That would earn him castration, no doubt.
Pulling back, he pumped his fingers deeper, rubbing hard circles around her clit with his thumb, as he kissed along her thigh. She was getting close. He could tell. He was becoming in tune with her signals. She always tilted her head back, her jaw going slack, her throat flexing as she held in a cry.
It hit her at once, her body jolting, her knees locking to keep her upright as her legs tried to close. She held onto his shoulders, fisting his suit coat as whimpers escaped her throat. The second the pleasure ran through her, Dante sunk his teeth into her upper thigh. She screeched, her body quivering, and Dante smiled to himself, kissing the red mark he'd left on her skin, before his mouth moved back to her pussy. He kissed it, his tongue swiping along it a few times, before he stood up.
No hesitation at all, he pulled her to him, smashing his mouth to hers. He kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip, before whispering, "I could keep going, but we've really gotta leave."
He grabbed Gabriella's hand. She staggered, stammering, tugging her dress down as Dante pulled her to the door.
"Wait, hold on, let me lock up," she growled at him, her face flushed, when he tried to lead her down the stairs. He gave her a few seconds before tugging on her arm, dragging her away.
He glanced at his watch. Noon. "What time does this thing start again?"
"One o'clock," she said.
Shit. "We might make it if we take the Holland Tunnel."
"We better make it," she said. "This whole thing is going to be crazy enough. The last thing we need is to get off on the wrong foot."
He hated to break it to her, but getting off on the right foot was impossible. Because any foot he used to waltz into New Jersey under these circumstances ran the real risk of a gory amputation. Dante should've courted Gabriella, schmoozing with her father the same time he wooed her, but it was too late for that.
No, instead he was crashing a Brazzi wedding, in Brazzi territory, to let them know he was dating one of their Brazzi girls.
Maybe he did have a death wish.
The hour drive to Alpine, New Jersey, was cut down to damn near forty-five minutes, thanks to a heavy foot on the gas pedal and a healthy dose of luck for a change. The massive metal gate blocking off the sprawling estate hung wide open. Men dressed in all black stood guard beside the entrance, looking like the Secret Service, and waved them through, the McLaren sticking out in the sea of black sedans that swarmed the area.
"Last chance to change your mind," Dante warned her, pulling onto the property past the men, following the paved path toward one of the biggest mansions Dante had ever laid eyes on. He'd always heard Victor Brazzi lived in style, but he hadn't expected a fucking stone castle.
"Not changing my mind," she said. "Not a chance."
Brave, brave soul.
Maybe she has a death wish, also.
Dante followed a few other cars, driving right up to the front of the house. The moment he put it in park, both doors swung open. Dante climbed out, coming face-to-face with the Valet, a young guy in a red vest, wearing a bowtie. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one.
"Try not to fuck up the car," Dante told him, taking the yellow numbered ticket and slipping it in his pocket to pick his car up later. "It's still kind of new."
Dante waited for Gabriella to join him. She slid her arm into his, wrapping herself around him as they headed for the door. Staff covered the property, an older bald man with a clipboard standing on the front step, greeting guests, a smile on his face.
Until he caught sight of Dante.
"Name?" he asked as they approached, his eyes narrowed. Uh-oh. There might've been some recognition there, but his suspicion was blatant.
"Russo," Gabriella chimed in. "Gabriella Russo."
The guy's eyes flickered to the clipboard, scanning for her name, before he again looked right at Dante. "And your name?"
"He's my plus one," Gabriella said as an orchestra started playing off in the distance. "So he won't be on the list. But if you'll excuse us, we really need to go grab our seats before this thing starts without us."
She tugged Dante's arm, pulling him into the house. Dante glanced back, watching as the guy with the clipboard pulled out a walkie-talkie, radioing something to someone, his gaze trailing the two of them. "Pretty sure I've been made."
"Not surprised," Gabriella said. "I'm just hoping they won't make it some big thing."
More men, dressed in black, were positioned around the house, every set of eyes on Dante, watching like a hawk. Too late, he thought. It's a big thing.
