Born in Blood Collection Volume 1: Collection of books 1-4

by Cora Reilly

  Bibiana sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

  The words hollowed me out. “Didn’t want to tell me what?”

  What if Dante had a steady lover? Someone he couldn’t marry for social and political reasons. Maybe that’s why he chose me, a widow, because he didn’t want to screw over a poor innocent girl like that. My head started spinning.

  Bibiana gripped my hand tightly. “Hey, it’s not that bad. Calm down. You look like you’re going to pass out any moment.”

  I reached for a green macaron and stuffed it into my mouth. The sweet taste of pistachio spread on my tongue and I relaxed slightly. “So spill before I come up with more horrible scenarios.” I could tell Bibiana wanted to ask what kind of scenarios had popped into my mind, but thankfully she didn’t. Bibiana knew me well enough to guess anyway. We’d been friends since we could both walk. She was the cousin closest in age to me and we’d always spent every free minute together. Even in school we’d been inseparable, except for the classes that we didn’t share because I was a year ahead. But it was difficult to make friends among normal kids, so we’d stuck together. That hadn’t changed after we’d married. If possible we’d gotten even closer, because we both could share our marriage troubles with each other without having to worry that anything would get out.

  “My husband told me Dante frequented Club Palermo for a while.”

  I froze. Club Palermo was a mob-owned nightclub with pole dancing, striptease and prostitution. Bibiana’s husband was the manager of the club. “What do you mean?”

  Bibiana’s cheeks turned red. She looked like she regretted ever having brought it up. “He used prostitutes for sex.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to figure out why this hurt so much. Only last night we’d talked about prostitution; why hadn’t he mentioned something? I could almost see how that conversation would have gone. “Not anymore, right?”

  “Oh no, it happened a while ago. About a year after his wife’s death, he had a rough stretch and came into the Club a couple of times per week to ‘let off some steam,’ as Tommaso put it.”

  It had been way before our marriage, and yet the knowledge that Dante had slept with prostitutes, but hadn’t even tried to kiss me, hurt a lot. “So he has no problem sleeping with other women, he just doesn’t want to sleep with me.”

  “No, that’s not true. And like I said, he hasn’t visited Club Palermo in a long time.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to sleep with me. With Antonio, I could deal with it. I knew it was nothing personal. He wasn’t into me because he wasn’t into women, but what’s the reason for Dante’s disinterest? Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Val. You’re gorgeous. He’d have to be blind not to be into you. Maybe he didn’t want to push you? You lost your husband less than a year ago, and Dante doesn’t know that you and Antonio were never a real couple.”

  “It’s not like I don’t miss Antonio,” I said defensively. “I miss our conversations, and that he confided in me.”

  “I know you do, but you don’t miss him physically. Maybe Dante thinks you’re not ready to be intimate with another man.”

  I pondered that. It seemed like a logical explanation, and Dante was nothing if not a logical man. On the other hand, Dante was also a Made Man, and they usually didn’t suffer from excessive sensitivity. “How many men do you know who would care about that?”

  Bibiana grimaced. “Tommaso definitely wouldn’t.”

  “See,” I said, feeling even more miserable. “It’s unlikely that Dante’s conscience is keeping him from sleeping with me. He’s a killer, and a skilled one at that. He’s the Boss for a reason.”

  “That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have some scruples. I know that he strongly disapproves of rape.”

  I snorted. “He disapproves?”

  Bibiana gave me a stern look. “I’m serious. Dante told his men that he’d castrate anyone who would use rape as a form of torture, punishment or entertainment. Tommaso hates it because he thinks he should be allowed to do whatever he wants with the women in Club Palermo.”

  I didn’t doubt that for one second. I’d lost count of the times he’d raped Bibiana. Of course, nobody called it rape in our world because she was his wife and her body belonged to him. Thinking about it made me sick. “Okay, so he has qualms about a couple of things.” It made sense after what he’d said about Gaby yesterday. Maybe he really didn’t want to initiate anything with me because he thought I was still mourning Antonio.

