Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 9

Dante

Two days later

The funny thing about fires is that as soon as you manage to get one put out, there is another one smoking off in the distance just waiting to burst back into flames. It seems like in the past two weeks that's all I have been dealing with. They never stop. I'm used to what is expected of running an organization of this size. My father raised me to take over before he passed. Drilling it into me from the time that I was young what it means to be the head of a family.

It's all I have ever known. But this sh*t was a far cry from your typical territory tiffs.

Sh*t was actually turning to ash right in front of me.

A small shop that sat just on the edge of Riverside was now wholly engulfed in bright orange flames that licked up towards the night sky. Sirens from the fire trucks wailed as they tried to save as much as they could of the structure, but there wouldn't be much left after they managed to get it under control. The flames were just too hot.

Tiny embers floated in the smoke-filled air, singeing anything that they happened to land on.

“What do we know so far?” I asked Cass.

The second fire truck had arrived, and they now had two hoses spraying the flames from different sides. He let out a deep breath as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair, pushing the unruly strands away from his forehead. It did little to tame them like always. They fell right back into place almost immediately.

Cass Bellori has never been the polished type. Where I preferred tailored suits, and Rocco looked like he had been carved from solid stone, Cass was leaner. Athletic without being considered bulky, his body was built for speed rather than brute force. Though don't let that fool anyone; Cass can throw down with the best of them and come out without a scratch on him.

He glanced toward the burning building as he rolled the sleeves of his black shirt to his elbows. His jaw tightened as another section of the roof collapsed inward.

“Fire department says it looks to have started somewhere in the back,” he said. “But they haven't been able to determine what caused it yet.”

Cass shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, his gaze still tracking the flames. He has always had this habit of moving when he was thinking. Tapping his fingers against a table. Rolling his shoulders. Pacing when he was irritated. Right now, he was completely still, which told me a lot more about where he was mentally right now.

There is only one thing that can make my friend motionless like this. And that is planning someone's demise.

“What do you think?” I asked just to see what he had to say.

His green eyes shifted toward me. That was another thing about Cass that almost everyone who met him took at face value. He looked harmless until he didn't. His eyes were an unusual shade of green—dark around the edges, lighter near the center. Almost hazel depending on how the light hits them.

Cass lifts his chin in the direction of a row of buildings several yards away that are currently blocked off by squad cars and hoses. “That someone was answering a message.”

I let my gaze drift across the invisible border that divides my main territory from Voss’s. My jaw tensed enough that the muscles jumped. The rage has sat low and heavy in my chest since I got the call tonight. After finding my bottles in that sh*tty little strip club, I started the process of dismantling it. Piece by f*cking piece. First by poaching his girls. Not just from the one club he had either. But from all of them.

Then the bartenders. The manager. Two of the suppliers who suddenly decided doing business with Voss wasn't worth the trouble anymore. I didn't even have to threaten them. Money talks when you offer someone enough of it. Voss tried to replace the lost dancers and bartenders. He even put one of his own men in charge of management in the hopes that I would stop. I didn't.

By the time I was finished, the buildings were still standing, but that was all. The doors had to close because you can't wash money in a place that can't even make any. The wind pushed at my shirt, but I didn’t move. A slow exhale left me, the kind meant to keep me from snapping someone’s neck out of pure instinct. I couldn't do that. Not yet anyway.

“Well, if this is how he wants to play, then I say we should give him exactly what he has been asking everyone for.” I smile to myself.

Luca has been an even bigger pain in my ass than he was before I married Blair out from under him. Running around asking about why I would need to marry someone so out of the blue? Saying that I must have been losing my grip and needed to pretend to have everything under control. I don't have to pretend to be in control; I am in control.

“Make sure this is all taken care of. And let the owners know that they don't need to worry.”

Cass nods, then slips among the growing crowd of onlookers. Blending in with them easily. Cass’s specialty. I tugged open my car door and slipped inside the driver's side. I rarely drive these days. Cass is usually the one behind the wheel, but since he would be staying behind to handle the details, I would be driving myself back home tonight.

For the first time in two weeks, I wasn't heading toward another problem that needed handling. I was heading home. The leather steering wheel groaned beneath my hands as I turned my car into the private entrance to Lazzari Heights less than twenty minutes later.

I hadn't meant to stay away this long. Every time I thought I had everything under control, something else demanded my attention. Voss. The clubs. Now the f*cking fire. But tonight, there was nothing left that couldn't wait until morning. And for the first time since I had put a ring on Blair's finger, I wanted to see my wife.