Her high heels clicked along the shiny black and white marble, echoing in the vast foyer. A massive Christmas tree stood in front of them, decorated in gold and white, a crystal chandelier hanging above it, sparkling in the lights. It looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel.
The wedding took place in the back, the yard converted into a makeshift chapel with a massive heated tent creating an aisle. Who the fuck throws an outdoor wedding on Christmas Eve? Rows of stark white chairs filled it, most of them already claimed. Dante surveyed their surroundings, spotting men perched in the top windows of the house, giving them an open view of everyone in the backyard. He caught a gleam of something on one of the men, the sunlight hitting metal at just the right angle, giving away the assault rifle.
Snipers.
"Who did you say was getting married?" Dante asked as they headed through an open set of doors, going inside the tent, passing even more security. Gabriella darted for the back row, slipping into the first empty chair she came to.
"A cousin," she answered as Dante sat beside her. Gone was that cool confidence she'd exuded on the drive. Despite the frigid winter air, she was sweating. Hard.
"The bride or groom?"
"Groom, I think."
"You think?"
"Yeah, I don't know. I think the invitation said he was a Brazzi."
"Are we talking literally or figuratively here?" Dante asked. "Is he an actual Brazzi, or is he a member of the Brazzi family?"
Dante wasn't sure if she'd get the distinction, but she grasped the meaning quickly. "I'm pretty sure he's both. Last name Brazzi while also being one of those guys."
Those guys.
The wedding of a made man.
The firepower made sense, as did the excessive security. Weddings were notorious targets. Guards went down. Powerful men turned vulnerable. And there he was, in the thick of it, the exact thing all those men with guns were told to watch out for: the uninvited rival.
Dante slouched in his seat, draping his arm over the back of Gabriella's chair, pulling her to him as he rubbed her arm, warming her up. "Are you close to your grandparents?"
"Yeah."
"How close?"
"Well, my grandmother acts more like my fairy godmother, always trying to fix me so she can, uh, fix me up, but I can do no wrong in my grandfather's eyes. He always said I was his little princess and I'd never need a king in order to rule."
"So he likes you."
"Of course," she said. "Why are you asking?"
"I'm just gauging my chances here," he said, watching as the man from the front porch marched straight down the aisle, aiming for someone sitting in the front row. Dante didn't have to see him to know it would be Gabriella's grandfather.
"Chances of what?"
"Chances of living." Dante watched as the man leaned down, whispering something to Victor. "These guys tend to be the 'shoot first, ask questions never' kind, but seeing how Victor likes you, he might not shoot your plus one on sight."
Gabriella laughed, like he was joking, but Dante meant it. The man raised the clipboard, showing something to Victor as he continued speaking. Dante was nowhere near close enough to hear anything, but he pretty much guessed how that conversation went.
Got a wedding crasher. Think it's one of those Galante pricks. He came with Gabriella Russo, but he wouldn't tell us his name. You want us to put a bullet in him now or wait until they cut
the cake?
Victor waved him off, and the man stalked back down the aisle, stopping beside Dante's chair. He leaned down, his voice low as he said, "Mr. Brazzi would like to speak with you after the ceremony," before continuing on.
Cake, it is.
"Maybe we should've stayed home," Gabriella whispered.
"Ah, don't get cold feet now," Dante said, his thumb stroking her shoulder. "Besides, you look beautiful. It would've been a pity not to get to show you off."
"I just... I really hope I don't have to do any running or jumping or army-crawling or scaling walls to help get you out of here," she said, tilting her head his way to whisper, "I forgot to put on my underwear."
Dante choked on thin air, coughing as her cheeks flushed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Weddings were one of Dante's least favorite things. He would've rather been water-boarded than have to sit through long, drawn-out vows ever again. He zoned out, damn near falling asleep, until a hand slipped into his lap. He dropped his head, watching Gabriella stroke his thigh, coming dangerously close to his dick.
