Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “No more weakness,” I echo.

  That seems to give Dante the signal as we turn away from his car and head toward the white building. He does something that shocks me – he takes my hand in his. We walk toward the new venue hand in hand, a sure sign of our evolution, but a clearer sign of our strength and belief in the other. Dante can be however he wants with me, but he chooses to go into this building with his hand locked in mine.

  “When we go in there,” he starts to say, pulling me just out of the way of the door and delaying our arrival, “you are mine.”

  “Always have been,” I say, feeling my face flush.

  “I can tell how turned on you are right now, Ryleigh,” he tells me, a warning sound in his voice. “That’s the adrenaline pumping, the endorphins taking command as you wait for your moment to strike.” He leans close, close enough for us to kiss. “Do this well and the reward will be fucking heavenly.”

  I giggle lightly. “You seem to be all promises right now, Dante. I’m waiting for my reward.”

  “All in good time,” he vows. “Right now, we have to attend to business.”

  He leaves me to head toward the entrance. He opens the door, pushing me in first, but not alone as he’s quick to fall in behind me, keeping me close. The moment we’re inside, people start to look, and he’s back to my side, his arm around my back. I look around, seeing so many strange faces, but I don’t lose my cool. Instead, I study them all, looking at them with equal disdain.

  “Do you know any of them?” Dante asks, pulling me tighter to his side. “Point them out if you do.”

  “Only two of them,” I say, brevity echoing in my words. “The guy with the black shirt and the one feeling the blond up at the bar.”

  “Perfect,” he whispers, his fingers falling loosely to my side. “I guess it’s game time already.”

  “Take my lead,” I utter, turning slightly to look up at him. I grin, but I see alarm highlighting his beautiful green eyes. “Trust me, Dante.”

  He agrees – reluctantly – and I walk from his side, throwing the clutch bag I have under my arm. I walk, putting one heeled foot in front of the other, my ass swaying as I waltz across this sorry excuse for a bar.

  I go over, inserting myself between the man in the black shirt and the stranger to his right. I deliberately nudge him, making sure he notices me.

  “Sorry,” I falsely apologize, turning to him.

  I watch his gray, dull eyes dance across my every curve until he’s dragging them up my body and back to my face. It’s as his eyes linger on my face a little longer that he stands up. He reaches up, tossing my hair away, and sees the thin scar that races across my shoulder.

  “Oh, fuck... Ryleigh,” he whispers my name, almost inaudibly.

  I just smile innocently. “You remember me, then?”

  “Fuck,” he says, starting to back away. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  He starts running, and while I follow, Dante has one of his men run after him, blocking the way for the bastard to leave. Together we cross the bar, all eyes on us, and we head into the room where the bastard ran. I don’t care for his name, never picking up any of their names during their invasion, and I don’t want to learn it until they’re dead.

  “There’s no need to run,” Dante announces as we enter the room. “We’re all good friends in here.”

  “No, we’re not,” the man remarks, shaking his head. “I was done when your grandfather called the fucking shots and fired us all.”

  “With a good fucking settlement, I do believe,” Dante argues, his voice tinged with mock sincerity. “You got redundancy pay like any good organization would offer their fellow colleagues.”

  He looks around, trying hard to find an exit, but when he realizes it won’t happen, he begins to laugh. It’s maniacal, almost a hysteria as the panic takes him captive.

  “Fuck,” he starts, “if I’m going to get a lucky second chance, I better take it.”

  “You’ve changed your tune.”

  “We either had you to throw you over to Marcello or kill you if we found you, employed by him or not. It was the deal,” he states, trying to cover his fear with a forced bravado. “You shouldn’t have survived. You should’ve died, you little bitch.”

  “But I didn’t,” I say, shrugging with a teasing smile. “Guess you were taught the right places to cut a four-year-old.”

  “What’s going on here?” A new voice cuts the air.

  “Ah,” Dante alerts me, but I don’t dare turn. “You’re one of the cunts that were part of the Valens Murders, so feel free to join us.”

