With my head on his torso, I contour his biceps with my finger, enjoying the soft kisses he presses to my hair. “I forgot about it, but when I saw blood on your shirt last week, it all came back. Looks like I loved you back then too.”
“You’ll have to be careful for a few days, Star. I won’t be around to take care of you if you open up this cut on your lip.”
“Don’t remind me. I have eight more hours of acting like I don’t have to go anywhere. Let me pretend I can stay here with you and that no one is trying to kill me.”
After the shooting, Dante made the difficult decision for us both, to evacuate me from Chicago. If I’m being honest, the idea is the safest bet right now, but the destination leaves a lot to be desired. I had no say in the matter. Even if we could vote, I’d lose because Dante’s not alone in his conviction. He and Julij think there’s no safer place than Julij’s uncle’s house in Moscow.
Dante gets out of bed again, pulls one of his white shirts off the hanger, and throws it at me, announcing a break from all the sex. I sincerely hope it’s time for food.
“Dinner? I want a big burger with grilled chicken and a rainbow of vegetables.”
He takes his cell from the nightstand, eyes on me, while I button down his shirt. “Go to Bellissimo. I want the usual. Layla wants a burger with grilled chicken and vegetables.” He looks away when I cover my boobs, wriggling my butt into a pair of sweatpants. What a fashionable composition: sweatpants and a smart shirt that falls down to my mid-thighs. “Then pay him enough to do it.”
I gather my hair into something that’s supposed to resemble a bun and tangle a bobble around the masterpiece, ready in under three minutes to go downstairs and wait for food.
***
“Stella Meridionali?” I wrinkle my nose, glaring at my new passport.
Dante handed it over after I went through the passport control. The airport representative, probably bribed, led us throughEmployees Onlycorridors into a small room reserved for passengers departing on board private aircraft.
“Meridionali...” I test the word. “Sounds Italian. Change of plans?” My voice fills with excitement. Italy is warm in February compared to Russia. “Rome? Milan?”
Dante wraps his arm around me, and with his other hand, he pulls out a small manilla envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s not Italian, Star. It’s Latin. Unfortunately, no change in plans. You’re still going to Moscow. New York first, though. Julij will join you there.”
“Latin? Why Latin?” I rest my forehead against his torso.
“That’s a secret. Stop asking questions.”
“We’re scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes,” a stewardess says from the other side of the room. “We should board the plane now.”
“They won’t leave without me,” I mutter.
Dante pushes me away enough to get a look at my childish pout. “No, but they’ll have to wait for the next takeoff window, and you only have forty minutes in New York to get through security and on board the next plane.”
I cling to him once more. “I’ll fly tomorrow.”
“Do not do this, baby.” He presses his cheek to my temple. “You think I want you to go? I don’t, but more than that, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I hate it when he’s right. Leaving Chicago to hide in Moscow is the smartest choice. Without me around, Dante will focus his whole energy on closing the hit.
I clench my teeth, taking a rickety step back, and the cloud of anxiety that’s accompanied me since Morte’s visit to the hospital in Dallas grows in strength, moving with me. An unwavering, irritating companion. My eyes pool with tears as I sniffle pathetically, staring into Dante’s eyes—as sad as when I aimed the gun at his heart.
He cups my face, bending down to catch my lips in his, the kiss full of contradicting emotions we both can’t shake. “I don’t want to see your tears. You need to be strong for me, and you need to miss me like crazy. Understood?”
I nod but don’t dare speak, too worried that my vocal cords will break the dam, giving my tears a free pass.
“Good girl. Call me when you land.” He pecks my forehead. “I love you, Star.”
With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, not daring to look over his shoulder. A single tear trails down my cheek, but I wipe it off with my sleeve, annoyed that it had the nerve to escape its confinement.
I fling my purse over my shoulder, drape my coat over my arm, and follow the flight attendant out of the building, leaving Chicago, Dante, and everything familiar behind.
All I hope is that I’ll live long enough to come back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dante