CRIMSON IVY

Chapter 6: The Blood Debt

​By the time the clock struck four, the tension in Sloane’s chest was a physical ache. She walked out of the Law building, expecting the driver, but the man leaning against the door of the SUV wasn't a guard. It was Dante.

​He was dressed down in a black hoodie and jeans, but he still looked like he owned every stone of the campus. He was staring at a group of frat boys across the street who had been staring too long at Sloane. One look from Dante, and they scrambled away as if the pavement had caught fire.

​"How was your day, Sloane?" he asked, opening the car door for her. His tone was almost casual, but his eyes were scanning the perimeter, restless and sharp.

​"Stifling," she said, sliding into the seat. "Is this how it’s going to be? You hovering over me like a shadow?"

​Dante climbed into the driver’s seat instead of the back, taking the wheel himself. He accelerated hard, the engine roaring as they sped away from the gothic spires.

​"I'm not hovering," he muttered, his jaw tight. "I'm keeping you alive. My father’s rivals heard about the wedding. They think you’re a vulnerability. They think that because I took a wife, I’ve gone soft."

​"Are you?" she asked, looking at his profile in the fading light. "Soft?"

​Dante turned the car onto a secluded backroad, the tires screeching. He slammed on the brakes and turned to her, his hand reaching out to cup the back of her neck. His thumb pressed into the sensitive skin behind her ear, a gesture that was both a caress and a threat.

​"The last man who asked me that is currently at the bottom of the Chicago River," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "I didn't take you to be a weakness, Sloane. I took you because I needed someone who understood the weight of a name. But if you think this is a game, or a storybook, look at the glove compartment."

​Sloane opened it. Inside, nestled next to a spare magazine for a handgun, was a folder. She opened it to find photos of her father—bruised, beaten, but alive—sitting in a cell that looked far less comfortable than her new bedroom.

​"The wedding kept him breathing," Dante said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Every time you fight me, every time you try to run, remember that his life is the collateral. You’re the Consigliere’s daughter. Start acting like it."