  I hear feet move, clearly the other assailant wants out.

  “That wasn’t a fucking option. Get over against the fucking wall.” Dante is fierce, unrelenting, and I hear the aggression rival his commanding nature. “That gun at your side remains holstered or I’ll rip each of your fingers off.”

  I look over at the man now, seeing how Dante’s men flank the original bastard we followed. I feel my heart cramp, unable to complete a beat. All these years has barely changed him. He looks at me, but it’s as if I’m transparent. He looks directly through me with utter disgust. Unable to forget his hand in my past, I walk over to him, standing just a little in front of Dante to do so.

  “Ryleigh Mitchell,” I initiate an introduction, forcing my hand out to him. “Lovely to meet you, again.”

  I hear Dante snigger beside me, not to mock me but because I know he loves this.

  “You might remember me, and if not, it’s a shame,” I say, watching him as he tries to recognize me. “I remember you very well.”

  “How?” he asks in a gruff voice.

  I twist my lips, trying to feign thoughtfulness. “I remember how you stabbed my father enough times you practically tore his stomach to shreds.” I take a daring step forward. “I remember how you were the fifth man to rape my mother. I remember you being cheered on as you dragged me out from under the stairs.” I hate how my eyes water, but my anger is raging and I can’t stop myself. “I remember how you fucking decided my fate in front of my parents!”

  “The Mitchell’s girl,” he whispers, realization hitting him.

  “Shut the door,” Dante orders one of his men. “This is now a private party... leave us and make sure to guard it from the outside.”

  As Dante’s men leave, the man before me starts to shake his head.

  “How is this possible?”

  “It’s called survival,” I state dryly. “Let’s see how you deal.”

  “Here you go, cara,” Dante says, passing me his switchblade.

  He saw his opportunity, and he supported it, just how I hoped he would.

  “Thanks,” I say, acting polite, taking the blade.

  As if pleasantries are really what Dante and I are all about.

  “How’s your man going to help with no weapon?” he asks, his eyes flicking to his friend. He’s calling not only my bluff but Dante’s, too. A death sentence in itself. “You’re two against two and you have one weapon between you.”

  He asks and I begin to laugh, playing the hysterics. The bastard before me joins me, nervously so, but still begins to laugh. The moment I take a step forward, he sobers and a solemn look pains him.

  “Why don’t you worry about me?” I ask, lifting the knife up. To toy with him, I place the tip of my left index and press it to the tip. The sharpness bites with my skin, but I indulge in the pain. “It might be small, but the damage this knife can do... is divine.”

  I take my finger away, seeing the pinprick bleed I’ve caused. I inspect it, before looking back at the man in front of me. He’s unable to take his eyes off me, especially as I open my mouth, start to stick my tongue out, and place my finger on it. I lick at the tiny self-inflicted wound, taking with it my blood until I close my mouth and suck on my finger.

  I watch the man shift uncomfortably, rubbing his groin as if to relieve some pressure.

  As I take a step forward, he takes one back. I continue until he’s b
ack against the wall and he tries in vain not to look terrified of me or of the shadow I have in Dante.

  “You’ll do good not to squirm,” I order him.

  “Think I’m going to let you touch me?” he snarls.

  He swipes out, the back of his hand coming to slap my cheek. I stumble but don’t fall, able to right myself quickly. I can hear Dante growling, ready to pounce, but I react by undercutting him and pushing the blade into the man’s gut, cutting him twice – my welcoming stabs.

  “Not quite the four-year-old you had a hand in hacking at, am I?” I ask him, grinning viciously as he looks down at me. “Don’t seem so helpless anymore, do I?”

  I stand up, pulling the blade away. I can feel the warmth of his vile blood as it runs between my fingers, filling every tiny crevice on my hands. I don’t dare look, but only use the feeling to fuel me.