  “Maybe you should make the first move?” Bibiana said.

  “I pranced around him half-naked yesterday; what else can I do?”

  “You could kiss him. Touch him.”

  I knew how to kiss. Antonio had kissed me a few times. It had been nice, for me at least, so kissing Dante was definitely something I could do. “Touch him? Do you mean his you-know-what?”

  Bibiana flushed. “I guess so? I never initiated anything with Tommaso, but he always wants me to touch him there and blow him.” Bibiana took another macaron. I knew she hated talking about sex with Tommaso. Who wouldn’t?

  “Touching him can’t be too hard.”

  “Oh, it’ll be hard.”

  I laughed. “Dirty jokes already? The macarons really get you going.”

  Bibiana giggled and shook her head. “You will be fine. Even if you blow him, you can’t do anything wrong. Use no teeth and you should swallow, those are the two most important things.”

  I had to hide a grimace. I wasn’t so much disgusted by the idea of giving Dante a blow job, but the image of Bibiana having to swallow Tommaso’s stuff made me want to hurl.

  “The good thing about blow jobs is that most men love them, so if you’re not into the actual sex, then you can keep them happy that way.”

  I really hoped it didn’t come to that. I knew the only orgasm Bibiana had ever experienced was by her own hand, but I didn’t want to share her fate.

  “I’ll give it a try tonight,” I said, suddenly feeling more hopeful.

  “Call me tomorrow. I want to know how it went.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know if something exciting happens.”

  * * *

  That night when Dante joined me in bed I gathered all my courage, scooted over to him and touched his naked chest. It was warm and firm. Dante stilled under my touch, his brows drawn together as he watched me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. Dante deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue slipping into my mouth. This kiss was much more intense than the ones I’d experienced with Antonio. Dante claimed my mouth, making me tremble with the need for more. I let my hand slide lower, down his stomach. He drew back and gripped my hand, stopping its descent. He shook his head, his eyes flashing with something dark and angry. “You should sleep now, Valentina.”

  I stared at him, uncomprehending. What had just happened? He’d kissed me as if he wanted to devour me, and then he stopped without an explanation. I snatched my hand out of his grasp, fighting the tears of anger rising into my eyes. Without a word, I rolled around, my back to Dante, and closed my eyes.

  “I know you went to Bibiana without protection today. That won’t happen again. You can go wherever you want. You can even drive yourself, but from now on I want one of the guards at your side when you leave this house. It’s too dangerous for you outside these walls,” he said as if he hadn’t just kissed me, as if he wasn’t the slightest bit affected by what we’d done.

  I pressed my lips tightly together. I wanted to scream in frustration, but instead more tears pooled in my eyes.

  “Understood?” Dante asked after a while.

  I had to bite back a scathing comment. “Yes, understood.”

  We both fell silent again, not touching, as if we were two strangers forced into the same bed by accident. And that was actually closer to reality than I liked. The throbbing between my legs was almost unbearable, but it was clear
that Dante wouldn’t do anything about it. I wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dante was a very private man. That’s what everyone always told me, which was why I knew how wrong it was for me to breach his privacy. But I needed to see the things Dante kept hidden behind the door Gaby had showed me. Maybe it would help me understand him better.

  It was early afternoon, and Dante had left for a meeting at one of the Outfit’s underground casinos. I wasn’t sure when he’d be back, but if the last two days since my embarrassing attempt at seduction were any indication, probably not before eight. It was silent in the house. Today was Gaby’s day off, and as usual Zita was busy in the kitchen and avoiding me.

  I pushed down the handle and stepped into the room where Dante kept his dead wife’s memorabilia. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in darkness. I fumbled for the light switch but when I pressed it, nothing happened. I switched it back and forth a few more times until I decided that it was futile. After a moment of guilt-induced hesitation, I carefully felt my way toward the window and pulled the curtains apart. Coughing from a billow of dust from the heavy fabric, I blinked against the sudden light, my eyes tearing up. I wiped them quickly before I dared to look around.

