Chapter 20 - Dante
Ana sleeps on the couch, pain medication making her breathe deep and even.
Her wounded arm rests on a pillow, fresh bandages spotted with blood that makes my jaw clench every time I look at it.
The red dress from last night lies destroyed on the floor, evidence of how close Detroit came to taking what’s mine.
I watch from my chair, unable to look away. Even drugged and wounded, she's devastating. The way she fought last night, three perfect kills with a dinner knife and borrowed gun. My cock stirs at the memory. My little warrior.
The door opens without a knock.
Only one person in this house would fucking dare.
"Brother." Luca's voice carries that specific tone that makes sane people reach for weapons. "Sister."
That wrong smile plays at his lips as he enters uninvited, pale blue eyes already reading everything. Ana's position, her bandages, the destroyed dress on the floor like a promise of violence.
He's back from wherever Marco sent him, and, of course, he's come straight to my bedroom. To Ana's bedroom.
I'm between them before my unhinged brother takes another step. My body blocks his view of her, shoulders squared in clear warning. Touch her and I'll forget we share blood.
"Protective." Luca tilts his head, studying my stance with academic interest. "How unlike you, Dante. You've never cared about your toys before."
My hands sign sharp and aggressive: "Not a toy."
"No?" He circles the room, predator studying prey, trying to get a better angle on Ana. "Heard she killed three men last night. Efficiently."
The way he says 'efficiently' makes my skin crawl. Like he's evaluating her performance, grading her technique. His pale blue eyes hold that particular light that appears when he's found something interesting to dissect.
"The throat strike was particularly clean," he continues, moving closer to the couch. "And using a steak knife? Creative. Most people don't realize the serrated edge can open an artery just as well as any blade."
My hand signs a single phrase: "Back off."
He pauses, that terrible smile widening. "Just observing. She's fascinating."
Ana stirs on the couch, the movement making her wince even in sleep. Luca's gaze sharpens, focusing on her bandaged arm with disturbing intensity.
"May I see the wound?"
The question hangs in the air like a threat. I don't bother signing, just position myself more firmly between them. The message is clear: Over my dead body.
Luca laughs, soft and wrong. The sound makes my shoulders tense. "You never did share your toys, brother. Even as children."
"Not. A. Toy." Each sign is violent enough to cut.
"No," he agrees, tilting his head. "She's something else entirely. Something that kills as beautifully as she fucks, I imagine."
The temperature drops. He knows about the desk. How? Cameras? Or just that uncanny ability to see too much? Doesn't matter. What matters is the way he's looking at her, like she's a project he wants to take apart to understand.
Ana's eyes open suddenly, fully alert despite the medication. Her body tenses, recognizing danger before her mind catches up. Smart girl. She looks between us, reading the tension, and her good hand moves subtly toward where she keeps her knife.
"You must be Luca," she says, voice rough from sleep but steady.
"The psycho brother." He says it cheerfully, like it's a title he's earned. "Yes."
She looks to me, and I see her cataloging everything. My position, my tension, the way I'm using my body as a shield. Her eyes ask a question I can't answer: Is he dangerous to me?
Yes. Always. Especially now that he's interested.
"Did you enjoy it?" Luca asks suddenly, stepping closer.
I shift to block him, but he just smiles and continues.
"Killing them. The blood. The way the light leaves their eyes. Did it make you wet?"
Ana's hand moves again toward the knife, and I catch the slight tremor in her fingers. Not fear. Recognition. She sees what he is, what he could do.
"That's an inappropriate question," she says carefully.
"Is it?" Luca's head tilts the other way. "You killed for my brother. That's intimate. More intimate than fucking, really. Sex is just bodies. But killing for someone? That's souls touching."
He takes another step toward her, and I grab his wrist. Warning. First and final.
The brothers' standoff lasts three heartbeats. His pale blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the thing that lives under his skin. The reason even hardened killers cross the street to avoid him. Then he smiles, wrong and bright, and pulls back.
"Touchy," he observes. "Just like that night."
"What night?" Ana asks from the couch, good hand rubbing her injured arm.
"The night everything changed." Luca's watching her now with disturbing focus. "Ten years ago. You have his eyes."
"Whose eyes?"
"The dead man's." His smile widens. "All dead men have the same eyes eventually. That surprised recognition when they realize it's over."
My hands move sharply: "Leave. Now."
