I taste the salty musk of my own body fluid on his lips and smile.
"Stay here…" I ask, but he closes his eyes and pushes his forehead against mine.
"You know I can't. But you have no idea what it means to me to hear you ask that." His words make my heart swell. He's right. It's not like me to ask him to be around me.
We've been back and forth, wrestling over his job and his violent tendencies and his rights to Sofia.
I don't even know where I stand.
I just know what I want right now.
"Then let me go with you. I can help. I know Antonelli's business better than you from the inside."
Dante pulls back and scowls. "I can't let you do that."
"Why not?" I ask, feeling defensive. "It's safe for you but not me?"
He stares at me for a long minute and I don't see an ounce of yielding in his expression. "I can't stand the idea of losing you,Bella." His hand cups my face. It smells like our sex, but I lean into it. "I need you to stay here where it's safe."
"But if you need more insight… more help…"
"Then I'll call you. I promise." He kisses me again, but I'm no fool. "Your job is to keep our little girl safe and happy here for tonight. Alright? Let me do the hard work. I promise I will call you if I need you."
I don't for a second believe him, but I do finally feel like he understands to what lengths I'm willing to go to end this war and protect Sofia.
She is my world, and I'm starting to see that it's not just Sofia that Dante is fighting for.
Maybe this will turn out alright, after all.
22
DANTE
Our van idles two blocks from the old Trastevere club.
I sit in the passenger seat dressed in workman's coveralls with a contractor's logo stitched across the back.
Rico sits behind the wheel wearing the same uniform.
Marco is in the rear with equipment cases that look legitimate enough to pass a casual inspection.
We are posing as HVAC technicians responding to a service call.
The club won’t question us.
Half the businesses in Rome have maintenance crews coming and going at all hours.
The street's busy this evening.
Friday evening crowds spill out of restaurants and bars.
Music thumps from open doorways.
The chaos provides cover—nobody pays attention to a contractor van parked along the curb outside a business.
We can be in and out of there in under twenty minutes with every bit of intel we need to pull this off successfully.
"The grate should be in the service corridor behind the kitchen," I tell Rico as I check my weapon.
