I am playing the fool.
One look at him is enough of an explanation. He enjoys both: my company and me. “I know, but I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” He rests his back against the railing. “Why I like you? Show me one man who doesn’t.”
“Don’t belittle yourself. You’re not shallow. And I know I’m not ugly, but, as you said, I’m sassy, feisty, and inexperienced. That’s even before I mention who my father is.”
He peers at the sky as if praying for patience. “I don’t care about Frank, Layla. And you haven’t listed a single flaw.”
With every passing minute, I’m digging myself a deeper hole. This is harder than I imagined for an entirely different reason. Dante’s intriguing... his looks, the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, and the unpredictable, volatile nature he tries to contain when I’m around. The more time we spend together, the deeper the hole becomes. If I don’t want to be buried alive, I have to put down the shovel and separate my mind from my heart.
“Call me a cab.”
He grips the railing on both sides of my waist, caging me in his arms. “What happened to annoying Frank?”
“Mission accomplished.” I bite my lip. It’s a nervous gesture I can’t control despite trying to rid the tic.
He lets out a heavy sigh as his gaze darts to the floor. “You’re such a fucking tease, baby.” His lips catch mine, gently at first, greedier when his hands touch my back.
I’m feverish. Hundreds of colors light up my mind like fireworks light up the sky on the fourth of July. The world brightens with his presence as if I wasSleeping Beautyfor nineteen years, and his kiss woke me up, introducing a different, better reality. One in which I matter; one in which I’m wanted.
“Didn’t you say you won’t let me touch you again?” His nose grazes my cheek before he nips my earlobe. “Liar, liar.”
“It’s almost impossible to speak when you kiss me.”
“I’ll remember that. C’mon, We’ll have another drink and I’ll call Rookie. He’ll take you home.”
I can’t saynowhen he holds me. Five minutes later, we’re comfortable on the leather couch in his living room, drinks in hand. “Adam told me why you and Frank hate each other,” I say, trying to change the course of my thoughts because not one is unrelated to Dante’s lips.
“A wild guess... he told you that when Frank killed Dino, I started doing business on the side.”
“More or less, yes.”
Dante drapes his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers an inch away from my head. “But he didn’t tell you that after taking Dino’s place, Frank introduced theTenCommandmentsof Cosa Nostra among his people.”
I read about the Ten Commandments—never look at the wives of friends, never be seen with cops, wives must be treated with respect—all rather obvious.
“I thought those only apply to Italians.”
“Yes, but Frank was fascinated with Cosa Nostra. He breathed their culture long before he became the boss. Even though the Italians gave up on the idea that no one with an illegitimate partner could join the ranks, Frank married your mother when they were just sixteen.”
That explains the lack of love in their marriage. They’re strangers living under one roof. They spend less time together than they do with me, which says a lot.
“What does that have to do with your work?” I ask, once again interested in a subject I never cared about.
Now it interests me too much. Dante’s side of the story shouldn’t matter, but after twenty-four hours of knowing him, I realize my father and Adam’s rendition of their hatred is one-sided and influenced by Frank’s hurt ego.
Dante tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Frank wanted to implement the rules of Cosa Nostra among his people. He was so busy cleansing the ranks that he neglected business. Once he realized old bulls no longer want to join the mafia, I was dealing on my own account.”
Being a mafia man became a profession ruled by the younger generation. The oldest boss I met during the many parties in our house is Mauricio, who is sixty-odd. Next in line is Nikolaj, but he’s still a few years short of his fiftieth birthday. Dante isn’t the youngest at twenty-eight. The boss from Orlando is twenty-five, while the head of San Francisco is just a year older.
“Why does Frank think you want to take over North?”
“Because I do. He wants South, I want North, but we respect each other too much to shoot. Why do you think he’s scared now? Even if you don’t think he cares about you, he won’t let me hurt you.”
I’m sure if push came to shove, he would let Dante put a bullet through my head. Frank’s not scared. He’s furious. But maybe Dante has a point. “His pawns would think less of him,” I mutter, adding two and two together. Who’d deal with a man who doesn’t care about his family? “Why won’t you use me?”
“I’ve got boundaries.” His fingers brush against my neck, sending waves of shivers through my body in a series of faint vibrations. Who knew a simple touch like this could be so pleasant? “This isn’t your war. You always were and always will be Switzerland no matter what happens.” He laces our fingers, lifting my hand to his lips. “I won’t ever hurt you, and I sure won’t let anyone else do it either.”