Relief flowed through him when the guy kissed his bride, but that relief was short-lived. Very short-lived. Guests filtered into the house, the party shifting to a ballroom on the second floor. Gabriella slipped her hand in his, entwining their fingers.
Judgment time.
Eyes trailed Dante, security still monitoring his every move. It wouldn't have surprised him a bit if somewhere up above, a gun was trained on him.
The moment they stepped into the house, feet moving from stone courtyard to marble foyer, Victor Brazzi appeared in their path, flanked by two guards.
Victor looked the part of a typical Italian grandfather: mid-sixties, leathery skin, with thin graying hair combed back so it sort of just stood on end. He wore his age well, his smile wide and his eyes spry. The man was sharp; there was no denying it. He sat atop an empire that men both feared and envied.
"Gabriella! How's my sweet little princess?"
Dante let go of Gabriella's hand as Victor gripped her arms and kissed both of her cheeks.
"Hey, Nonno." She smiled. "I'm great! How are you?"
"Surprised," Victor said.
"Pleasantly surprised?" Gabriella asked.
"Let's just stick with surprised for the time being." Victor's gaze turned to Dante. "Mr. Galante, welcome. We haven't had the chance to formally meet yet. I'm Victor Brazzi."
Victor held out his hand. Dante shook it, fighting off a cringe when the man squeezed. Hard. "Please, call me Dante."
Victor turned back to Gabriella without acknowledging that. "Sweetheart, why don't you head up to the ballroom? I know your mother is anxious to see you."
Gabriella made a face. "I, uh…"
"Don't worry," Victor said. "Everything will be fine. I'd just like to have a word with him in private."
Her eyes darted to Dante, panicked.
"Go on." Dante nodded past the men. "I'll join you soon."
Gabriella hesitated before kissing Dante's cheek. She walked away then, falling into the crowd, disappearing. As soon as she was gone, Victor's expression hardened.
"Follow me, Mr. Galante," he said, stepping past. The guards waited until Dante followed before they trailed along, staying on his heels.
Victor headed to an office on the first floor, through a set of ornamental wooden doors. The second Dante stepped into the office, hands grabbed him from behind, stopping him, pinning him in place. His heart raced as his hands rose in surrender, the guards relentlessly patting him down, clearing out all of his pockets and yanking apart his suit, roughing him up as they searched for whatever.
"I'm not carrying," Dante said, cringing when those rough hands went places they didn't belong. "I've got nothing on me."
"Can't ever be too careful," Victor said, taking a seat behind an imposing mahogany desk. He motioned for the men to let go of Dante, those hands leaving him at once. "Have a seat. Let's chat."
The hair on the nape of Dante's neck bristled when the doors closed, a lock clicking in place, trapping him in there. The guards remained in the room, blocking the only exit. Dante sat down in a leather chair across from Victor. He remained silent, figuring it best to let the man lead the conversation.
"Tell me," Victor said. "How do you know my granddaughter?"
"I met her at the hospital."
"She was your nurse?"
"Yes."
"And, what, she's still nursing you back to health?"
"She, uh…"
"Look, let's skip the small talk." Victor glanced at his watch. "I have a speech to give in twenty minutes. How about you tell me how long you've been seeing my granddaughter and I'll tell you what we're going to do about that?"
Dante cleared his throat, shifting around in the chair. Uncomfortable put it mildly. He felt incredibly small sitting there. "Officially, a few weeks. Unofficially, a few months."
"Unofficially," he said, "meaning not only have you been seeing her in secret, but before you were actually seeing her, you were, what? Just screwing around? Is that what you're telling me here?"
"No, I'm not—"
"Because it's bad enough you start seeing her without talking to us," Victor continued, raising his voice. "It's bad enough you don't go to her father and ask him how he feels about you seeing his little girl. But now you're telling me, up until a few weeks ago, she was nothing more than a body you used to keep warm?"
Victor slammed his hands down on the desk, the bang making Dante flinch.
This wasn't going good.
"It wasn't like that," Dante said. "She was a friend, and then something happened, things changed, and it turned into more."
