Old Flame: Dante’s Story: (Morelli Family, #8)

by Mariano, Sam

  “But I asked—you said, ‘does he need another reason?’ when I asked, like it was just the cheating.”

  “Even if it was just the cheating bullshit, it would have been enough,” he says, not at all apologetic. “Selfish fucking assholes who are more than happy to reap all the benefits during the good times but cheat when shit gets hard deserve to die. I make no apologies for that stance. But you weren’t going to cheat, so it wasn’t your fucking problem—or so I thought.”

  “I did not cheat on you,” I state, carefully. “That’s the problem, right there. You say I didn’t trust you, but you’re the one who didn’t trust me. I didn’t want to die over a misunderstanding. I would have never cheated on you, but I don’t know how sure you had to be that I was doing wrong. If you walked in on me, naked in bed with another man pumping inside me, then sure, fucking shoot me, because it would never happen. But if hugging your brother when he’s mourning a loss—as far as I know, at least—is over the line for you… then we have a difference of opinion, and given the penalty is death, it was an irreconcilable difference.”

  “I don’t know why you think we’re so fucking sloppy we kill people if we aren’t sure they’re guilty,” he states. “It wasn’t a guess that Beth fucked someone else, it was a documented fact. We don’t carry out executions on a hunch, Colette. We’re a little more fucking diligent than that.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t tell me anything, Dante.”

  “It was business. It was none of your concern.”

  I shake my head, turning back to the bowl of batter and carefully picking up my spoon. “It was my concern,” I inform him. “I didn’t mind playing along with your chauvinistic bullshit as long as I knew, at the end of the day, you really respected me and viewed me as a partner, an equal. And I thought I knew that—until Beth happened, and all of a sudden, I didn’t rate high enough to get any answers. None of my loyalty mattered, my actions with Mateo were suspect even though I had a completely normal reaction. That was bullshit, Dante. Lay all the blame on me if that’s what you need to do, but it’s bullshit. You could have handled things a lot better. You could have been more communicative, more open. You could have treated me like your partner that you were so damn committed to rather than treating me like someone untrustworthy, someone who had better be careful not to step the wrong way and piss you off. I was afraid of you, Dante. I wasn’t afraid of you before.”

  Folding his arms over his chest again, he falls silent, glaring across the kitchen while I fill the rest of the cupcake holders. Once I’ve finished, I take them over and pop them in the oven. After setting the timer, I return to my wine glass, grab it, and chug the whole thing.

  Now I kind of wish I hadn’t decided to make cupcakes, because I am drained. All I want to do is go climb into bed and wake up tomorrow to find it’s my wedding day and all of this was a dream. I won’t even get married. I’ll call Declan and tell him I can’t go through with it, then I’ll find Dante and tell him not to kill Declan because we’re over. Once everyone is safe, I’ll change into casual clothes and go to the flower shop. During the slow times, I’ll find a new apartment to live in all by myself since I let my last lease lapse when I planned to move in with Declan, and I’ll start saving up money to travel alone to the places I went with Dante. I’ll see what the world looks like alone, and hell, maybe I’ll never come back to Chicago, because the more geographical distance there is between myself and Dante Morelli, the less the chances of him retrieving me.

  Trying to marry someone else was my mistake. Maybe he would have left me alone forever if I hadn’t tried doing that.

  I knew he was the “if I can’t have you, nobody else can either” type when I started dating him, so really, this is my fault. I should have taken him more seriously. I shouldn’t have tried to move on because I knew he was crazy.

  I am basically the one who killed Declan, and for that, I deserve to pay.

  And pay I will, in the grossest way possible. I’m a prisoner in the home of the man I never stopped missing, but I can’t love him anymore.

  Forced to be here, but unable to be with him.

  Torture. This is going to be torture.

  Perhaps it’s what I deserve.

  Putting the now-empty wine glass down on the counter, I look up at Dante’s handsome face, still stony with aggravation. My cheeks feel warm from all the alcohol and I need a shower to wash this day off me. “Will you take the cupcakes out if they’re done before I come back down? I need to take a shower and change out of this dress.”

  Dante nods, and I head upstairs without another word.

  13

  Colette

  After my shower, I tell myself I’ll only lie on the big, soft bed for a moment, but due to my excessive wine consumption, I pass out.

  I’m so drunk I would probably stay asleep, even draped across the bottom half of the bed this way, but I’m startled awake by the brush of a hand along the back of my calf. I notice the bed sag with the weight of a second person, then I feel Dante’s hand skim the inside of my right thigh. My body fully betrays my mind, excitement gathering in my tummy, sensation swirling between my legs as his finger traces the lips of my pussy.

  I gasp and lift my upper body off the bed just in time for the strong arm I’d been lusting after earlier to move around my neck. Heat hits me everywhere as I look down at Dante’s forearm locked across my throat, as he rolls me back against his muscular chest. He’s still wearing clothes, but I have on only a towel because I didn’t know what to wear to bed. I had planned to find something once I’d rested my eyes for a moment.