  There wasn’t a lamp attached to the ceiling, only a string of abandoned wires. No wonder the switch didn’t do anything. Dust particles danced in the air and a musty smell penetrated my nose. A fine layer of dust had gathered on every surface and even the ground. My footsteps were clearly visible. Briefly, panic threatened to overwhelm me. There was no way I could hide my presence in the room if my footprints were all over the floor, but clearly nobody had set foot inside in a long time, not even Dante, so he’d never find out.

  The room was cluttered with furniture and cardboard boxes. There was a dark wood wardrobe, two dressers and a king-sized four-poster bed. Slowly realization dawned on me. This must have been the master bedroom Dante and his wife had shared before her death. At least I wasn’t sleeping in the same bed where Dante had made love to his dead wife. I tiptoed toward the wardrobe. I wasn’t even sure why I was trying to be quiet, but it felt almost sacrilegious to be in this room. Opening the wardrobe, I was hit by the smell of disuse and old clothes. Two dozen dresses hung from padded pink hangers, everything from long ball gowns and pretty cocktail dresses to casual summer dresses. Some of them looked like they might have belonged in my wardrobe, but of course they were too small for me.

  I brushed my fingers over the fabric. It was strange to think that the person who had worn them was long gone, buried in cold dark earth. With a shudder, I closed the door and stepped back, but my curiosity wasn’t sated yet. I opened one of the drawers of the cupboard beside the wardrobe and found it stacked with underwear. I quickly closed it. That definitely felt too personal. I couldn’t rummage through the lingerie of a dead woman, even if it might tell me something about Dante’s preferences. Hesitantly, I approached the second dresser and opened the top drawer. It was empty except for two photo albums. I had a feeling the drawer had once belonged to Dante, stacked with his socks and briefs a long time ago. When he’d changed bedrooms, he’d left everything behind, even his own dresser.

  Ignoring my qualms, I picked up the two albums and carried them over to the bed. A dark red duvet was spread out over it, which was also covered in a thin layer of dust. After a futile glance around in search for another option, I sat down on its edge with the albums in my lab. The first album was white except for the image of two entwined gold rings. With trepidation, I opened the album.

  A much younger Dante and a young, small woman in a wedding dress were in the first photo. Dante wasn’t looking into the camera. His sole attention belonged to his bride, and the adoration plainly visible in his eyes made a lump rise into my throat. The cold calculation and emotionless sophistication that were now ever-present were absent from his face. Maybe because he was still young, but I had a feeling it had just as much to do with the woman at his side.

  It was a simple picture, and yet it conveyed everything a wedding should mean: love, devotion, happiness.

  I hadn’t seen the photos of our wedding yet, but I knew what I wouldn’t find in them. Swallowing the rising emotion, I browsed the other photos, childishly hoping to find Dante with a look of the same indifference he always showed me. But even though his expression became more guarded and controlled in later photos, his feelings for his wife were hard to miss. They’d been married for almost twelve years, but they’d never had kids. I knew Carla had fought cancer in the last three years of her life, but I wondered why it hadn’t worked before then. I’d never seen her with a baby bump, or heard rumors of a miscarriage. Not that it was my business.

  Maybe I should count myself lucky that Dante didn’t have kids with Carla, or I’d have them here to despise me as well. I hated the bitterness of that thought and quickly abandoned it. I didn’t want to get petty, or act jealous toward a dead woman. She’d never done anything to me and it was horrible that she had died so soon.

  I picked up the second album. At its end, there were a few photos that showed Carla with a wig and no eyebrows. Dante’s arm was wrapped protectively around his thin, pale wife. Sorrow washed over me. How was it to lose someone you loved so much?

  I had loved Antonio as a friend, but it didn’t even come close to what Dante and Carla must have had, and if I was being honest I’d often resented Antonio in the end for keeping me in a loveless golden cage so he could hide the fact he was gay.

