Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2) - Page 130

But Alexander was there holding me so tightly I couldn’t draw breath to speak, and then Dante was turning, the muscles in his arms bulging as they pulled tight behind his back restrained by the harsh bite of handcuffs. His eyes were large with solemnity, a black so absolute I felt myself being sucked into the darkness like light through a black hole.

He said so many things with that look, so many agonizing truths that I jerked against Alexander as they pierced through me like bullets.

Don’t, they said.

Don’t take this from me, they ordered.

This is for you, tesoro. This is for you, and I will do it because I will do anything for you, even if you don’t ask for it. This is for you, and you will not take this sacrifice away from me.

A sob exploded from the cold chamber of my chest, puncturing the air so harshly the cops all jerked to look at me.

I shook my head manically, my hair flying over my face, strands sticking to the tears trailing down the skin. “No, no, no, fratello mio.”

Yes, yes, yes, mia bella sorella, his eyes said gently, firmly.

I couldn’t bear it, but I also knew the devastation that would be wrecked on my two Davenport men if I was bound in cuffs and dragged to prison. They wouldn’t stop until the rebar was twisted open, the concrete cell blasted apart so they could get to me. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop these men from making sure I was free after almost a lifetime of servitude to something.

This was what they had been fighting for the last half decade.

Not just the ruin of the Order and the truth of Chiara Davenport’s death.

But my freedom.

They would not, I knew in the very marrow of my bones, let me sacrifice all their gains now when we were so close to the end.

I whimpered as the realization settled under my skin and itched there.

Alexander felt the shift in my body and let out a rough breath. I felt him tip his chin down at his brother, their gazes locked over my head.

“This isn’t the end, brother,” Alexander promised in the same weighty tone he’d pledged himself as my husband. “I won’t let this happen.”

Dante’s red lips pressed into a line that was supposed to be a smile. “You’re a Lord, Alexander, not a god.”

My husband straightened to his full six feet five inches and leveled his haughty glare at his brother. “That remains to be seen. Let’s test it, shall we? I’ll have you out on bail before the month is out. Understood?”

Dante’s lips twitched again, true humour flickering over his beautiful face. “Aye, aye, brother.”

Salvatore stepped up in line with us, his shoulder brushing Alexander’s in a show of solidarity I never thought I would witness. “We’ve got you, ragazzo.”

Dante nodded once, then cut his eyes to me. “You both better take care of my treasure.” My father and husband grunted, slightly offended that he even had to ask. “And you, tesoro, you take care of my family.”

I nodded mutely, a sob lodged in my throat like a rock the size of a curled fist. Silently, we all watched as they opened the police car door and shoved Dante inside. The cops went to their vehicles, and only when the first of the convey started down the dirt drive did I explode out of Xan’s arms and race to the last car. My fingers pressed to the window, smearing my tears over the pane.

Dante smiled at me and trailed his big fingers in the marks I’d left there.

“I love you,” I shouted so loudly I could feel the vibration of it in my fingers on the glass.

“Ti amo,” Dante mouthed.

And then the car was moving slow, then faster, too fast for my churning legs to keep up with, and I was falling to the ground as my fingers lost their connection to the glass. I landed hard on my hip but didn’t feel it through the pain radiating from my heart, eviscerating my body like a nuclear weapon.

“Oh God, Dio mio,” I chanted into my knees as I brought them to my chest and watered them with my tears. “He’s going to jail because of me.”

Alexander and Tore were on me the next moment. My father sat behind me, cradling me between his legs, his hands tenderly moving the hair off my face to lay my head against his chest. My husband moved in front of me, sliding my legs over his so only a small diamond of space was between our pelvises, and his face was in mine, his hands rubbing over my cold, shivering arms.

“Hush, my beauty, hush,” he encouraged me gently, his eyes on me, inside me, sealing up my gaping wounds with careful stitches and soothing caresses. “Hush, and trust me now, wife. If it’s the last thing I do, we will end Noel for orchestrating this, and we will get Dante out of jail and home where he belongs.”

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