  His finger slips inside me, gathering the wetness pooled there and then going straight for my clit. It’s easily excitable right now and his touch ignites fireworks, but it’s too much sensation too fast, so I squirm to try to get away from him. I need to tell him to stop, but fuck, his touch feels so good.

  “Let me go,” I say, pulling at his forearm in a vain attempt to get him off me.

  “No,” he murmurs low in my ear as he continues to touch me. “This is mine to play with, Colette. Mine to fuck, mine to taste. Mine to do with as I please.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to all that,” I tell him, my heart skipping.

  “I don’t remember asking.” He releases me all of a sudden, but only to yank away my towel and toss it on the floor beside his bed.

  I struggle against him but he holds me easily, hooking his leg around mine to control my lower body and spread my legs open. His hand doesn’t move to my spread legs, though, it runs over the mound of my breast instead. My head falls back helplessly as he runs his rough thumb over my tight nipple, pulling a cord of tension tight in my core.

  “I missed these,” he murmurs low in my ear, massaging the soft globe in his warm palm. This would be tender, if not for the threatening arm he has locked around my throat.

  Even still, it’s hot. It has been far too long since I’ve been handled so aggressively during sex, held immobile and used by a man self-assured enough to know I want what he’s doing to me, and just bad enough to not care too much if I don’t.

  My pussy throbs and I wish I had a bucket of ice to dump on the damn thing. It’s almost comforting knowing how much stronger he is though. Knowing no matter how hard I fight him, I won’t win. There’s some relief to be found in the certainty that if he wants me, he’ll take me no matter what—but what a sick reassurance. This is exactly the twisted, soul-consuming shit I need to keep myself out of.

  “Dante, stop,” I say, twisting and trying to elbow him.

  His low chuckle sends prickles of arousal down my spine. “That was a pitiful attempt to get free, baby. If you want me to believe you mean it, you’ll have to do better than that.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to try. He flexes his arm and bends my head to the side so he can reach my neck, then he leans in and leaves a trail of soft, warm kisses along that sensitive column. Finally, he releases his chokehold. I break free and scoot away, but my victory is shor
t-lived—he grabs me and pulls me under his body, then he sits on my hips to keep me pinned down.

  My heart does a somersault as he jerks the snowy white dress shirt from his slacks, then rips it open. Despite my best intentions, my gaze shifts to the glimpse of well-defined muscles just beneath. His shirt hangs open for a moment, his dark eyes on my face, watching me look him over wordlessly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, but the picture of him naked is emblazoned in my mind. It’s a treasured memory I’ve revisited many times over the years.

  Once he has given me my glimpse, he peels the shirt off and tosses it. A sigh slips out of me at the sight of him straddling my hips, his muscular chest bare. There’s just a dusting of black hair on his flat stomach, disappearing down into the waistband of his black slacks. I want to run my tongue down it and have a taste of the treasure I know is waiting at the end.

  He leads my gaze to his hips next as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. I look up at his broad shoulders, my gaze drifting over the defined cut of his muscles. God, he’s so beautiful. Someone so awful shouldn’t be so beautiful.

  Black ink peeks over his shoulders like a twisted king’s mantle and I have a passing curiosity. I know he had tattoos on his back before, but I wonder if he got any new ones.

  Now is not the time to ask. He’ll read into my curiosity, and right now I don’t want him to think I want any part of this.

  It would probably be more convincing if I could stop ogling him, but I’m not made of stone. Bastard should have slapped a blindfold on me to help me with my self-control.

  Like he has the right, like my body belongs to him, he tosses his expensive leather belt and reaches his hands out to cup my breasts. My nipples strain against his palms. To reward them for their interest, he brushes his thumbs over the tight little buds and sends two new bolts of electricity through my core. I close my eyes, hoping to hide the arousal I feel when he does that, but there’s no point. Dante has explored every single inch of my body. He knows exactly which buttons to push to drive me wild.

  As if to illustrate that point, he plays with my sensitive nipples some more, then bends his head and takes one into his mouth. I gasp and reach for his head to pull it away, but my fingers get lost in the soft dark locks of his hair. Rather than pulling him away, I wind up just cradling his head while he sucks on my nipple, but I regain control after only a minute and yank.

  Dante’s hand shoots up and grabs my wrist, yanking it away from his hair and moving it beside me on the bed. He holds my wrist, his mouth never releasing the peak of my breast. My other hand flies to the back of his head and he repeats the same motions. When he releases my breast and looks down at me, his body is angled over mine, forcing both of my wrists to the bed, rendering me completely immobile.

  “You can pull my hair all you like, beautiful. I won’t complain as long as you know when I fuck you, I’m going to return the favor.”

  “You are not going to fuck me,” I tell him.

  Cocking an eyebrow, he glances down at my naked body and wordlessly disagrees. Rather than humor me with a pointless argument though, he bends his head to lavish the same attention on my other breast. I try to struggle, but I don’t waste my energy trying too hard since he has me so thoroughly helpless at the moment. Instead, I close my eyes and try to think of other things. I bring Declan to mind, reminding myself why I have to fight Dante, why he doesn’t deserve to win.

