Page 61 of Shadows of Steel
I don’t stop to think. I turn sharply, striding down the hall, barely registering my men as they fall into step behind me. The only thought in my mind is getting to them.
I take the wheel myself, pushing the car to its limits. A ten minute drive turns into five, tearing through the streets, breaking every rule of circulation without a second thought. When I finally pull up, my eyes immediately find them, my wife. My son.
Harlow stands there, her expression carefully composed, shoulders squared as if nothing can touch her. But I see it. That fucking habit, her silent confession. The way her nails dig into her palm, pressing hard enough to break skin. A tell she can’t conceal, no matter how hard she tries. Blood stains the hood of the car, stark against the paint, a crumpled note clutched in her hands.
She wants to appear unshaken, unaffected. Untouchable. But I know better. Her breathing is shallow, just a fraction too fast, controlled, but barely. She’s standing on the edge of a panic attack, fighting to keep herself from slipping, from giving in tothe weight of it. Battling for control, even as it frays at the edges. I move, reaching for her, my hands gripping her shoulders. “Harlow.”
She doesn’t register me at first.
I cup her face, forcing her focus up. “Look at me.” My voice is firm.
Her eyes snap to mine.
“You’re okay,” I murmur, my thumb gliding over her cheek. “You’re okay.”
Her breathing steadies, slowly, but surely.
Without breaking eye contact, I carefully take the crumpled note from her hand, my fingers grazing hers for the briefest moment. A moment too short. Not enough. My jaw tightens as I scan the words, the ink carving itself into my mind like a brand. Rage coils in my gut, sharp and unforgiving. I glance at the car, blood staining the hood like a warning, like a fucking challenge.
I turn back to Harlow and Mattia. “Let’s go.”
Mattia moves toward my car and slides into the back seat without a word, his steps quick, instinctively obedient. But when Harlow takes a step to follow, I stop her.
Before she can react, I lift my wife into my arms, holding her close, bridal style.
I fucking need this.
The rage inside me is unrelenting, burning through my veins, rattling in my bones, making my hold on her tighten. I need to feel her. To know she’s here.
Safe.
Breathing.
“Tell me you’re okay, baby.” I whisper, my voice low, rough, a plea wrapped in a command.
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. The tension in her frame, the way she grips my shirt, it tells me enough. I don’tlet go until I reach the car, setting her in the passenger seat and fasten her seatbelt myself. “Dante, I can do it…”
“Don’t argue with me right now.” I say, my voice gruff.
I shut the door before she can respond or insist she doesn’t need my help. My eyes sweep over my enforcers, cutting through the chaos until I find Mario, already moving toward me.
“Find him,” I growl. “I want every security feed pulled. Raze the fucking earth until we have the bastard.”
Mario nods, his expression dark. “Consider it done, Boss.”
His gaze moves to the car, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks inside, scanning Harlow, assessing her through the glass, as if checking for any sign of injury. His scrutiny is careful, thorough, the kind of calculated observation that would go unnoticed by most.
But I see it. And it gets under my fucking skin.
I know it’s irrational. It should reassure me that she’s being watched over, that he’s placed her under his protection. It means she’s safe, that someone is ensuring her security in my absence. A necessary precaution in our world. And yet, it does nothing to silence the unrest creeping through me. Doesn’t temper the possessive fury tightening like a vise. But logic has no place where she’s concerned. We’ve already established that. When it comes to my wife, I’m fucking irrational. And I don’t like anyone looking at my woman.
I hold Mario’s stare for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning away, stepping into the car. The silence stretches between us as I pull onto the road. Harlow doesn’t say a word, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in thought. I let her be. I can’t ask the questions burning through me, not with Mattia in the car. But the moment we pull up to the estate, the restraint holding me together begins to fray. Mattia bolts out of the car and disappears upstairs. Harlow moves to follow, but I grab her wrist, halting her in place.
“Not so fast. You and I need to have a serious conversation.” She sighs but doesn’t resist as I lead her toward my office.
Once the door closes behind us, I turn to face her, my tone unwavering. “I’m listening. Start talking.”
My gaze sharpens. “First your apartment, and now this? I expect answers, Harlow.”
