Deadly Devotion

Chapter Six: Consequences

The next two weeks passed in a blur of lies and truth so tangled together I could barely tell them apart anymore.

I spent nearly every night at Dante's apartment. My own place gathering dust, my cover identity and real identity bleeding into each other until I wasn't sure which version of Mia Santos was real.

We fell into a routine. Morning coffee together. Him going to work while I maintained my art consultant cover. Dinners at expensive restaurants or quiet nights cooking at his place. Long conversations about everything and nothing. s*x that left me breathless and aching.

It felt like a relationship. A real one.

Except everything about it was built on lies.

I gathered more evidence. Slowly, carefully. Photos of documents when he was in the shower. Names overheard during phone calls he took in the other room. Details about family business meetings he mentioned casually, not knowing I was filing every word away.

I sent it all to Chen. Watched the case against the DeLuca family build. Watched the net close around Dante while he smiled at me and called me his girlfriend and talked about the future like we actually had one.

The guilt was eating me alive.

"You're quiet tonight," Dante said one evening. We were on his couch, my feet in his lap, a movie playing that neither of us were really watching.

"Just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately." His hand moved up my calf, gentle. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Mia." He turned to look at me fully. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

Everything. Nothing. I'm destroying your life and falling in love with you at the same time.

"It's nothing. Work stress."

"Is it Marco? Did he say something else to you?"

Marco had been watching me. I felt it every time I was around the family. His eyes following me, suspicious and cold. But he hadn't approached me again.

"No. He's been fine."

"He's been an ass is what he's been." Dante's jaw tightened. "He doesn't trust easily. Never has. But he needs to back off."

"He's protecting you. I understand that."

"You shouldn't have to understand it. You're my girlfriend. He should respect that." He pulled me closer. "Come here."

I went, settling into his lap. His arms came around me, solid and warm.

"I want you to know something," he said against my hair. "Whatever happens with my family, with the business, with any of it. You're separate from that. You're mine. No one gets to make you uncomfortable or question you or treat you like you don't belong."

The words should have comforted me. Instead they made everything worse.

"Dante, what if there are things about me you don't know? Things that would change how you feel?"

He pulled back to look at me. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Hypothetically. What if I wasn't who you think I am?"

His expression was serious. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Yes. I'm FBI. I'm here to destroy you. Everything between us is a lie.

"No. I just... sometimes I wonder if you've built me up in your head. Made me into something I'm not."

"I don't think I have." His hand cupped my face. "I see you, Mia. The real you. The woman who gets excited about art, who laughs at bad jokes, who falls asleep during movies. The woman who's kind to servers and calls her parents every Sunday and looks at me like I matter."

"You do matter."

"So do you. More than you know." He kissed me softly. "Whatever you're worried about, whatever demons you're wrestling with, we can handle it. Together."

I wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe love could survive the truth.

But I knew better.

Friday night, Dante surprised me.

"Pack a bag," he said when he picked me up. "We're going away for the weekend."

"Going where?"

"It's a surprise. Trust me."

I did trust him. That was the problem.

We drove north out of the city. Two hours later, we pulled up to a house on the coast. Not a mansion like his parents' place. A cottage. Small, weathered, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"It was my grandmother's. She left it to me when she died." He grabbed our bags from the car. "I come here when I need to think. When the city gets too loud."

The inside was simple. Wood floors, comfortable furniture, windows everywhere showcasing the ocean view. It smelled like salt air and old wood.

"It's beautiful," I said honestly.

"I wanted to bring you here. Show you this part of my life." He set the bags down, came to stand behind me at the window. His arms wrapped around my waist. "This is the only place I feel completely free. No family, no business, no expectations. Just me."

"Thank you for sharing it with me."

"I've never brought anyone here before. Not even..." He trailed off.

"Not even who?"

"My ex. The one my mother hated. She wanted to come, but I always made excuses." He turned me to face him. "This place is important to me. Sacred, almost. I only wanted to share it with someone who mattered."

The weight of that trust was crushing.

We spent the evening walking on the beach, cooking dinner together in the small kitchen, sitting on the porch watching the sun set over the water.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

That night, in the bedroom with the sound of waves outside, Dante made love to me slowly. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of my skin, every sound I made.

"I love you," he said against my lips.

The words stopped my heart.

He'd never said it before. We'd danced around it, implied it, but never said it directly.

"Dante..."

"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know." His eyes were serious in the moonlight coming through the window. "I love you, Mia. I'm in love with you."

I should have deflected. Should have kept it professional, kept my distance.

But I was so tired of lying.

"I love you too," I whispered.

And it was true. God help me, it was true.

He kissed me like I was something precious. Like I was everything. And I kissed him back with everything I had, all my guilt and longing and desperate, doomed love pouring into it.

We made love again, slower this time. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss meaningful. Holding onto each other like we both knew somehow that time was running out.

After, lying tangled together in the dark, Dante spoke quietly.

"I want a future with you. A real one."

"What does that look like?"

"I don't know exactly. But I know it includes you. Waking up together. Building something together. Maybe getting married someday. Having a family." He stroked my hair. "Is that crazy? To be thinking about that already?"

"Maybe. But I'm thinking about it too."

