“Hey,” I said, climbing the steps.
He turned, and that heat was back in his eyes immediately. The kind that made my stomach flip and my pulse quicken. “Hey yourself. How’d it go out there?”
“Fine. Angelo says we need to order more feed.” I leaned against the porch railing, trying to appear casual even though my heart was hammering. “I’ll call Morrison tomorrow.”
“Angelo’s doing good work,” Dante said, taking a sip of his beer. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Yeah.” I paused, weighing my next words carefully. “He talks about you a lot. Says you’re not like the rest of your family.”
Something flickered across Dante’s face—surprise, maybe, or concern. “Angelo talks too much.”
“Does he?” I held his gaze, trying to read what was behind those dark eyes. “Or does he just know things he probably shouldn’t?”
Dante set his beer down slowly, his jaw tightening. “What exactly did he tell you?”
“Enough.” I crossed my arms, suddenly nervous about pushing this. But I needed to know. Needed to hear it from him. “He told me about the people your father wanted dealt with. About what you actually do with them.”
The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. Dante’s expression went carefully blank, the same mask I’d seen him wear when he was trying to hide something. Then, slowly, he let out a long breath.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Don’t,” I said quickly. “He was trying to help. Trying to make me understand that you’re not—” I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
“Not a monster?” Dante’s laugh was bitter. “I’m still part of that world, Nick. I still do terrible things. Just because I draw the line at murder doesn’t make me a good person.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But it makes you better than I thought you were.”
He looked up at me then, vulnerability written all over his face in a way I’d never seen before. “Does it change anything? Between us?”
I thought about that. About the gun in the drawer. About the danger he lived with every day. About the fact that he was risking his life to protect strangers from his own father. About the way he’d thrown himself in front of that heifer without hesitation. About the way he’d kissed me like I was something beautiful and rare.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “It does.”
His face fell, and I realized he’d misunderstood.
“It makes me trust you more,” I clarified quickly. “Not less.”
The relief that washed over his features was so profound it made my chest ache. He stood up, moving toward me like he was afraid of spooking me.
“Nick,” he said softly, stopping just inches away. “I know this is all fucked up. And I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But I meant what I said before. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. Please know I’m not lying to you about that.”
My breath caught as he reached up, his hand hovering near my face like he was asking permission. I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve reminded him we were taking this slow. But instead, I found myself leaning into his touch, letting his palm cup my jaw.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “Of what this means. Of your family. Of allowing myself to enjoy this.”
“I’m scared too,” he said. “But now I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
The words hit me harder than they should have. Before I could talk myself out of it, I closed the distance between us and kissed him. It was different from the desperate urgency of that night in bed. This was slower, softer, but somehow more intense. Like we were both acknowledging that this was real, that whatever was happening between us mattered.
When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“We should go inside,” I murmured. “Before someone sees.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, but neither of us moved.
“Dante?”
“Yeah?”