"So it just happened, huh?"
"Yes."
"Nothing deliberate on your part? Not something you planned? You just happened to take up with one of ours?"
"Well, yeah." Dante laughed dryly, running his hands down his face. "I fucked up. I know I did. I did everything wrong. But I love her. I fell in love with her. And it had nothing to do with her being a Brazzi. If anything, it was despite her being one." His eyes shot straight to Victor. "No offense. I have utmost respect for you, and your family, but this was the last thing I needed in my life. I don't need more problems, but Gabriella? The way I feel about her? Let's just say she's worth the trouble to me."
Victor stared at him in silence.
Dante wasn't sure what that meant.
He didn't know Victor Brazzi well enough to judge if his silence meant he was considering being merciful or if the man was too busy envisioning his death to speak.
After a moment, the man glanced at his watch and leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but it did nothing to ease Dante's tension.
"I heard something about you," Victor said, his voice quieter. "Something I didn't like to hear."
"What did you hear?"
"I heard you killed my grandson."
Every muscle inside of Dante seized up.
Victor stared at him again. He stared, and waited. Waited for Dante to find the words to respond. And Dante wished like hell he could deny it. He wished he could say it never happened. For years he hated that family, despising Enzo Barsanti with everything inside of him, but he'd give anything to be able to go back and keep that motherfucker breathing.
The moment Dante pulled the trigger, he regretted it. It was instant, guilt burning from within. Because it was the moment Dante became someone else.
When he became a murderer.
When the man became the monster.
He never expected to feel that way.
Never expected to regret killing a Barsanti.
He wished like hell the feeling would go away.
"You heard true."
Victor drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, pursing his lips. "Why'd you do it?"
"He pulled a gun on me first."
"I didn't ask what he did. I know what he did. I asked why you killed him. And don't give me the cop-out an
swer. Don't say 'self-defense'. You shot the kid in the face in his own territory."
Dante's eyes fixed on his hands in his lap. This was sounding a bit like that psychoanalytic bullshit he refused to entertain with everyone else. "Because he was a Barsanti."
"Because he was a Barsanti," Victor repeated.
"I've spent almost my entire life wishing them dead because of what they did to my family. It made it easy to give in to the anger, made it easy to go there, made it easy to pull the trigger. So yeah, you can say I killed him because he was a Barsanti."
"I bet your father hailed you a hero for that, huh? His brave boy. Bet he was proud."
Dante looked at the man, seeing he was smiling. What the fuck?
"Did you know your father started it? Did he tell you how he woke up one morning and decided to shoot up my grandson's birthday party?"
"Nobody died that day," Dante said. "He just wanted to send a message."
"And that message was received," Victor said. "Barsanti responded. Somebody died. There's no denying that. But just because he caused the first casualty doesn't mean he's responsible for the whole war."
Dante said nothing to that. What could he say?
"You want to hear my opinion?" Victor asked. "You want to know why I think you killed Enzo?"
Dante nodded, because that was the only thing he could do.
"You killed him because your father gave you no other choice."
Victor glanced at his watch yet again before standing. "Out of all my grandchildren, Gabriella was always my favorite. She's different. She has a big heart, my little princess. She's out to save the world. When she was knee-high, she found this squirrel once. Ugly thing. Wounded. Looked like a dog got a hold of it. She picked it up, brought it home with her. Thought she could help it. Most of my grandchildren were born with brutality in their blood, but Gabriella? She was just so good. Which is why I was so surprised to see her with you, but I guess I shouldn't have been. She picked up another wounded animal and brought it home."
Those words were like a punch to the gut. Dante clenched his hands into fists, stopping himself from reacting.
Victor walked around the desk, pausing beside Dante. "She can't save the world, but you know, maybe she can help bring an end to this senseless war. My kids—my daughters, especially—married into a few different families, so if my granddaughter wants to be with a Galante, I'll welcome one in. Call it a clean slate for the New Year. Merry Christmas, Dante."
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