Page 27 of Ruthless Silence
"They should've killed you with your father," the second man spits. "Finish what they started that night. At least then you'd have died with honor instead of living as the enemy's plaything."
The threat makes my knees weak, not from fear but from the realization that some of my father's men want me dead for surviving. The metal of guns gleams in the afternoon sun. Innocent shoppers pass by, oblivious to the danger coiling around us. My exhausted body can barely stay upright, let alone fight.
"You betray everything," Giuseppe says, stepping closer. "Everything your father built, everything he died for, you threw away to warm a monster's bed."
Dante appears like smoke given form.
One moment Giuseppe is advancing, the next a hand grips his gun arm. The crack of bone breaking makes my stomach lurch even as something dark and hungry awakens in my chest. Giuseppe's scream cuts short as his gun clatters across the sidewalk.
Three seconds. My heart doesn't even finish its terrified stutter, and three armed men are bleeding on the sidewalk. The silence of his violence steals my breath. This is my husband. This beautiful, terrible thing that destroys for me.
The second man swings wildly, but Dante flows under the punch like water, his fist driving up into the attacker's throat. The wet crunch makes me flinch and clench my thighs simultaneously. The man drops, gasping, hands clutching his crushed windpipe. Dante strips his gun in the same motion, the metal disappearing into his jacket.
The third raises his weapon, finger on the trigger. A knife appears in Dante's hand.Where did it come from?It flies in a silver arc. The blade sinks into the gunman's shoulder, spinning him sideways. His gun fires into the concrete as he falls.
The copper scent of blood mixes with Dante's cologne, sandalwood and violence, and my traitorous body responds with wet heat between my thighs. He positions himself between me and the threats, his body a shield protecting what's his. Death incarnate in an expensive suit, andCristo, he's never looked more beautiful than when he's destroying threats to me.
Giuseppe cradles his shattered arm against his chest, bone jutting at an unnatural angle through his sleeve. The sound he makes, part sob, part rage, from this man who taught me strength breaks something in my chest.
Maria whimpers behind us. The shopping bags scatter across the sidewalk, that red dress peeking out like spilled blood. The one I chose imagining his eyes on me. Now he's spilling actual blood, and my body can't decide if I'm horrified or aroused.
Giuseppe struggles to his knees, face twisted with pain and rage. "You don't deserve her loyalty, Rosetti devil."
Dante picks him up one-handed, slamming him against the boutique window hard enough to crack the glass. His other hand moves in quick signs meant for me: "Close your eyes."
I don't. I need to see this, need to understand what I've married. The crowd of witnesses presses closer, phones raised to capture every moment. My pulse pounds in my ears as Dante's fingers find specific points on Giuseppe's throat. Not strangling but pressing deliberately. Giuseppe's eyes roll back, body convulsing in Dante's grip. After three seconds, Dante releases him. Giuseppe crumples, conscious but unable to move, nerves temporarily scrambled.
The crowd has swelled now, at least thirty witnesses with phones recording this very public display. The entire street has stopped to watch this confrontation unfold in broad daylight. Every stranger here will spread the story of what happens next.
Dante turns to me, and my breath catches. His hands run over my arms, my ribs, checking for injuries. The touch makes my nipples tighten against the silk dress. He just destroyed three men for threatening me, and my body interprets his violence as foreplay.What kind of sick thing am I becoming in his presence?
When his hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes, I see concern crack through his controlled facade. His thumb brushes my cheek, and I realize I'm crying. When did that start?
"You're safe," he signs. "I have you."
"I didn't need…" I start to sign back, but my hands shake too much.
"Yes, you did. And I'll always come."
Always.The word burrows under my skin like a promise I never asked for but suddenly desperately want.
Giuseppe groans from the ground: "Rosetti whore. Your father would…"
Dante's foot presses against Giuseppe's throat, not enough to kill but enough to stop words. His eyes never leave mine as he signs: "Choose now. Your family or mine. Choose your loyalty in front of these witnesses."
The crowd presses even closer, a sea of phones recording everything. This moment will spread through Chicago's underworld by nightfall. Every witness here waiting to hear Ana Moretti pick a side.
The words tear from my throat like confession: "I'm Ana Rosetti."
In front of all these strangers, their phones recording my betrayal, I choose the man who killed my father. Choose him because he just turned himself into a weapon for me. Choose him because for the first time since Papa died, I feel protected instead of hunted. The betrayal feels like safety, and I instantly hate myself for it. I know I'll want to tear those words out of the universe later on, tonight in bed, but for now they feel right.
Back at the mansion, I pull Dante into our bathroom. His knuckles are split, blood seeping through the torn skin. These hands that just disabled three men now need my tending.
He sits on the tub's edge while I kneel with the first aid kit, the same reversal from when he bandaged my feet. His blood is warm on my hands as I clean each wound, so different from Papa's blood that night. That was ending. This is…Madonna, what is this?
"You didn't have to protect me like that," I say, but the English fails me mid-sentence, exhaustion making the foreign words crumble.
His finger touches my lips gently, stopping more words. The contact sends heat straight to my core. When I look up, his signs are slow, deliberate: "Yes. Always. You're mine to protect."
