I’d been cooped up so long and I couldn’t sleep.
I watched the water drip off the overhang. The neighborhood was quiet, most of the houses dark. It was late, well after one in the morning. The streetlight cast about a weak yellow and shadows drooped across the sidewalk. I stared up at the sky as the rain continued to drip off the eaves and I pictured Dante out there somewhere, getting into trouble, getting himself killed because of me.
Sleep just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t calm my mind down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante at work, fighting because of me, getting hurt because of me. The idea of him breaking skulls or killing in my name made my spine crawl, but even worse was the idea of him or any of his men getting injured. I wanted to scream, but I knew that wouldn’t help.
As I stared at the street, I saw a car turn onto the block. I frowned a little and watched it, surprised to see a car out so late on this quiet little street. It slowly crept toward the house, and my pulse spiked as it pulled up out front. I stood up, panic racing through me, and I wanted to run inside and wake up Gino. If it was the Russians, if it was Vlas here to take me away, I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Instead, the passenger side door opened and Dante stepped out into the rain. He said something into the car then shut the door. It pulled away, leaving him down on the sidewalk.
He was wearing a black shirt tucked into his usual dress pants. There was a dark brown smear on his side, and his hair was dripping wet, like he’d already been outside. He stared up at me, and I could almost feel his body’s tension from twenty feet away.
Slowly he came up the steps. I backed away as he reached the porch and moved toward me, his eyes on my body. I was suddenly aware of my low-cut tank top and my short shorts, just enough to cover my ass, but barely. I was dressed for bed, not for visitors. He stopped and didn’t speak for a long moment and I felt my heart racing.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I didn’t think you’d be up,” he said.
“Dante.” I bit my lip. “Is that blood?”
He looked down at himself. He seemed surprised for a moment. “Not mine,” he said then met my eyes again. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded.
I crossed my arms under my chest. I couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t look at him. He was sucking in the light all around him, like a black hole. He was too beautiful, too deadly, and too terrifying. I didn’t want to know where he’d been or what he’d been doing. I knew it was bad, knew it was deadly, and that was more than enough already.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I turned back toward him despite myself. “I shouldn’t,” I whispered. “I should still hate you.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t smile, but he did tilt his head. “I killed your father. You should despise me. I’m a sick man, aren’t I?”
“Dante,” I said, a choked whisper.
“You should fucking hate me.” He stepped closer. “You should want me dead. And yet you don’t. And yet you stay here, stare at my body, wonder when I’ll finally take you. Isn’t that right?”
“No,” I whispered, but I knew he was right.
“You like being my captive. You like being my little bride. I think you secretly want to stay here. I think you’d stay even if your life wasn’t in danger.”
“I wouldn’t. You don’t know me.”
“I know you enough.” He stepped closer and I stepped back until I ran up against the closed door. He pinned me there, moving fast. He grabbed my wrist tight in his hand and pressed it up above my head. I gasped as he grabbed my other wrist and made it join the first. He was big, so big and strong, and his body could easily dominate mine.
The thought sent a chill of excitement down my spine.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m doing what you’ve been too afraid to do,” he growled in the night. “You’ve been in my home watching me, lusting for me, begging me to take your body, even though you keep pretending like you hate me. I’m a monster, a killer, and you know it. But what does that say about you, little Aida? When all you want from his monster is a thick cock between your legs and a tongue in your mouth?”
I gasped and let out a little moan, despite myself. He hadn’t kissed me yet, hadn’t touched me beyond pinning me to the door.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, hating myself for the words.