“Yes, you did.” But Dante’s sharp look has lost its edge, returning to something closer to amusement. “Possessive bastard, aren’t you?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The truth is, the thought of anyone else even looking at Ginni the way Dante just described him makes me want to commit violence. The idea that he’s trapped in prison with men who might see him as prey, who might hurt him...
“Relax,” Dante continues, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not interested in your boy.”
The casual dismissal should be reassuring, but it isn’t. Because if Dante, who’s seen everything and has no reason to lie, thinks Ginni is pretty enough to comment on, then every man in that prison is thinking the same thing.
“You two are good together. I saw that at Christmas. You were stupid not to have realized it sooner.”
The simple statement hits hard. Because he’s right. I was stupid. unbelievably, devastatingly stupid to waste so much time denying what was right in front of me.
I hang my head and pull at my hair, frustration and regret warring for dominance in my chest. “I know.”
“But you realize it now.”
“Too late.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dante leans forward. “Are you willing to do this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Despite everything that could go wrong? And even if the rescue goes right, everyone is going to know Carlo Benedetti isgay and in love with a pretty little femboy he stole from the Torrini family. Are you ready for that?”
The questions should give me pause. Should make me consider what I’m risking, what I might lose. My business, my reputation, my freedom if we get caught. The life I’ve carefully constructed over years of hard work and careful planning.
But instead, all I can think about is Ginni’s face the last time I saw him. The way his eyes lit up when I said I wanted to kiss him. The way he melted into my arms like he’d finally found home.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Good.” Dante nods once, sharp and decisive. “Then we’ll get him out. Friday morning, when they transport him to court. Clean intercept, minimal violence if we do it right. But violence is always an option if we need it.”
The casualness with which he discusses potentially deadly chaos is both reassuring and terrifying. This is why I need Dante. Not just for his technical skills, but for his complete lack of moral squeamishness when it comes to protecting the people in his circle.
I close my eyes and try not to think about what might be happening to Ginni right now. Try not to imagine hands that shouldn’t touch him, voices speaking to him with disrespect, violence that he’s not equipped to handle.
Four days feels like a lifetime.
But Dante’s right about one thing. If anyone can survive four days in hell and come out the other side, it’s my beautiful, stubborn, completely unbreakable little menace.
I just have to have faith that love is enough to carry him through until I can get him out.
And if anyone has hurt him by the time I reach him, I’ll make sure they regret it for whatever’s left of their lives.
Chapter thirty-eight
Ginni
This cell is nothing like the basement.
There are no silk sheets here, no projected sunrises painting the ceiling with gentle light. No warmth, no beauty, no careful attention to comfort and happiness. Just bare concrete walls that weep moisture in the corners, a floor so cold it burns through the thin fabric of my prison uniform, and darkness so complete it feels like drowning.
They gave me a piece of foam to sleep on. It’s barely an inch thick, stained with things I don’t want to identify, and it does nothing to cushion the unforgiving hardness of the floor beneath. One thin blanket that smells of industrial detergent and other people’s despair. That’s it. That’s everything they think I deserve.
Every part of my body aches from the fight. My ribs throb with each breath, my split lip tastes of copper and salt, and there’s a constant ringing in my ears from where someone’s fist connected with the side of my head. The swelling aroundmy left eye has gotten worse, turning my vision into something fractured and uncertain.
But the physical pain is nothing compared to the cold. It seeps through the concrete, through the pathetic excuse for bedding, straight into my bones. I’ve been shivering for hours, my teeth chattering so hard I’m afraid they might crack. The guards took my shoes when they threw me in here, and my bare feet are so numb I can barely feel them anymore.
Worst of all is the darkness.