  It proves too painful, though. Imagining Declan while Dante’s mouth is closed around my breast. I fight to free my wrists with renewed vigor he’s not prepared for and I get one free, so I take advantage and shove his shoulder. I try to twist my body away from him, but it’s impossible with my hips pinned down.

  My face warming with anger and helplessness, I glare up at him. “Get off me, you big brute.”

  “Brute.” Amusement flickers through his eyes, but he doesn’t smile. He simply recaptures my flying hands, pushes them together over my head, and secures them with one wrist. “I guess you’re not in the mood for foreplay tonight, huh?”

  “I’m not in the mood for you,” I spit, only mildly sensible.

  “Your body disagrees with you, beautiful.”

  “I was thinking of Declan.”

  His dark eyes shoot to mine, so alarmed and offended, you’d think I fired a bullet into his abdomen. I swallow, but refuse to break his gaze despite the feeling of an ice wall rising up between us.

  “Is that so?” he asks, coldly, quietly.

  Dread moves through my gut, but I keep my gaze trained on him. “That’s right.”

  Nodding slowly, he says, “So that’s how it’s going to be. You fling insults and lies and push me away every chance you get.”

  His words trigger the oddest sense of guilt, but I hold my ground. “What did you expect, Dante? I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with you. I was where I wanted to be and you snatched me away. You didn’t change my mind, only my circumstances. Only my location.”

  He continues to nod, but my unease rises a notch higher with every bob of his head. “If I were you, I’d think twice about playing that game, Colette. I can hurt you much more effectively than you can hurt me.”

  “It’s not a game, Dante. I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted to get away from you.”

  “But you never will,” he tells me, like he did that day he came to my flower shop. The first day I saw him since I’d left, the day I’d ached hearing him mention my engagement. “Might as well give up now and we can go back to how things used to be. The harder you fight, the more severely I have to punish you.”

  “You don’t have to punish me at all,” I inform him. “You can prove you love me as much as you seem to think you do. You can let me go.”

  At that, his lips curve up in a faint smile of cynical amusement. “See, now I believe you must be thinking of your Declan. The man you describe who would do that? It’s not me. Never will be.”

  “People can change,” I offer, even though I know it’s pointless.

  Shrugging noncommittally, he agrees, “Sometimes. But they have to want to.”

  “And you don’t,” I say, flatly. “You’re happy being a monster who murders and maims innocent people to have your own way.”

  Though just as sarcastic as the smile before it, he smiles again more warmly. He holds my jaw so I can’t turn away and leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth. “That’s right. Now it’s me you’re thinking of.”

  He tries to kiss me again and I turn my head, but his fingers tighten on my jaw and he forces my gaze right back to him.

  “You act like I changed, Colette, but I haven’t. This is who I was when you loved me before. This is who I’ve always been.”

  “Then maybe it’s me who’s changed,” I offer quietly.

  “Change back,” he demands.

  14

  Dante

  Since Colette ruined the mood with her mouth, rather than fuck her I settle with stripping off the rest of my clothes and climbing into bed with her. Prickly as she is, I still yank her back against me. She starts to pull away at first, but after a brief, silent battle with herself, she must decide letting me hold her is an acceptable compromise.

  We don’t speak again. I don’t have anything to say to her right now. I’m agitated with her continued resistance, frustrated because the rules of battle are so much trickier when you’re fighting someone you don’t want to irreparably harm. Normally I get my way quickly and easily, but normally I don’t give a shit how many causalities there are in that pursuit, either. I don’t care how dirty I have to fight, or if I only win the fight because I’ve broken the other person’s back.

  I don’t want to break Colette. I know how easily I could. Luca was right, if I didn’t care about preserving her spirit and well-being, I could break her in a matter of days, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want a pet or a slave girl, I want Colette as she is, I just want her to stop being so fucking irritating. It’s only her hang-up on this Declan asshole I
need to strip away from her.

  In her sleep, the little minx wiggles her ass against my dick until my cock is throbbing painfully with arousal. She used to do that sometimes on purpose—oh, she’d pretend it was innocent, pretend she didn’t know what she was doing, but I knew by the unsubtle mischief in her eyes when I’d roll her over and take her afterward, it was her way of initiating. In just about every instance, I am the aggressor in bed, but her ass wiggle was Colette’s way of chiming in with her own desires.

  Currently, my cock is responding like that’s still true.

  I know she’s asleep, so I try to keep it at bay. Try to ignore the dull throb of pain, but then her ass shifts and she butts against it again.

  Fuck.

  I should have known better than to sleep naked with her. We used to do it all the time, but she used to be mine in every sense of the word. If our warm bodies pressed against each other too many times and one or both of us got hot and bothered, we’d just fuck again—problem solved.

  I push my hips forward, pressing my hard cock against her smooth ass cheeks. My blood pumps through my veins, my heartbeat kicking up a speed. She’s still asleep, but my hand curves around her breast and I give it a little squeeze. The delicate curve of her neck is just right there in front of me, so I bend my head and place a few soft, slow kisses against her skin.

  Her breathing remains even like she’s sleeping, but I hear her swallow. Releasing her breast, I let my hand drift down her rib cage. I splay my hand as it travels over her abdomen, then make my touch feather light again as it makes its way across her pubic bone.