  The door flew open, making me jump, and Dante stepped in, his expression thunderous. Before I could move, he was in front of me and ripped the photo album from my hand. He flung it onto the bed, his furious eyes burning into me. “What are you doing here?”

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, bringing us so close our lips were almost touching. “This room is none of your business.”

  I squirmed in his hold. “Dante, you’re hurting me.”

  He released me, some of the anger replaced by cold disapproval. “You shouldn’t have come here.” His eyes darted to the album that lay open on the bed with the photo of his sick wife and him. He took a step back from me, the last of his fury gone and replaced by a frightening calm. “Leave.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I quickly rushed into the corridor, scared by Dante’s outburst, but honestly terrified by the odd calm that had taken over his face at the end. Dante stepped out of the room and closed the door. He didn’t look at me again. I watched his back as he walked away and headed down the stairs. Wrapping my arms around myself, I closed my eyes. I didn’t like to give up on things. I was stubborn—too stubborn, as my mother always pointed out—but I seriously considered accepting that the marriage between Dante and me wouldn’t work. There was only so much rejection I could take.

  * * *

  We hardly spoke during dinner, and when we did it was about current news that was the last thing on my mind. Dante didn’t mention what happened, and I definitely wouldn’t. After Zita had cleared away our plates with a too-curious glance in my direction, Dante stood. “I have more work to do.”

  Of course he did. I nodded mutely and headed toward the library. If things kept progressing the same way they were now, I’d speak Russian in no time, I thought bitterly as I picked up the textbook. I couldn’t focus. The letters swam before my eyes and eventually I gave up. I left the room and cast a glance in the direction of Dante’s office. There wasn’t any light spilling out from under the door. Maybe he had gone to bed?

  I headed toward the staircase but stopped when I saw movement from the corner of my eye. The door to the living room was open, giving me a clear view of Dante, who sat in the wide armchair in front of the dark fireplace, drinking what looked like whiskey. I considered going to him and apologizing, but his brooding expression made me decide against it. Instead I quietly ascended the staircase and slipped into the bedroom.

  Under the warm stream of the shower, my fingers found their way between my leg
s again, but I wasn’t really into it and eventually abandoned my attempt to find release. Seeing those old photos had ripped open old wounds and created new ones. They had reminded me of the few times in the beginning of our marriage that Antonio had brought his lover Frank into our home to have sex with him. It was one of the safest places for them to meet, but despite my best attempts to be okay with it, I’d suffered because Antonio’s interaction with Frank spoke of the love and desire he could never give me. Seeing Dante with his wife today had felt the same way. I hadn’t stood a chance against Frank back then, and I was increasingly sure that I didn’t stand a chance against Dante’s dead wife either.

  * * *

  Once I told Bibiana what happened, she advised me to leave Dante alone for now and hope for the best, and during our call that had actually seemed like a decent solution, but after a day of crushing silence I couldn’t take it anymore.

  When I saw Dante sitting in front of the unlit fireplace that evening, drinking his whiskey, something snapped in me.

  My first husband hadn’t wanted me because he preferred men, and my second because he couldn’t let go of a dead wife and because he preferred to brood over a glass of whiskey. I knew Dante had had sex with other women after his wife’s death. Bibiana had confirmed that he’d frequented her husband’s club for a while, so why didn’t he want to have sex with me? Maybe something about me repulsed men. That was the only logical explanation, and if that was the case I needed to know and stop wasting my time on foolish hope and ludicrous seduction plans.

  I stepped into the living room, making sure my heels made an audible sound on the hardwood floor. Dante kept his gaze on the dark fireplace. Of course, he ignored me. He almost always did.

  My arms started to shake from restrained anger. “Is it true that you frequented Club Palermo?”

  Dante frowned. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass, not looking up. “It belongs to the Outfit, but that was a long time before our marriage.”