Once he returns to the bedroom, he pulls me close, tucks me against his chest, and just holds me. We don’t talk. We don’t make love. I like to believe we’re mourning together, though I don’t know if he actually mourns her. I tell myself he does, but the only remorse I sense in him is remorse over his actions hurting me, not remorse over what he’s going to do.
Eventually, I drift off to sleep.
I’m not a light sleeper like my husband, but these past few nights with Roman have me in the habit of listening for a disturbance. When my eyes fly open in response to a burst of noise, I automatically think it’s Roman and bolt upright, moving one leg over the edge of the bed to go get him.
But it’s not Roman. Roman is with Ju.
Dante stands in the open door of my bedroom, moonlight streaming in through the window and illuminating his dark features.
I don’t know what’s going on, but cold fear crawls down my spine. Dante left hours ago, after dinner. As far as I know, he doesn’t have a key to this house; Mateo doesn’t want him having unfettered access.
I reach beside me to alert Mateo and find the bed empty. My heart plummets and I look at the empty spot where my husband should be. I rub the spot, confused, my mind resisting the reality every sign points to.
Then, beyond the blood rushing through my veins, I hear the noises that woke me. The struggle. Coming from the floor on Mateo’s side of the bed.
A low, practically growled, “Get the fuck off me,” and the follow-up smack of a fist hitting flesh. I’m going to be sick. My mind searches desperately for an explanation, one that isn’t catastrophic, but it comes up blank. I peer over the side of the bed and see Mateo flat on his back, struggling to get Rafe off of him.
At least the motion of me looking over the edge briefly distracts Rafe. He gives me a slow smile, and says, “Hello, little one.”
It gives Mateo time to land a strong left hook right to his jaw. Launching myself back on the bed, I reach for the phone on my nightstand, but I’ve taken too long to react. Dante’s hand closes roughly around my wrist and he plucks the phone from my fingers, tossing it behind him. The phone hits the wall and drops to the floor while I struggle to get away from him.
“We should switch,” Dante tells Rafe, casually. “I think you’ll enjoy restraining her far more than I will.”
He’s obviously not talking to me. I pull back hard, trying to free my wrist. It’s futile, so I try for more leverage, leaning back and shoving my feet, trying to kick him in the stomach.
He deftly catches my ankle with his other hand and shakes his head at me, annoyed even now. “You are such a stupid little bitch. Now I have your hand and your foot. Now what?”
I narrow my eyes, swing my body, and kick him right in the face with my other foot. I feel good about it for a nanosecond, but it only serves to further piss him off. Releasing my ankle, he grabs a fistful of my hair instead and drags me off the bed.
“No,” I cry, as he locks my arms behind me painfully. My scalp is used to roughness, but not this level of roughness. “Ow! You’re hurting me.”
“Hey,” Rafe barks from the other side of the bed. “Don’t handle her that way. Let her go.”
Mateo punches him in the face for his effort, but I understand.
“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” Dante informs me. “Always have been, right from the moment you came on the scene. I’ll be honest, if I’d known the night he fucked you at the poker game you would be such a resilient pain in the ass, I’d have taken a picture of you dolled up like a little whore, sent it around, and sold your ass, right out from under his nose. Luca could’ve nabbed you on your way home from school—he’d still be alive, which he’s not, again, thanks to you.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. My voice is unsteady when I ask, “Who is Luca?”
“He was my friend,” Dante states, simply. “My brother let him die to appease your bullshit do-gooder agenda. The official story is some tale of Salvatore’s vengeance, but I’m no idiot; I know why he handed over one of his top earners and shut down my primary revenue stream.”
“As villain monologues go, this one isn’t bad.” My gaze snaps to the new voice as Alec strolls into the room. Alec? This one sort of shocks me. Alec has always been nice to me, overall.