“I think someone’s got under your skin. Someone you can’t have, or can’t keep, or can’t forget.” His voice is conversational, almost gentle. “And it’s driving you fucking crazy.”
The words hit so close to the truth that I actually flinch. Dante’s eyes narrow slightly, cataloguing my reaction like data in a file he’s building.
“That’s a hell of a theory,” I manage.
“Isn’t it?” He smiles, and there’s something almost sympathetic in his expression. “The thing about obsession, Carlo, is that it’s obvious to everyone except the person experiencing it. You think you’re hiding it, but you’re not.”
Obsession. The word sits between us like an accusation. Is that what this is? Have I become obsessed with someone who kidnapped me, drugged me, tried to kill us both in some romantic murder-suicide fantasy?
“I’m not obsessed with anyone.”
“No?” Dante tilts his head slightly. “Then why are you sitting here alone, drinking yourself stupid, looking like someone died? Why are you avoiding your friends? Why are you canceling all your social engagements and leaving all your business decisions to your underlings?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about him alone in that basement, or locked away in some uncaring institution, or worse. Because every quiet moment fills with memories of silk pajamas and gentle hands and the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“You’re many things, Carlo. Fine isn’t one of them.” Dante finishes his whisky and sets the glass down with deliberate care. “But here’s the thing about secrets. They have a way of coming out eventually. Usually at the worst possible moment, in the most damaging way.”
The threat isn’t explicit, but it’s there. Dante knows something’s wrong, and he won’t stop digging until he finds out what. And when he does...
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s advice,” Dante says, standing up with that same fluid grace. “From someone who’s seen what happens when good men get eaten alive by things they can’t control.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses, looking back at me with those dark, knowing eyes.
“Whatever it is, Carlo, deal with it. Before it deals with you.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my whisky and the terrible certainty that I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.
I drain my glass and immediately pour another, trying to wash away the taste of Dante’s too-accurate observations. Obsession. Secrets eating me alive. The uncomfortable truth that I’m not fine, haven’t been fine since the moment I walked out of that basement.
My phone buzzes with a text. For one ridiculous moment my heart races, thinking somehow it’s Ginni, or at least news about him. But it’s Crystal, asking if she can come over. Beautiful, uncomplicated Crystal, with her perfect smile and her simple expectations. Exactly what I need to remind myself who I really am.
I text back yes without thinking it through.
Twenty minutes later, she’s at my door, looking absolutely stunning in a black dress that hugs every curve. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves, her makeup flawless despite the late hour. She’s everything any reasonable man would want. Sophisticated, gorgeous, successful in her own right.
“Hey, stranger,” she says, stepping into my arms for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”
I kiss her back automatically, my body going through the motions while my mind remains stubbornly elsewhere. Her lips are soft, her perfume expensive, her body warm against mine. Everything should feel perfect.
Instead, I feel nothing.
“Drink?” I offer, pulling away perhaps too quickly.
“Wine, if you have it.”
We walk to the living room and I pour her a glass of the Chablis she prefers, automatic hospitality for someone I should care about more than I do.
“You’ve been impossible to reach,” Crystal says, settling onto the sofa with practiced elegance. “I was starting to think you’d found someone else.”
Someone else. If only it were that simple.
“Just work,” I lie. “Big deal falling through, had to focus.”
She nods sympathetically, and we fall into the kind of easy conversation we’ve perfected over months of casual dating. Her job, mutual friends, plans for the weekend. Normal conversation between normal people living normal lives.
