”
That’s when I know I’m in trouble.
Because if I once loved the gentle and untried version of Sara, then this woman—one full of teeth and bite and grit—just might destroy me.