C55 Close Friends, Potential Close Enemies

Dante stood by the window of Matteo’s study, nursing a drink that did little to take the edge off the fury simmering inside him.

The amber liquid swirled lazily in the glass, catching the light of the chandelier above.

His godfather sat across from him, looking like the world's weight didn’t affect him.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, his cigar leaving a faint trail of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.

His nurse was nowhere in sight and Dante didn’t bother to ask his godfather if he was really allowed to smoke in his condition.

He knew what Matteo’s response would be anyway.

“You’re tense,” Matteo said, breaking the heavy silence.

“No shit,” Dante muttered, staring into his glass.

Matteo’s chuckle was low and gravelly. “You’ve got good reason to be. Whoever’s coming for you isn’t playing games. But let me remind you, this world we live in is a fucked-up one. People get ideas all the time.”

“They can have ideas,” Dante said, his voice cold. “Doesn’t mean they survive acting on them.”

Matteo leaned forward, his sharp eyes locking on Dante. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming it’s just the usual power plays. This feels different. Look inward, Dante, even as you’re looking outward.”

Matteo’s words reminded Dante of his father. As his father would always say, “A close friend is a potential close enemy.”

Dante’s jaw clenched, and his grip tightened on the glass.

The reminder of his father made him remember that his father had also been betrayed by the woman he took as his child and loved.

A woman unworthy of their time.

Dante had finally gotten confirmation.

The allegations against Isabella weren’t just rumours. They were true.

He had even gotten more evidence that all pointed at one main fact.

The woman he had loved and thought was pure, had played him for a fool.

He hadn’t bothered to tell Angelo about his search.

Angelo had admired Isabella too much.

Dante needed objectivity, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to dig through the dirt.

And dirt was what they found.

Evidence that Isabella had been unfaithful, her secrets meticulously hidden until now.

In a fit of rage, Dante had shot down her portrait that had hung in his office.

For over a year, he had obsessed over that painting, staring at it every night, wondering if he could have done something different that would have kept her alive.

Now, he wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with her.

But Annabelle…

She reminded him so much of Isabella.

Every glance at her dragged up memories he didn’t want to confront, yet he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. She wasn’t Isabella.

No matter how much her emerald-green eyes haunted him, he couldn’t get enough of her presence.

After promising Matteo that he would tell his son to stop lounging at his place and come home, Dante left Matteo’s place.

He still wondered if his godfather had truly believed his story that Mikhail was merely staying in his mansion to learn about some dealings he was engaged in at the moment, or if the man knew the true reason for Mikhail’s stay.

Dante couldn’t shake off the fact that he was going back to where his greatest temptation was so close by yet distant.

For days, he had thrown himself into hunting down the bastard who had dared to challenge him.

He had had meetings with the other five underworld families in the country.

None of them could hold a candle to the Cazador family.

Also, their old men were loyal to their father and had shown him respect since he took over.

Still, Dante wondered if some of their children might have gotten ideas about biting more than they could chew.

The families all pledged their allegiance to him and swore they had nothing to do with the attacks.

Dante was not taking any chances though, and he had investigated all of them.

Nothing stood out from their operation that could show that they were rebelling.

His men were stretched thin, running down every lead and turning up nothing.

Yet, every promising clue led to a dead end.

Informants were found with their throats slit or simply vanished from the city altogether. Whoever was behind this was thorough, covering their tracks with precision.

Still, it infuriated him.

He was running his men ragged, demanding results, but the bastard responsible remained elusive.

The bastard was hiding like a coward instead of showing his face.

To top it off, he was tense.

Wound up.

Horny as fuck!

He had tried to fuck someone to shake off the tension, just to prove to himself that he wasn’t infatuated by Annabelle.

But the escort’s strong perfume had been an immediate turn-off, sharp and artificial compared to Annabelle’s natural, subtle scent.

No one else could satisfy him now.

It wasn’t just lust…though he wanted her badly.

It was everything about her, from her stubborn defiance to the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

And that was the problem.

She depended on him.

He couldn’t take advantage of that, no matter how much his body screamed otherwise. Not when she was still so fragile.

Her reaction to his simple request for a kiss had made that clear.

The way she’d flinched, like he’d slapped her, had gutted him.

By the time Dante pulled into the driveway of the mansion, his mood was in contrast to the sunny sky above.

The sleek cars in his convoy came to a stop, their engines purring softly before cutting off.

Dante stepped out, his shoulders tight with frustration.

He hoped to hell he wouldn’t see her tonight.

He was on edge, his control shaky, and Annabelle was a temptation he couldn’t afford when he was like this.

But then he saw her.

She was walking from the direction of the garden, her steps slow and unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world.

And she wasn’t alone.

Mikhail was beside her, his arm still in a sling, but that didn’t stop him from laughing like a fool. Annabelle looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips as they exchanged words Dante couldn’t hear.

Fury rolled through him, cold and sharp, settling into a tight ball in his chest.

She looked so at ease with Mikhail, so pleased to be in his company.

Dante’s jaw tightened as he watched them.

He had no claim on her.

He knew that. But seeing her with another man was like a punch to the gut. Even if that man was Mikhail.

It was even worse that it was Mikhail.

That bastard could charm the pants off a nun.

Angelo stepped out of the car behind him, his gaze following Dante’s line of sight.

“Seems the Miss is making friends now.”, Angelo said dryly.

Dante didn’t respond.

His eyes were locked on Annabelle and Mikhail as his hands clenched into fists at his sides.