I check the security camera and see Dante standing on my doorstep, hands in the pockets of his expensive coat, dark eyes scanning the street with the automatic vigilance that makes him so good at what he does. And what he does is extract secrets from people who thought their secrets were safe.
Fuck.
I consider ignoring the bell, pretending I’m not home, but that would only make him more suspicious. Dante doesn’t make social calls. If he’s here, it’s because he’s noticed something. And when Dante notices something, he doesn’t let it go.
I open the door and try to arrange my face into something resembling normalcy. “Evening, Dante.”
“Carlo.” He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, and strides straight to my living room, his gaze immediatelycataloguing details. The whisky glass on the table. The fact that I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes. The way I’m holding myself like someone trying not to fall apart.
“Drink?” I offer.
“Please.”
I pour him a whisky, noting the way his eyes track every movement. Dante sees everything. It’s what makes him invaluable and terrifying in equal measure.
“You look like shit,” he says without preamble, accepting the glass.
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I’m serious.” Dante settles into the armchair across from me, all fluid movement and predatory grace. “When’s the last time you slept? Properly, I mean. Not passed out drunk on your sofa.”
“I sleep fine.”
“Bullshit.” He takes a sip of whisky, never breaking eye contact. “You’ve got shadows under your eyes that weren’t there a week ago. You’re drinking alone on a Tuesday night. And you answered the door like you were expecting someone you owe money to.”
I force a laugh. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Is it?” Dante leans forward slightly, and I’m reminded why people are terrified of him. It’s not just his reputation. It’s the way he looks at you like he can see straight through to your bones. “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like a man with secrets. And secrets make people unpredictable.”
“Everyone has secrets, Dante.”
“Not like this.” His voice is quiet, matter-of-fact. “This is the kind of secret that changes people. The kind that eats at them from the inside until they make mistakes.”
My hand tightens on my glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Dante’s dark eyes never leave my face. “Something happened. Something that’s got you spooked. Something you can’t talk about to anyone else.”
The accuracy of his assessment hits like a physical blow. I force myself to stay still, to keep my expression neutral, but I can feel sweat breaking out across my forehead.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Dante takes another sip, completely relaxed. “Because the Carlo I know doesn’t disappear for days without explanation. Doesn’t ignore calls from friends. Doesn’t drink himself into a stupor and call it a normal evening.”
Friends. Marco. Of course Dante would have heard about my radio silence, my complete withdrawal from normal social obligations. In our world, sudden changes in behavior are cause for concern. They usually mean someone’s either dead, compromised, or planning something stupid.
“I needed some time to myself,” I say carefully. “Clear my head, think about what I want.”
“And what do you want, Carlo?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with implication. What do I want? A basement bedroom with silk sheets and projected sunrises. A beautiful boy who sings opera while he cooks. A marriage that should have existed only in his imagination but felt more real than anything else in my life.
“The usual,” I lie. “Money, power, a peaceful retirement.”
Dante studies me for a long moment, and I have the unsettling feeling he can see right through the careful facade I’m trying to maintain. This is why he’s so effective at what he does. Not just the physical techniques, but this. The ability to read people, to find their pressure points, to know exactly where to push.
“You know what I think?” he says finally.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
