Page 63 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

I nod my thanks. Although right now, the only thing I need is Dante. His absence is starting to feel like a hollow space in my chest.

As Salvatore turns to leave, I reach out, my trembling hand grasping at the sleeve of his suit.

“Sal,” I say, my voice breaking, “What about Dante? Will I see him tonight?” I hate the neediness in my voice, but I can’t mask it.

Sal shakes his head, and my heart sinks. “He’s grieving, Addy,” he says gently. “He loved Pietro like a brother.”

But that is exactly what I want. I want his grief, his pain. I want him raw and uncontrolled.

“Please, I need to see him. Need to . . .” I trail off, unsure how to put into words the dark hunger that gnaws at me.

I want to take away his pain, even if it means taking it into myself. To be the one to comfort him, to soothe him. To let him use me . . . hurt me . . . break me.

The thought terrifies me, even as it sends a dark thrill through my veins. I don’t understand it. I don’t want to understand it. All I know is that I crave Dante with an intensity that borders on madness. My fingers tighten on Sal’s sleeve, knuckles white with the force of my grip.

Sal’s dark eyes meet mine, and something like understanding flickers in their depths. He gently pries my fingers loose. “Give him time, Addy,” he says, not unkindly. “He’ll come and see you. The Don is away, so Dante is sorting out the mess and making sure everyone else is safe.”

I feel another pang of guilt. I’m so wrapped up in my head that I forgot about the others. And Kira . . . God, Kira. Vulnerable in the chaos because of her lack of sight. The rest of her DJ friends. In danger because of me.

“Kira?” I lick my dry lips, tasting salt from dried tears. “Is she okay . . .?”

Sal’s gaze softens further as he assures me, “Kira is safe. She was inside the club when . . .” He trails off, his jaw clenching, and I know he’s thinking about Hulky.

My stomach twists, and I swallow a wave of nausea and I try to focus on the present, to be grateful for the people who are still alive.

“Get some rest, okay?” Sal says, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder. Then he turns and starts to leave.

“Sal?” I croak.

He pauses at the door, waiting.

“What was his full name?”

He stays silent for a long time, and I start to think he won’t respond when he says on a soft exhale. “His name was Pietro. Pietro Potenza.”

And then all I hear is the sound of the door softly closing behind Sal.

And I’m left alone with my thoughts and the accusing stares of my reflections.

In the end, I can’t bear the softness of the bed or the luxury surrounding me. So I curl up on the carpet instead, my knees hugged to my chest. I rock back and forth, my mind spinning with dark thoughts and darker desires.

I need Dante. Yearn for his hands on me, his body against mine. I want him to hurt me, to punish me, to absolve me.

My fingers dig into my arms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on my skin. I welcome the pain, a poor substitute for what I truly crave.

And so I wait, lost in the labyrinth of my shockingly twisted longing. The ornate clock on the mantel ticks away the seconds, each one an eternity. The mirrors reflect my huddled form, multiplying my misery, but sleep eludes me.

The only way I can cope with the crushing guilt is to imagine Dante striding through those doors. To imagine his hands on me, gentle at first, then bruising hard. His lips on my skin, teeth marking me, making me forget, just for a moment, the horror of what’s happened.

Chapter Eighteen

Dante

Smoke stings my eyes as I approach Ron Higgins. The head of the bomb squad is bent over the mangled remains of the Corolla, his movements precise and methodical, while my muscles tense, fists clenching and unclenching as I fight to maintain control.

“The other feds are gone, Ron. So, for fuck’s sake, did you find something or not?” I growl. It’s probably the tenth time I’ve asked him tonight, each repetition grating on my already frayed nerves.

My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to do something, anything. The urge to lash out, to destroy, pulses through me with each heartbeat. Instead, I force myself to stand still, to appear calm even as chaos rages within me.

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