DANTE’S POV Dante snapped his head toward the stairs, looking pissed off from whatever fight he’d just had with Rico.
Rico sat on the couch where Dante had shoved him, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.
He looked up, spotted me, and let out a dry laugh.
“Look at that,” Rico spat.
“The houseguest is doing rounds.” Dante ignored him and glared right at the guard behind me.
“I told you to keep her in the fucking room, Marcus.” Marcus swallowed hard.
“Boss, she—she said—” “I told him I’d scream my head off and tell you he put his hands on me,” I said, stepping right past Marcus to the main floor.
“Blame me.” Dante’s jaw flexed, his dark eyes dragging down the length of my body before snapping back to mine, heavy and suffocating.
But he didn’t even look at Marcus.
“Get back to the front gate.
If I see your face in this hallway again today, we’re gonna have a problem.” Marcus didn’t wait around.
He scrambled straight out the front door.
“You’re soft, Dante,” Rico muttered from the couch, tugging at his collar.
“Letting some chick run your guys around.” Dante threw him a middle finger over his shoulder.
“Fuck off, Rico.” “Fuck you too, bro.” Rico tossed a bloody napkin on the glass table and stood up.
“I’m gonna clean up before Gabriella gets here.” Dante went completely stiff at that name.
“Get the fuck out of my sight.” Rico just smirked and walked out through the sliding doors to the patio.
I marched right up into Dante’s space, close enough to catch that lethal mix of cold air, worn leather, and lingering gunpowder on him.
My pulse did a stupid little jump at how impossibly large he towered over me.
“Where’s the driver?” Dante looked down at my shirt collar, his thumb grazing dangerously close to the side of my neck as he checked the bandage he’d slapped on me earlier.
A subtle warmth bloomed across my cheeks at the touch, but I kept my glare deadlocked on his.
“Downstairs,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy.
He turned to a wooden door by the pantry, yanked it open, and stepped into the pitch-black basement stairwell.
“Don’t break your neck,” he grunted.
I trailed after him down the steps.
The concrete was steep as fuck, tight, and freezing, smelling damp and stuffy.
Dante slowed down, his big-ass shoulders blocking whatever shitty light we had coming from further below.
My boot slipped on a slick patch, and suddenly, I crashed chest-first right into his back.
He didn’t bitch or push me off.
He just spun around in the dark, snagged my waist, and pulled me tight to catch my balance.
The sudden heat coming off him cut straight through the cold, and for a second, neither of us said a damn word.
His thumb pressed hard into my hip through my jacket, taking his sweet time letting go, and my stomach did a quick, heavy flip.
“Watch your step,” he gritted out, his face inches from mine.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, my hands still planted on his chest.
“You don’t look fine.” “Just let go of me.
Please.” His grip tightened just a fraction, tugging me closer until our thighs brushed, before he finally let his hand slide down my hip and dropped it.
He turned and finished the steps.
At the bottom, a bare bulb hung over a stained floor.
A wooden table against the wall was covered in rusty pliers and a filthy rag stiff with dried blood.
The driver was zip-tied to a chair in the middle of the room; his left eye was swollen, a mass of dark purple, and he was spitting blood.
One guard stood over him wearing brass knuckles; another leaned against the wall.
“He hasn’t said shit, Boss,” the guard said.
Dante stepped closer, drew his weapon, and jammed the cold barrel right under the man’s chin, forcing his head back.
“You…” the driver managed to stammer, his good eye shifting toward Dante.
“You shot out my damn tire.” “Where’s the kid?” Dante asked in a low voice, leaning right into the guy’s ear.
“Talk, or I’ll start tearing pieces off you.” The driver’s gaze slid past Dante and landed on me, standing by the stairs.
A yellow, bloody smile spread across his face.
“Well, look at that.
The captain’s daughter.
I should’ve snapped your neck in the back of the van.” Dante didn’t even argue.
He aimed straight at the driver’s knee and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The blast rang in my ears.
I stumbled back against the wall as blood splattered the floor.
The guy let out a deafening scream and writhed violently in the chair.
Dante grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.
“Watch your mouth.” “Stop!” I shoved my way between Dante and the chair; my shoulder slammed into his chest.
“He won’t be able to talk if he goes into shock, you idiot!” Dante stepped back, wiping his arm across his forehead, his eyes locked on mine, burning with rage.
I crouched down right in front of the driver.
The strong smell of copper made me gag, but I ignored it.
I grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face close to mine.
“Where’s Danny?” “Go fuck yourself,” he croaked.
I lowered my hand, found the torn denim around the fresh gunshot wound, and drove my thumb straight into the raw, bloody flesh.
The guy arched his back, lifting completely off the chair.
A wet scream tore from his throat as his boots kicked frantically against the floor.
“Stop!
For the love of Christ, stop!” he sobbed.
I pulled my thumb away and wiped the blood on his jeans.
“Where is he?” “I was just driving!” he gasped, completely broken.
“I don’t know.
Ibarra’s got him!” “Who gave you his school schedule?” I snapped.
“Who organized all this?” The driver let out a wet, nasty laugh.
“Nobody!
They found him trying to catch a train to come find you, goddammit!” My whole body went cold.
“You’re lying, you bastard.” “I’m not!” the guy spat, trembling like a leaf.
“We grabbed him to bring your father to heel and settle his debt!” A deathly silence filled the room.
I stood up very slowly.
“Where did they take him?” My hand hovered over his knee again.
“I don’t know exactly where,” the guy gasped and I moved my finger inches from his wound, “but…
but we’ve got a base out on Old Docks Road!
The only thing is, there’s a dozen shipping-container houses and it’s heavily guarded.
That’s all I know, I swear to God!” I stepped back until my spine hit Dante’s chest.
His hand moved up and clamped firmly around my waist, holding me steady, while his other arm raised the gun.
BANG!
A single shot.
The driver slumped, lifeless; there was a bullet hole right between his eyes, and blood trickled down his nose.
I turned within Dante’s arms and looked up at him.
“He had already finished talking.
I promised him freedom if he spoke.” “It wasn’t your place to promise that,” Dante said in a low voice, keeping his hand on my hip for a moment before holstering his weapon.
“He saw my face.
We can’t leave any loose ends.” He looked at his guys.
“Clean this mess up.” Dante turned and went back up the stairs.
I watched his back, looked at the blood drying on my hands, and followed him up.
He stopped by the kitchen counter, pouring a glass of water, his back turned.
I didn’t ask him for permission or help.
I walked right past him toward the counter and poured a glass of water for myself.
My mind was locked straight on the Old Docks road and on leaving, but how do I get the bastard to let me go?