The doors open with a gentle chime, and I step out onto the familiar black marble tile. I stopped and let my gaze sweep over the hallway. My men are posted down the hall like always. They each dip their head slightly as I press my key onto the reader and the lock clicks open. The penthouse is usually dark at this time. The city usually provided enough illumination through the floor-to-ceiling windows for me to navigate my way through the house. But tonight, the kitchen was still glowing. A soft, warm light spilled out across the marble countertop.

The entire room smelled of basil and tomato sauce with a hint of garlic. A plastic bowl that I don't recognize sat in the middle of the island, steam still wafting upward, carrying the delicious scent through the air. My stomach growled as my feet carried me farther into the penthouse towards the bowl that I could now see was filled with spaghetti.

It smelled better than anything that I have eaten in days.

Crossing the kitchen, I grabbed a bowl from the cabinet — it was pale grey with a faint speckled pattern that I didn't recognize. I noticed that the dishware wasn't the only new thing inside my penthouse, as I took in the rest of the main room. A folded dishtowel hung neatly over the oven handle. A pale blue one with tiny embroidered lemons along the edge. A candle sat near the sink, its wick already black from use.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a small vase holding fresh flowers — white tulips, stems trimmed, water clear, sitting in the center of the dining table. Smiling to myself at the thought of my wife actually making herself at home. I set my slightly overfilled bowl on the countertop, turned, and opened the refrigerator. It was full.

I grabbed a bottle of water and closed the door only to collide with a very surprised-looking Blair. My hands instinctively gripped her hips to keep her from falling backward on her ass. The bottle falls from my hand, hitting the ground before rolling to the other side of the kitchen. My gaze fell over every inch of my wife for the first time in two weeks.

My throat was suddenly drier than I had ever felt.

Blair’s dark brown hair is piled on top of her head messily, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Her blue eyes are blown wide in surprise, and her full lips are open in a perfect O. My eyes linger over her face for another second before traveling lower. She is wearing a lighter grey top with a stretched-out neckline, so one side drops down her shoulder. The hem of the shirt grazes across my knuckles, and that’s when I realize that my wife is walking around in her underwear.

“Dante.”

My name came out breathlessly. Something low and hot moved through my chest.

“Blair.”

My fingers tightened around her soft hips as I closed the few inches still separating us. Close enough to see the way her breathing had changed. And close enough to know that I was not the only one affected by the sudden change in the air between us.

“You're home.”

I nod, and I shouldn't have because it gives me another tantalizing view of her half-naked body. Heat shoots straight down to the base of my spine. “I am.” I swallowed hard, my natural accent thickening. “Had I known you were walking around like this, I would have found an excuse to come home sooner, moglie.” Wife.

Her cheeks flush bright red. Her eyes then flick to where I still have a tight hold on her hips.

“You could let go now,” she practically whispers.

The little flicker at the base of her throat jumps and beats rapidly beneath her skin. From the way she keeps running her tongue over her bottom lip, I would dare to say that she is fully aware of just how much seeing her like this has affected me. I feel my lips twitch. All thoughts of food are now long forgotten as I let one hand wrap around her back, while the other traces a slow, tortuous path along her side to the back of her neck. Blair lets out a startled little gasp that has my body responding instantly, and I have to fight back my own groan. Leaning in, I let my lips just barely brush along the corner of her mouth. Not enough to be a kiss…yet. But enough to send her heart skittering in her chest.

“I could,” I tease. “But I'm not sure if I want to.”

Her eyes narrow, and her spine straightens. “You’re insufferable.”

I smirk. “And yet you’re still standing here.”

Blair steps back, and I let her. My hands fall back down to my sides. For a moment, I thought that she was going to run and hide since she was only in her underwear, but she surprised me when she rounded the island and headed for the dining room table. I do my best to hide my smile. I grabbed two more waters from the refrigerator and my bowl off the counter and followed after her. There are more changes that I hadn't noticed. The vase of flowers sits on top of a bright table runner that has those tassels on the end.

My mother used to have one similar to this that she brought out for holidays, or she did before she left. I haven't thought about my mother in years, and now it's like the gate has opened, and more memories are forcing their way back into my mind. I shove the thoughts from my mind as I settle into the chair next to her. The wood creaks softly under my weight. Blair doesn’t speak; she just watches as I take the first bite of spaghetti. The sauce is rich, layered with herbs. I moan at the first bite. The vibrant flavors from the sauce explode across my tongue.

I caught Blair's smile.

“You made this?” I ask, pointing with the fork in my hand. Since it wasn't in a takeout container, I think it is safe to assume that it didn't come from one of the nearby restaurants.

