Chapter 26
What was happening to me?
I barely recognized myself, hearing myself scream in ecstasy in the middle of a crowded nightclub.
Okay…maybe not in the middle.
Dorian and I had been off to the side, hidden away in a dark nook. With all the noise and frenetic energy in the club, I doubted anyone had heard or seen anything.
And even if someone had noticed us, they clearly didn’t care.
Thank God for that. I didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if someone had been stupid enough to interrupt Dorian while making love.
It wasn’t the embarrassment that worried me; it was what Dorian would have done to them.
Would he have knocked them out…or worse? Honestly, I was grateful that I didn’t have to find out.
It was strange to have my head filled with such violent thoughts as Dorian slowly lowered me back down to the ground. His touch bordered on tender as he helped me straighten my dress back, his open hands smoothing out any wrinkles.
“Let me fix your hair,” he said before gently combing his fingers through the strands. The gentleness of his touch was at total odds with the violence I now knew he was capable of.
Rationally, I knew the dissonance between those two truths should have left me feeling deeply uncomfortable, but for some reason, all I felt was…special.
It was an odd thing to admit. To know that a man who wasn’t just capable but talented at doling out pain found me worthy of pleasure was an intoxicating thought. It affected me on a visceral level, and there was no point denying it.
I had to bite my lip to keep it from trembling when he hooked his thumb under my chin and lifted my face.
“Come on,” he said, looking me in the eye with those sapphire blue eyes. “I’m going to take you home.”
Home.
Gabriel’s rant about how Dorian never took any of his flings home echoed in my mind, and the satisfied, floaty feeling inside me grew.
Maybe there was something special between us after all—some kind of special connection that went beyond the physical, one that allowed us to break past the surface level and touch the real person underneath.
The thought cemented itself in my head as Dorian took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. Being connected to him like this felt so right.
It felt perfect.
And despite knowing just how dangerous he could be, I felt nothing but safe as he led me through the nightclub and out the front door.
We must have worked up a sweat behind that pillar because the cool night air took my breath away as it washed against my skin. Dorian noticed my chill and took off his suit jacket, draping it over my shoulders as the valet pulled the car up.
A comfortable kind of silence blanketed the ride back home.
Cozied up in the passenger seat, surrounded by the warmth of Dorian’s coat and drawing in his scent with every breath, I couldn’t help but feel at peace. I even found myself reaching across the seat to take his hand as he navigated the crowded streets of Manhattan. Simply gazing out the window at the passing lights and people was enough to lull me into a dreamlike state.
I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d felt this way—not just safe but also relaxed.
Happy.
That was the word I was looking for. The one I’d almost forgotten during my daily struggle for survival.
It had been a long time since I’d felt actual happiness—longer than the eighteen months I’d been on the run.
My internship at the hospital had been challenging and successful, but it hadn’t made me happy. The years in med school had been much the same. I’d been too busy, too focused on my goals, to seek out something as fleeting as happiness.
But sitting here by Dorian’s side, feeling the warm strength of his hand in mine, that’s exactly what I felt.
I knew it didn’t make sense. His world was violent. It was chaos and bloodshed. It was filled with people who scared the living shit out of me.
I knew all of that…and I didn’t care.
All I wanted was for this feeling to never end.
I kept my hold on his hand as we walked through the underground parking lot beneath his building. I didn’t pull away until we were back inside his apartment.
“Are you tired?” he asked, peeling his jacket from my shoulders.
“A little,” I admitted. It had been a long day, but my mind was still spinning too fast for sleep. “But I don’t want to go to bed yet.”
Dorian nodded as if he understood and moved toward the bar on the other side of the room. “Drink, then?”
“Sure.” Why not? “Vodka soda, if you have it.”
A minute later, he handed me a tall, skinny glass filled with ice and transparent bubbles. He took the seat next to me, and for a moment, that calm, peaceful silence returned as we drank and looked out the window over the city.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said after a minute had passed. “How did your conversation with Russo go?”
With his glass halfway to his mouth, he froze and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you want to ask me questions about work?”
The vodka must have already gone straight to my head because a laugh bubbled out of my lips before I could stop it.
“You said you were just going to ask him some questions. I think I can handle that,” I answered before pausing. “Wait…you just asked him questions, didn’t you?”
“Just questions,” he confirmed before finishing the sip I’d interrupted. “There wasn’t time to do anything else. I’d barely started talking to him before you ran off onto the dance floor.”
I looked down, embarrassment burning my cheeks. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to screw things up for you.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, cupping my cheek. “You’re far more important than whatever lies Russo was spewing. There’s nothing more important than you.”
“That’s a sweet thing to say.” Maybe the sweetest anyone had ever said to me.
“It’s the truth.”
My breath hitched in my throat as my chest tightened. How could I have forgotten this was what happiness felt like?
