I watch, paralyzed, too stunned to say a single word.
“Call Jess,” he rasps quietly, moving his hand back to grip the steering wheel. “Right now, sugar.”
“But—”
“No buts! Either call her, or I’ll turn us around and take you straight to Dante.”
Irritation heats my insides, helping me out of my confusing haze fast. If I were standing, I’d oh-so maturely stomp my foot. “But I don’t have my phone!” I snap. “I left it at home.”
He pushes air through his nose—a long, amused exhalation, and hands me his cell phone, setting the car in motion.
“Turn right here,” I say.
And that’s a mistake...
A black Charger jumps out from the side street and stops in the middle of the road. Neither Spades, Jackson, nor any one of Dante’s men fly out of the car. Dante does.
His look of quiet contempt has my heart relocating, climbing up my throat. Rage radiates off him, flooding the air and my senses. It feels overwhelmingly like a hand on the back of my neck, forcing me to my knees.
Julij glances between me and Dante, who’s closing in on us, every step determined, shoulders tense. Anger surrounds him like an invisible force, stripping me of my courage. He’s a few steps from the bonnet when Julij’s hand smacks the steering wheel again. And thenfuck!He throws the car into reverse pressing the pedal all the way down.
“That’ll take some fucking explaining, sugar.”
My eyes are on Dante, but the subtle change in how Julij saidsugardoesn’t slip my attention. Something changed. A few seconds of his fingers on my lips turned our relationship upside down. Friendship flew out the window.
Dante’s back behind the wheel before we reverse onto the main street. Bitter bile churns in my stomach, and a cold sweat breaks out on my back. God, this was a stupid,stupididea. “I’m in so much trouble,” I mutter, staring at my hands.
I redial Jess’s number and, without an explanation, tell her to open the damn garage. Ten more minutes pass before we arrive at our destination. I expected Dante’s men to get here faster, but we’re in luck. The driveway’s empty. Julij parks in the garage, kills the engine, and holds my hand, so I’ll stay inside until the door slides shut.
“Layla,” Jess chokes from where she stands in the doorway leading inside the house. An elegant black dress hugs her skinny frame, her hair is immaculate as always, but her ashen skin and eyes rimmed with pink, hint she’s still mourning her husband.
I shush the voices in my head telling me to stay away from my mother. They’ve been whispering at the back of my mind for years, but an invisible barrier that used to stop us from interacting is no longer there. That barrier was Frank, influencing all aspects of our lives.
“What are you doing here?” she asks when I wrap my arms around her in a tight, rigid embrace. “I thought Dante would hide you somewhere.”
“I’m staying in Chicago.”
She pushes me away, cupping my shoulders with both hands. She stares into my eyes for a moment as if willing me to understand everything she doesn’t know how to put into words. It seems to be a rule of thumb around here. We’re all so much better at loaded looks than an audible,I’m sorry.
Words aren’t necessary, though. Not this time. I’m sure we’re thinking the same thoughts. I’m certain we’re equally unsure how to proceed and if we’ll ever build a lasting, healthy relationship, but at the same time, we’re both willing to try.
We go inside to the living room, but neither of us sits before the front door bursts open, hitting the wall with a bang. A clatter of elegant shoes resounds in the house.
Dante enters first, followed by Spades and Jackson. They stop three steps in, Dante’s body rigid, eyes pinning Julij with a menacing stare. “What the fuck were you thinking? Who said you can take her?”
“She did.” Julij motions to me. “She’s not your prisoner.”
“No,” he admits, his tone far from calm. “But sheismine. You don’t get to decide what’s good for her.”
“Neither do you,” I clip.
I should probably learn when to bite my tongue. Dante’s not a dominating, alpha male. He’s usually the one to cave, apologize, or drop the argument whenever we disagree. He’s careful, protective, and always puts me first.
My comment is unjustified, but I can’t, for the life of me, keep my big mouth shut.
He shifts his gaze to me, perfectly composed on the outside—a clear sign his anger oscillates around at a cold-fury level. A cold sweat rushes down my back—an unjustified reaction once again, but the grim possibility of losing him is stronger than reason.
As if my thoughts are piped straight into his head, his attitude changes instantly, reducing anger to dust. His fists open, jaw relaxes, and shoulders drop an inch when he takes the first step toward me. I stumble back, the mechanical reaction something I have no control over.