"Did I upset you?" He asks it innocently, but we both know better. Everything Luca does is calculated for maximum damage.
He moves toward the door, then pauses, studying Ana one more time. "I could teach you things," he offers conversationally. "Perfect your form. That knife work could use refinement."
My hand slams against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. Both Ana and Luca freeze. The message is clear without words or signs. That's never happening. The thought of Luca getting his hands on Ana, teaching her his particular brand of violence…
"Interesting," Luca murmurs. "Such a violent response to protect her."
He's at the door now, hand on the handle, but turns back with that wrong smile.
"She's going to destroy you, brother." Not a threat. An observation. "Or you'll destroy each other. That's what love does in this family."
To Ana: "You remind me of someone."
"Who?" she asks, though I can see she doesn't really want to know.
That terrible smile widens. "Someone who made me what I am."
Then he's gone, leaving silence that feels heavier than his presence. Ana and I stare at each other across the room, both processing what just happened.
"Is he always…?" she starts to sign, then stops, not sure how to finish.
I nod. Always dangerous. Always wrong. Always my brother.
"Stay away from him," I sign, moving closer to the couch now that he's gone.
"You think he'd hurt me?"
I consider how to answer. Luca doesn't just hurt people. He unmakes them, finds the thing that makes them whole and removes it. Physical pain is pedestrian to him. He prefers the kind of damage that never heals.
"I think he'd try," I sign finally. "For fun. To see what you look like broken."
She processes this, and I see something shift in her eyes. She's recognizing the danger that lives within these walls, understanding that the threat isn't always external. Sometimes it shares your blood.
"You're afraid," she says softly. "Not of him. Of what he might do to me."
I nod, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. Close enough to touch but not touching. The medication makes her eyes soft, but I see the sharpness underneath. My warrior processing new intelligence.
"He knows," she signs carefully. "About us. About the desk."
Heat flares in my chest, remembering. Her spread across mahogany, contracts ruined beneath her, my name on her lips as she came. The memory makes my cock stir, even now, even with Luca's shadow still in the room.
"He knows too much," I agree.
Ana shifts on the couch, wincing as the movement pulls at her injury. Without thinking, I reach out, hand hovering over her bandaged arm. She doesn't pull away, so I let my fingers ghost over the bandage, not quite touching.
"I killed for you," she says quietly. "He's right about that being intimate."
My eyes find hers. She killed for me. Saved me from the shooter I didn't see. The possessive beast in my chest purrs at the memory. My woman, my warrior, mine.
"More intimate than fucking?" I sign, echoing Luca's words.
Color floods her cheeks, and fuck if that blush doesn't make me want to spread her out right here, injured or not. Show her exactly how intimate we can be. But she needs to heal. Needs to be whole before I take her again.
"Different," she signs back. "Both were… choices."
Choices. She chose to kill for me. Chose to spread her legs for me. Chose me, even if she hasn't admitted it yet.
I lean closer, unable to resist. Her breath catches as I press my forehead to hers, careful not to jostle her injured arm. We stay like that, sharing breath, the moment heavy with everything we're not saying.
"He scared me," she admits against my mouth. "Not like the others. Different. Wrong."
"Good," I sign against her cheek. "Fear keeps you alive with Luca."
She pulls back slightly to look at me. "You'd protect me? Even from your own brother?"
"From anyone," I sign, and mean it. "Anyone who threatens what's mine."
The possessiveness in my signs makes her breath catch. I see her pulse jump in her throat, the same spot I marked with my mouth. The bruise has faded, and I want to put it back. Want everyone to see she belongs to me, especially my brother with his wrong smile and disturbing interest.
"I should hate that," she signs. "Being called yours."
"But?"
She switches to Italian. "But I'm on pain medication and everything feels soft and you're looking at me like…" she trails off, good hand rising to touch my face.
Like I want to devour her. Like I want to wrap her in silk and lock her away where only I can touch her. Like I'd burn the world to keep her safe.
All true.
Her fingers trace my jaw, and I turn to press a kiss to her palm. She tastes like gunpowder residue and the metallic tang of dried blood, like violence and vulnerability. Perfect.
"Sleep," I sign. "I'll watch."
"You always watch," she murmurs, already sinking back into the cushions.
Always.
As she drifts back to sleep, I settle into my chair. On guard. On watch.
Luca's words echo in the silence: "She's going to destroy you."
Maybe. But anyone else who tries to touch her? I'll destroy them first. Brother or not.