“No. Hired a world-renowned chef to cook it,” she bites back quickly.

When my gaze drops to her very bare legs, I feel anger boiling in my chest. She hired someone to cook for her while I was away? Did she walk around like this the entire time? Is this chef still here? Where the f*ck was Rocco this entire time? Now I'm really pissed because she is walking around in her underwear and Rocco is just in the other room. He could walk out at any second.

“Yes, I cooked it myself. No need to go on a warpath,” Blair scoffs, pulling me from my murderous thoughts.

I grunt in return. “I’ll kill any man that lays eyes on you when you’re half dressed.”

She raises a perfectly shaped brow at me. “Men.”

We both lapse into silence for several minutes. And I took that time to watch her out of the corner of my eye. Her eyes dart across the table to a new painting that now hangs on the wall.

“I see you’ve been shopping while I was away.”

She gives a small smile as she leans forward, folding her arms in front of her chest. “What else was I supposed to do?” Her smile broadens. “Plus, it was only a few little things. If you didn't want me going shopping, you shouldn't have left your card.”

A few things? Twenty-five thousand could buy more than just a few things.

Leaning back from the table, I wiped my mouth with the dark linen napkin. “I want you to get whatever you want to make this your home, Blair. You could burn through every card I have, and I still wouldn't tell you to stop.”

I can tell that she wasn't expecting that answer from me. Her chest pauses almost as if she has forgotten how to breathe. Every word was the truth. I might not have intended to marry how I did. But now that she was mine, I would give her whatever she wanted. She was now the Queen of Langston, and she deserved to feel like it.

“You know, most husbands at least come home occasionally,” she said in an attempt to change the subject.

I leaned in close to her across the corner of the table. “Aw, did you miss me?” I teased, keeping my tone light and playful.

Blair's hand swatted at my shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, Husband.” A bright smile crossed her face that knocked the air from my chest. “So, where exactly have you been hiding out for the last two weeks?”

She definitely missed me, even if she still refuses to admit it to herself. But explaining the multitude of problems that have become routine in that time is not something that I want to hash out again. And certainly not with Blair. “Haven’t been hiding. I’ve been working non-stop putting out fires. Figuratively and literally,” I sigh.

The air in the penthouse changes. The light playfulness soon evaporates into thin smoke. It's like a live wire that's fallen to the ground during a thunderstorm. It's arching and sending sparks in all directions, ready to start another fire.

Blair’s brows draw together, creating a little valley between them, and the smile on her face fades. “Literally?” she breathes, almost as if saying the word aloud would cause something else to happen.

Sh*t. I can practically see the moment her mind begins working through the pieces. Blair may be sheltered in some ways, but she is far from stupid. She has spent her entire life around men like me. She knows how this world works.

“What happened?” she asks.

I didn't answer her because I knew exactly what she was going to do if I did. Blair is smart, though. Even without me saying his name, she reaches the same conclusion…all on her own. Only she still refuses to see the little weasel for what he really is. Her lips part, then press together again. The f*cking guy literally has a sign taped to his forehead at this point that declares revenge for ruining his plans.

“So you've been what? Spending the last two weeks fighting with Luca because he doesn't like the fact that you stole his fiancée?”

My jaw tightens. I really f*cking hate that she is continuing to refer to herself as anything that belongs to Luca Voss.

“I didn't steal you.”

“Really?” Her laugh is sharp and lacks all warmth. “Because from where I'm standing, you showed up at my father's house, ended my engagement, married me, took my phone, threatened my fiancé, and then decided I wasn't allowed to speak to him.”

I force my hands to remain loose against the table. “You know nothing about the man you called your fiancé, Blair. Nothing!” I don't raise my voice, but the coldness in my tone is clear.

Anger contorts her beautiful face. A fire burns in her blue eyes. “I know him far better than you do,” she snapped angrily.

I snort. “You know what he wanted you to know. You have no idea who the man behind the mask really is.”

I don't know what Voss did to mesmerize Blair so thoroughly, but he did a good job of hiding the truth from her for six months. I could tell her now. Lay it all out for her to see with her own eyes, but she wouldn't believe any of it.

Not yet.

“Vaffanculo,” she hisses from between her teeth. f**k you.

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes back from the table, and she walks away without another word. The sharp thud of the door to our room slamming closed seconds later.

I stare at the dark hall that leads to our room. Anger is still burning through my veins. I had spent two weeks putting out fires across Langston. Somehow, the one I had started in my own home was the only one I had no idea how to extinguish. I dragged a hand over my face and looked down the hall where my wife had disappeared one last time.

Fuck.