She moaned into that kiss. Fuck, she moaned, and I could taste that moan on my lips. My tongue slid against hers as I lingered there, gripping her hair, pulling her hair. She was mine, all mine, gorgeous little fucking Aida. I bit her lower lip and she took a sharp breath, her eyes fierce as I released her.
She took a step back, breathing hard. “Asshole,” she whispered, and turned away again.
I let her go that time. She stormed out and disappeared down the back hallway.
I let out a grunt as my exhaustion hit me again. I lowered myself onto the couch and checked to make sure my stitches hadn’t ripped. Once I was satisfied that nothing was bleeding, I called for Steven.
He came into the room and lingered behind the couch. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“Call up my soldiers,” I ordered. “And send a message to Don Leone. We’re going to war.”
He was silent for only a moment. “Yes, sir,” he said.
I heard his footsteps retreat back out of the room as I stared at the stone fireplace and the broken glass glistening in the afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window.
8
Aida
For three days, I woke up alone in a strange bed with sweat pouring down my skin. I kicked off the sheets and stared at the ceiling, going over the same dream in my mind, letting it loop through my brain over and over again. In that dream, Dante stood over me, a wicked smile on his face. He offered me a hand, but as soon as I reached for him, he got further and further away. A pool of blood tried to suck me down into a crack in the pavement. He reached for me, but he kept missing, and soon the world was flooded with black.
Then I’d wake up. Three nights, three mornings, the same dream each time.
On that third morning, I got out of bed and took a shower right away. I let the water drip off my skin. I watched it slide down the off-white drain. The shower head was old, dripped all over, and had terrible water pressure, but it was better than nothing. I let it rinse over me, cleaning the sweat from my body, clearing the dream from my mind. By the time I got out, the room was covered in steam. I wrapped a towel around myself, an old, thin, scratchy light blue thing with bleach stains, and stepped out into the hall.
And stopped in my tracks.
Dante stood near the stairs like he had just come to the top. He tilted his head to one side, a small smile breaking across his lips as his eyes took me in.
I hadn’t seen him since that afternoon. Gino stayed with me day and night only leaving to get food and whatever else I asked for, but he was never gone. I found Gino in the kitchen most mornings, coffee already made, several guns spread out on the table. He’d clean them meticulously, oiling their mechanisms until they shimmered in the incandescent bulbs.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” Dante said.
“Where have you been?” I asked. The question came out angrier than I’d intended, but I couldn’t help it. Anger flared through me, anger at being left behind, anger at being locked up.
He shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Been preparing for war, little Aida.”
“So what? You should’ve come seen me sooner.” I took a step closer, my heart racing. I wanted to tell him how worried I’ve been, how I kept dreaming about him dying and letting me fall into some black abyss. But I kept my mouth shut.
“Interesting. Didn’t know you wanted to see me.” He took a step closer and I took a step back. I was suddenly very aware that I was in nothing but a towel. “Come here.”
“No.” I grabbed the edge of my towel with my right hand. “Just… let me through.”
He kept coming. I backed up until I ran into the wall. He stopped a couple of feet away from me, looming tall. He wore his usual clothes, tight white shirt, perfectly fitted bespoke pants, though the jacket was left downstairs, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He cocked his head and ran a hand through his hair.
“You want me to come see you, then you’re telling me to get away. You’re sending mixed messages, Aida.”
I glared at him. “I’m a little vulnerable right now.”
“I know.” He reached out and tilted my chin toward him. I clenched my jaw but didn’t move. “I like it.”
“I bet you do,” I said, staring into his eyes.
He held my gaze for a long moment, not speaking. I could still remember the look on his face that day after we got back as the doctor stitched him up. There was no pain, not anguish, only pure rage, rage so hot and deep that I thought he might start breaking things. He scared me, and I couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t worried with him standing so near, his body looming over mine.
“I’ve been avoiding you,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I’ll admit it.”
“Why?” I asked despite myself.
“I couldn’t look at you.” He clenched his jaw. “I kept thinking about… your body on the floor of the car. About the bullets and the blood.”
I bit my lip and held tighter to the towel. “My ears stopped ringing yesterday,” I said.
He smiled. “That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah?”
“Probably won’t be any hearing damage. Might even handle it better next time.”
I laughed a little but my laugh faded into nothing. “There won’t be a next time,” I said.
His smile faded away as well. “There might be. You’re with me now, Aida. There might be a next time.”
“Dante.”
He reached up and gripped my hair. The movement was sudden, fast. I didn’t have time to pull back or to