I took another drink, trying in vain to cover my blush, and attempted to steer the conversation back to a topic that made me feel less self-conscious.
“How do you know Russo was lying?” I asked.
“Everyone has a tell,” he said.
“Even me?”
“Especially you.” A wicked-looking grin crept over his face. “Someone like you usually has several.”
“Someone like me?” I gasped in mock offense before laughing. “What does that mean?”
Dorian draped his arm over the back of the couch, turning more fully toward me.
“Someone who is uncomfortable with the idea of lying,” he explained. “Take it as a compliment. It means you’re generally honest.”
“Only generally?” I teased. “Not totally?”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “You lied to me earlier this evening.”
Fair enough. Maybe if I’d been less tired or hadn’t just chugged a full vodka soda, I would have argued. But instead, I just cocked my chin to the side and said, “What gave me away?”
“Your forehead tenses,” he said, starting at the top and working his way down. “Two little lines dig into your face right above your nose. Your nostrils flare. The corners of your lips pull down. The tendons in your neck?—“
I’d heard enough.
“Got it,” I said, cutting him off as I raised my hands in surrender. “You made your point. I’m a bad liar. But I’m guessing Russo isn’t.”
“No, he’s pretty damn good,” he said. “But no one is perfect.”
“So what’s his tell?”
“A small twitch in his right trigger finger.”
I laughed, certain that Dorian was joking around, but he didn’t so much as smile.
“Wait. You’re serious?”
Dorian nodded. “Dead serious.”
“You were able to notice one tiny twitch with everything else that was going on? The lights? The noise? The crowd?”
“It helps that it’s a common tell among certain people.”
“Which people?” I asked.
“The kind that likes to reach for a gun whenever they get uncomfortable.”
Oh!Violent people. That made sense…and it also made me curious.
“So is that your tell too?” I asked. “Should I start looking at your hands every time I ask you a question?”
“No.” Dorian shook his head. “But only because I don’t use guns.”
“You’re kidding.” A hitman that didn’t use guns—that had to be a joke.
But he kept shaking his head. “Don’t believe me? Go ahead and scour this place from top to bottom. You won’t find a single firearm or round of ammunition because guns are for amateurs.”
“I’m guessing that’s an unpopular opinion for someone in the mafia,” I said, resting my empty glass on the table and pulling my legs up to get cozier on the couch.
“Maybe, but it’s the truth,” Dorian explained, rattling off a list of reasons. “Guns might be quick and easy, but they leave behind a shitload of evidence—bullets, casings, gunshot residue, blood splatter. They’re easily traceable. Even with a suppressor, they’re loud enough to alert witnesses. There’s a reason that prisons are filled with perps who used guns.”
“I’m not gonna lie. A week ago, this conversation would have freaked me out. But now?” I let out a yawn—not because I wasn’t interested but because exhaustion was finally catching up with me.
“You’re tired,” he said, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear as I rested my head against the back of the sofa. “You should go to bed.”
“Not before I figure out your tell,” I said.
“You sure about that?” He chuckled softly before rising up from his seat. “You might be out here all night.”
“That’s okay. It’s a comfy couch.” I reached over to where he’d draped his jacket over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around me like a blanket. I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood that clung to the fabric, and breathed out a contented sigh. “See, nice and cozy.”
“It’s cozy in the bed, too.”
“I’ll only go if you come with me.”
He shook his head. “I have to check on something first.”
He walked over to one of the bookcases and pulled a large leather-bound notebook off the shelf.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A file I’ve kept on Giuseppe’s murder,” he said, walking it back to the couch before opening it up on the table. “I didn’t remember Russo when I talked to him on the phone yesterday. I was distracted by…well, you. But speaking with him face to face jogged my memory.”
My eyelids started to flutter as Dorian hunched over the book, scanning the pages of handwritten notes inside. I was quickly losing the battle to keep them open.
“Here it is,” he said with enough force to pop them right back open again. “Russo was at the house, working security, the night Giuseppe was killed.”
I was just awake enough to lift my head off the cushion. “Do you think he had something to do with the murder?”
“Maybe. Even if he wasn’t directly involved, he still might know who was. I won’t know for sure until I can have another talk with him,” he said. “If he’s watching the twins tonight, he should be at the house until morning. I’ll go first thing to make sure I catch him.”
Closing the book with a definitive thwap, Dorian stood up again. He left the book where it was and hooked his arms under my knees, lifting me up into his arms.
“Does this mean it’s bedtime?” I asked, already snuggling into his embrace and resting my head on his shoulder.
“It is,” he answered, carrying down the hallway toward the bedroom.
“But you never told me your tell.”
“That’s the thing,” he said with a grin. “I don’t have one.”
I let out a disappointed groan. “But you said everyone has one.”
“Yeah, but I’m not everyone.”
I didn’t need to check for any tells to know that was true.