Another truth. Another knife in my own heart.

"My father wants to retire in the next few years. Hand the business over to me. I told him I'd only do it if I can make changes. Go completely legitimate. Clean everything up."

"Can you do that?"

"I think so. It'll take time. There are... complications. Agreements with other families, business relationships that can't just be dissolved overnight. But yes, I think I can."

"What does Marco think about that?"

Dante's expression darkened. "Marco thinks I'm weak. That I'm betraying everything our father built. We've been fighting about it for months. It's gotten bad."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough that my father had to step in. Tell us both to cool off." He sighed. "Marco wants to expand. Get into new territories, new operations. I want to pull back, consolidate what we have, make it legal. We can't both be right."

"What happens if you can't agree?"

"I don't know. The family has to choose a direction eventually. My father won't live forever." He pulled me closer. "But I don't want to think about that tonight. Tonight I just want to be here with you."

We fell asleep wrapped around each other, the sound of the ocean a constant rhythm outside.

I dreamed about Brian. About finding his body. About the look in his eyes before they closed them for the funeral.

I woke up gasping, tears on my face.

"Hey, hey." Dante was awake immediately, pulling me against him. "You're okay. It was just a dream."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't apologize. Tell me about it."

"I don't remember." Another lie.

He held me until my breathing calmed. "You've been having nightmares a lot lately."

"Have I?"

"A few times. You never remember them in the morning." He kissed my forehead. "Whatever it is, I'm here. You're safe."

I wasn't safe. Neither was he. We were both standing on the edge of a cliff and I was the one about to push us both off.

Saturday morning, my phone rang while Dante was in the shower.

Chen.

"We need to meet," she said. "Today."

"I'm out of town."

"Where?"

"The coast. With Dante."

Silence. Then, "That's extremely inappropriate, Agent Santos."

"I'm maintaining my cover."

"You're getting too close. I can hear it in your voice." Her tone was sharp. "You need to remember what we're doing here. Who you're doing this for."

"I haven't forgotten Brian."

"Haven't you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're playing house with a mobster while the case we're building could fall apart if you slip up."

"I'm not slipping up. I'm getting you everything you need."

"We have enough evidence to move forward. Financial records, witness testimony, the notebook translations. We could start making arrests within the month."

My blood went cold. "A month?"

"Maybe sooner. We're just waiting on a few more pieces. Then we move." She paused. "You need to prepare yourself, Mia. This is going to end. Soon. And when it does, Dante DeLuca is going to prison for a very long time."

The phone call ended. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

One month. Maybe less.

One month before everything fell apart.

Dante came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair wet. He saw my face and his expression immediately shifted to concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Work call."

"On a Saturday morning?"

"Client emergency. It's handled."

He sat beside me on the bed, took my hand. "You look upset."

"I'm fine."

"Mia, talk to me."

"I just..." I looked at him. At this man I loved. This man I was going to destroy. "I don't want this to end."

"This?"

"Us. This weekend. This feeling."

His expression softened. "It doesn't have to end. We have all the time in the world."

We didn't. We had a month. Maybe less.

"Promise me something," I said.

"Anything."

"When things get hard. When life gets complicated. Remember this. Remember how we feel right now."

"Where is this coming from?"

"Just promise me."

He pulled me into his lap, held me close. "I promise. But nothing is going to change how I feel about you. Nothing."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe love could survive betrayal.

But I'd seen too much. Done too much. I knew better.

"Make love to me," I said. "Right now."

He did. Slow and tender and desperate. Like we were both trying to hold onto something we knew we were losing.

After, lying in his arms, I made a decision.

I had one month. One month before the FBI moved in. One month before Dante learned the truth.

One month to figure out how to tell him before someone else did.

I had to warn him. Had to give him a chance.

Even if it meant destroying my career. Even if it meant betraying the Bureau. Even if it meant letting his family escape.

I couldn't let him walk into this blind. Couldn't let him be arrested thinking I loved him when really I'd been the one gathering the evidence to destroy him.

He deserved the truth. Even if the truth destroyed us.

I just had to figure out how to tell him.

And pray that somehow, impossibly, he'd forgive me.

We spent the rest of the weekend at the cottage. Walking on the beach. Cooking together. Making love like we were running out of time.

Because we were.

Sunday evening, driving back to the city, Dante was quiet.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"The future. Us. How perfect this weekend was." He glanced at me. "I want more of this. More time with just us. Away from everything else."

"Me too."

"Maybe we should go away somewhere bigger. A real trip. Paris? Rome? We could spend a week just being tourists, seeing art, eating good food."

"That sounds amazing."

"Let's do it. Next month. I'll clear my schedule. We'll just go."

Next month I'd be testifying against him. Next month he'd hate me. Next month everything would be over.

"Next month," I agreed. Knowing it would never happen.

He reached over and took my hand. "I love you, Mia Santos. More than I've ever loved anyone."

"I love you too."

The truth and the lie wrapped so tightly together I couldn't separate them anymore.

We drove back to the city as the sun set, and I watched the light fade and thought about endings.

About how some things were doomed from the start.

About how love, no matter how real, sometimes isn't enough.

About how in one month, maybe less, I was going to break both our hearts.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.