  “Do you remember the first thing you did to me after you paralyzed me with two swift cuts to my gut?” I ask him, only seeing red through the memories. “You placed the blade on my shoulder,” I utter the words and follow with my actions, placing the blade on his shoulder, digging in. “You then dragged it down, pushing into my skin.” I act out my words, allowing the sharp blade to cut more than his clothes.

  He hisses, but he’s too busy holding his bleeding stomach while watching Dante to attack me again.

  “You told me I was lucky I’d be dead because no man would want a bitch as scarred as I would be,” I say, my voice becoming tight. “And then you took that knife and you...”

  I slam the knife into his chest, praying it’ll do more damage.

  “You left me to bleed after that,” I murmur, dropping the blade to my side, watching the man before me start to fall. “You laid me next to my mother and told me how you loved your visit.” I continue to watch his demise, and I revel in it. “Now, do you love my visit?”

  As the other bastard finally reacts, going for me rather than Dante, Dante moves stealthily. He grabs the man, tearing him away from me and throwing him across the room. I watch as Dante rains down a hail of punches

  I look down at the bastard as he stares up at me, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “You and your friend... I think his name was Dalton,” I start, only pausing for a moment. “You and Dalton had too much fun toying with a little girl!” My rage is tinkering on overflowing, but I’m unable to hold back. “Funny how the tables are now turned... you beneath me while I taunt you.”

  “The problem with this is that no one’s going to come rushing in and take you to the nearest hospital.” I lean down, using his own shirt to wipe the blade clean. “From what I’ve learned, the Valens don’t appreciate survivors,” I mock, laughing.

  I draw back now, exhausted from taunting him.

  “Dante?” I call out, wondering what he’s done.

  As I turn, I find him pummeling his fist down onto the man’s face, hit after hit, punch after punch comes mercilessly.

  “I know who Dalton is,” he tells me, exertion causing him to pant. He stands up, moving across the room to come to my side. “He’s one of two maybe three who Marcello never got rid of or paid off.”

  “He’s tomorrow’s feat,” I say, taking in every single blood splatter on Dante’s face. “I think we need to get cleaned up.”

  “In a minute,” he defies me, not moving. “I just want to let this moment sink in.”

  “Go on, then...” I allow.

  Dante now looks at me – like really looks at me. His lips fall apart and his eyes soften to me, but he changes as he kisses me. His arms greedily wrap around me, a hand threading through my hair, curling around it to grip it tight. He pulls away, holding me still as adoration pours from him.

  “I’m so fucking hot for you right now,” he says, tearing at my hair. The smarting it causes is delightful and I endure his roughness, feeling it swirl desire in me. “There’s a reason why I call you mia regina, Ryleigh.” He releases me, but only so I can follow where he looks. “This... what we are, right now, is our hopeless opus,” he whispers to me, tender octaves consume his voice. “We’re still yet to reach greatness, but we’re on the cusp of it.”

  “I don’t need greatness,” I tell him, honestly and almost bitterly. “Nor do you. We just need to right the wrongs.”

  “And we will,” he says, not withholding the smirk. “In the greatest ways possible.”

  Giving me one more kiss, Dante leaves me in the middle of the room, going to the door. He opens it, his men turning immediately, prepared to strike if necessary.

  “Get in here,” he orders, walking back to me.

  Five of Dante’s men come in, standing in front of us, quiet and obedient. I’ve seen them all before. They’re always around when Dante is but never close enough to invade his personal space unless he requests.

  “You see this woman?” he asks, putting his arm around me. Looking at each and every one of his men, they all note, giving their affirmative. “You lay down your life for her. Always. You see her bothered, you don’t give a flying fuck who it is bothering her, just that they are.” His grip tightens around me, holding me as he dictates his wishes. “Her life is worth more than yours. She gets hurt on your watch then you have to deal with me. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” they all mumble in unison.

  “She’s my fucking queen. While under my command, you’ll do good to treat her like one.”

  19DANTE

  “Do I make this harder for you?”

  “No,” I grunt, lifting her weight back up.

