Page 140 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

Again. I know exactly what he’s asking me. The memory of the moment Sean’s hand fell, twitching in surrender as the light left his good eye. I should be suppressing a shudder of shame and revulsion. But I’m not. And I’ve never been able to hide my true feelings from Dante, so I don’t bother trying.

“Powerful,” I whisper back. “Heady.”

Dante’s lips curve into a small smile of understanding. Pride even. How did I not see through Aydin’s lies? Dante might not relish the gory side of his life, but he owns it unapologetically.

“What?” I ask, curiosity momentarily overriding my exhaustion when he continues to stare at me with that cryptic smile.

“I see you, Adele.” He murmurs, “I’ve always seen you.”

“And?” I prompt.

“You wouldn’t last one therapy session with Sophie, either.”

I laugh. “Well, we’ll never know, will we? She’s stopped taking family clients, thanks to the likes of you,” I smirk.

Soon, the sedative takes hold, and I surrender to its warm, fuzzy embrace. As I drift off, I dream of a gray-eyed beast dragging me from beneath a table and into the sunset.

Chapter Forty-Six

Adele

Two weeks later, we’re seated in one of the smaller dining rooms in the Vitelli Fortress. Crystal light dances off polished silverware, casting a warm glow over the faces of my newfound family. Vito and Antonella sit at one end of the table, with Kira beside them, engaged in what seems to be a friendly argument. Nico and Sophie occupy the other end, completing our intimate gathering. This is exactly what I needed after everything that’s happened.

Dante’s hand slides over mine under the table, his finger lingering on the large-cut ruby and diamond ring nestled there. “Relax, amore,” he murmurs.

I try to steady my nerves, but my eyes dart to the clock for the hundredth time. “He’s late,” I mutter.

“Orlando wouldn’t miss this for the world. He’s probably as nervous as you are.”

Despite the unsolved puzzle of who wants me dead, Dante and I can no longer stand to be apart. After we got back from Philly, Dante took me straight to his beach house, where we’ve been cocooned ever since.

It’s been the best two weeks of my life, recovering from my shoulder injury and enjoying life with Dante. We can’t keep our hands off each other, but what surprises me more is how much we can’t stop talking. Back in college, it was I who did most of the talking while he listened. Now, he speaks to me like a partner—someone he trusts.

My mind drifts back to yesterday morning. I’d woken up to find the ring on my finger, while Dante had been sitting in the chair opposite the bed, waiting for me to wake up—to discover it—and tell him how I felt about it.

And I did. In so many ways.

It was Vito and Antonella who finally coaxed us out for this family dinner and a formal engagement celebration. Feeling ready to meet my real father, I’d asked Vito to invite Orlando too.

“The last time Orlando saw me, Dante, I’d just killed my husband and was covered in his blood,” I say, the memory still as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“Tesoro,” Dante murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “Your father worships the ground you walk on. First, for existing, and second, for surviving against every odd. You really are your father’s daughter.”

His words trigger a pang of grief, reminding me of my former dad. Benjamin O’Shea’s lifeless face flashes through my mind. He hurt and betrayed me beyond words, but he was still my father for eighteen years. Watching him get shot right in front of me is something I’ll never forget.

I shake myself out of these thoughts, focusing instead on Dante’s warm presence beside me. “I thought that was your thing.”

“What’s my thing?”

“Worshipping me,” I whisper. Too late. The moment the words leave my mouth and I feel him tense beside me, I realize what I just did. Dante is almost never not turned on around me, but I’ve just pushed a particular button of his.

Proving me right, his hand inches higher on my thigh, his voice dropping an octave. “Oh, that? I’m so fucked, I’m actually starting to think I’ve been placed under a spell.”

“What spell?” I murmur innocently, deliberately. I want to get burned.

Dante looks up to answer a question from Vito, then bends to my ear. “Since you’re completely clueless, why don’t I just demonstrate for better understanding?” His fingers reach the juncture of my thighs, his index finger tracing the seam of my labia.

“Dante!” I hiss, heat flooding my cheeks as I swat his arm.

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