Chapter 10: Deep Waters
1067 Words
The city looked like a scattering of fallen stars from three miles out on the water.
Instead of turning back toward the fortified gates of the Vane mansion after the tribunal, the black SUV had driven straight past the city limits to a secluded, dark marina. There, moored in the quiet shadows of a private bay, sat The Sovereign-a ninety-foot motor yacht with sleek gray lines that cut through the ocean mist.
No guards followed us onto the deck. No lieutenants stood at attention. There were only the quiet hum of the twin engines idling, the rhythmic lap of black water against the hull, and the two of us.
I stood at the aft deck, leaning against the teak railing. I had removed my suit jacket, letting the salt wind tug at my white silk blouse and loosen the dark waves of my hair. The cold sea air burned my cheeks, but it was a relief, a cleansing shock after the suffocating smell of limestone and fear in the commission hall.
Footsteps echoed softly behind me.
Dante walked out onto the deck, carrying two tumbler glasses. He had discarded his tie and unbuttoned his collar, the top of his dark shirt sitting open. He walked up beside me, handing me a glass of amber rum, his broad shoulder brushing lightly against mine.
"You didn't take us back to the house," I said softly, taking the glass. The warmth of the liquor cut through the damp chill in my throat.
"If we went back to the house, my phone would ring every five minutes," Dante murmured, his eyes fixed on the distant, glittering shoreline of the city. "The lieutenants want debriefs. The captains want new territories carved up. Tonight, the city can run itself."
I looked at his profile. The harsh moonlight carved sharp shadows across his jaw, highlighting the faint white line of the scar on his cheek. In the quiet of the open ocean, the formidable don looked... peaceful.
"Is this where you go when you need to disappear?" I asked.
"This is the only place in the world where nobody can reach me unless I want them to," he replied. He took a slow sip of his drink, then turned his head to look down at me. His gray eyes were intense, holding that same dark, magnetic heat that had consumed us in the elevator. "And tonight, I wanted to be here with you."
My heart did a slow, heavy roll against my ribs.
"We broke the rules today, Dante," I whispered, holding his gaze. The memory of his lips on mine, the rough urgency of his hands pulling me against his frame, sent a sudden, dizzying rush through my pulse. "Rule number two. Rule number three. We burned the whole contract."
Dante set his glass down on the thick wooden cap rail. He stepped closer, closing the small gap between us until I was trapped between his massive frame and the ocean view behind me.
"The contract was written for two strangers trying to survive a war," Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, velvet baritone that seemed to vibrate straight into my chest. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching my chin, tilting my face upward. "Do we feel like strangers to you, Clara?"
"No," I admitted, my voice barely carrying over the wind. "No, we don't."
"Good," he growled softly.
His thumb slowly stroked along the line of my lower lip, his touch sending a electric shiver straight down my spine. "Because I haven't thought about that contract since the moment you stitched my side together in my study. I don't care about the southern legitimacy anymore. I don't care about what the old dons think."
"Then what do you care about?" I breathed, my hands rising instinctively to rest against his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.
Dante leaned down, his forehead resting lightly against mine, his hot breath fanning across my skin.
"Keeping you alive," he whispered roughly. "Keeping you safe. Keeping you in my house, in my bed, under my name. You asked me in the kitchen why I went this far. Do you really not see it, Clara?"
I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat. "Tell me."
"I took you in because I thought you were a tool to win a war," he admitted, his gray eyes burning into mine with an absolute, frightening honesty. "But you became the reason I want to win it. If anything happened to you, if Sergio had laid a finger on you, if Moretti had threatened you today I would have burned this entire city to the ground just to tear them apart."
The raw, possessive devotion in his voice made my eyes sting with tears I hadn't realized I was holding back. All my life, I had been an asset to be bartered, a burden to be discarded, or a piece on a mobster's chessboard.
But sitting under the stars with the most feared man in the city, I wasn't an asset. I was his entire world.
"Dante..."
I didn't wait for him to finish the thought. I stood on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.
This kiss wasn't born of adrenaline or blood. It was slow, deep, and intoxicatingly sweet. Dante let out a low, guttural groan, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist, lifting me slightly off my feet as he pulled me flush against his hard body. He drank me in as if he were a dying man and I was the only water in the desert.
The ocean breeze howled around us, the black waves rolling past the hull, but inside the circle of his arms, I felt safer than I ever had in my life. The poison wasn't killing me, it was making me whole.
When he finally pulled back, resting his breath against my lips, his hands were anchored deeply on my hips, as if he were afraid I might vanish into the sea mist.
"Stay with me tonight," he whispered against my mouth. "Not in the East Wing. With me."
I looked up into the winter-gray eyes of the Reaper, seeing no monsters left, only the man who held my heart in his hands.
"Yes," I whispered back. "With you."
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