  “Are you sure?” she asks, her fingers digging into me as she holds on to me. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “No, cara, you’re not,” I tell her, grinding my teeth as I steady my weight, distributing it as I lower my down before pushing up. “If anything, you’re helping me,” I speak as I lower us down, but as I push up, I continue, “Two more and I’m done.”

  I lower my body down, my arms bend but hold my entire weight – and Ryleigh’s – before I push back up, making sure my arms are straight so I can do one final push-up. As I climb back up and hold the position, I feel Ryleigh clamber off my back. My entire body relaxes and I jump up.

  “You can help me with a workout any day of the week,” I tell her, pulling her close to my sweaty body.

  She cocks her head, letting it fall to the side as she watches me.

  “That’s strange,” she murmurs, creasing her brow. “I thought I already did...” she trails off, pouting playfully, and approaches me. Slowly, she reaches to touch my biceps. “I work your arms when you’re fingering me... no, sorry, fisting me.” She grins as I watch her intently, and she moves, bringing herself to my side until she’s touching my ass. “I work your glutes when you’re fucking me through to Sunday.”

  “Oh, you definitely give me a full body workout,” I agree, pulling her back to my front and pulling her flush against my chest, a sheen of sweat covering me lightly. “We’ll have to think of other ways to get our hearts racing.” She giggles, but before either can continue, her phone begins to ring out. “Go grab it,” I order her, starting to let her go. “I need a towel.”

  I leave her to answer her phone while I rush into the bathroom. As I get to the bathroom, I can still hear her.

  “Hello, Ryleigh speaking,” she answers her phone, fucking adorable.

  I grab my towel and head back while listening to her side of the conversation.

  “Yes,” she mutters, her tone not so light and hearty. “Right, so what is it you exactly want from me?” Again silence, and she laughs incredulously. “Okay, but I owe you nothing. Next time, contact your grandson. I work for him.”

  I enter back into the room, watching her throwing her phone down and putting her hands on her head. She paces, looking frustrated.

  “Mia regina?” I call out, moving from my spot on the couch to her side. “What’s wrong? Who was it?”

  “That was Marcello,” she starts, gazing up at me with sheer terror in her eyes
. “He’s called a meeting.” Her admittance stills me, freezing me in my spot. “Dante, why the fuck is he calling me to arrange a meeting and not you? Fuck, how did he get my number?”

  I can’t speak. Every word I want to spill dries in my throat. I want to spin some pretty little lie to her, tell her that he’s just welcoming her to the family, but in my heart and soul I cannot lie to her. I bite down on the truth, trying to take some of the sting away. I know what I’m about to say, my assumption that is, will make the game we’re playing enter dangerous territory.

  “Dante?” she pleads, sounding desperate.

  I sigh, taking a step toward her. “Cara, it means he’s on to us. Maybe.” I have to add that addition to calm the shitstorm that is about to descend. “He must have heard that you’ve killed again and you’ve spiked his interest.”

  “That means he knows...” The dread appears in her glaze.

  “Not necessarily!” I argue, going to grab her, prepared to shake sense into her. “Marcello likes every perfect pawn to play in his game. You’re killing and you’re good at it. You work like a Valens without being one. That is something Marcello will want on his side. Not mine.”

  “But I won’t ever be on his side. I gave myself to you, Dante! That is my plan in this life. I won’t fight for any other man, especially one who caused every bit of this.”

  “Then you stick by that.” I draw her close, hoping she’ll see how sincere I’m about to be. “You tell him whose side you sit on and why. You tell him the truth without telling him the whole truth. I’ve seen you handle a situation. There isn’t going to be another man in that room who beats me. Mia regina, I made myself the man I am to beat them all. I stand by my grandfather, the fiercest Valentino, because I pledged always to be the worst monster I could.”

  “Why?” she asks, suddenly compelled by the tale.

  “Because only the worst of them all can take on the devil, little wolf,” I tell her, bringing my hand to her chin, gently raising her head so she meets my gaze. “No one expects the devil’s advocate when he works so closely with the devil.”