Stolen: Dante’s Vow

by Knight, Natasha

  “Dante,” Cristiano says, and I turn to find him studying me. I grit my teeth and wait as I take in the look in his eyes. See how he’s processing, understanding what I can’t quite say. Because what I want to do is keep her. But it’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.

  My brother puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s a gesture of understanding. Of acceptance. And in this moment, I find myself so grateful, so fucking grateful he didn’t die the night of the massacre. So grateful he survived David.

  “Take Noah with you,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “She trusts him. And I trust him.”

  “And Scarlett?”

  “I’ll talk to Scarlett. He’s not a boy anymore. She needs to let him go.”

  “He’s trained?”

  “Trained but untested. And young but determined. He hates Felix as much as we do. And I know he wants Mara safe.”

  The pair turn and walk back into the house. I look at them. Both young. Somehow still innocent in their own way.

  “She’d be better off with him,” I say, I don’t know why.

  Cristiano studies me. “I don’t think so. Maybe before I’d have said yes, but no. Not anymore. No matter what, her brain works a certain way now. And as little as I like the idea of you bedding her, I can see she needs you. You saved her life. More than once and in more ways than one. She can lean on you. You’re solid. She looks to you when she’s unsure. She needs a man who’s not afraid to make her face her demons. Noah is not that man. Not yet anyway.”

  “So, what you’re saying is she needs an asshole.”

  “Exactly,” he says with a grin and pats my back. “And you fit the bill.”

  “Fuck you,” I say in jest but as I watch them out there, there’s a part of me that still wonders if she wouldn’t be better off with Noah. Or someone like him. If I shouldn’t walk away now even though I’m not sure I can.

  33

  Mara

  I’m sitting beside Noah in an SUV on our way to a house in Todt Hill on Staten Island. I’m relieved Dante didn’t leave me behind and glad he let Noah come. I guess after what happened last night, he wasn’t taking any chances. But I meant what I said. I don’t want to die.

  “Word is out,” Matthaeus says, reading something on his phone. Dante takes a turn onto a winding, tree-lined street with fewer houses than the last, twelve-foot walls surrounding each property. “She’s Grigori property.”

  I should probably be offended by that but I’m not. Not very modern of me, I know, but I want to be Dante’s. Because he’s mine. He was always meant to be mine. I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror and feel a tremor go through me. I want to be alone with him. I want to feel his weight on me. His mouth on my mouth. Him inside me.

  My neck and face flush with heat.

  He shifts his gaze back to the road, but I don’t miss the slight grin on his face. I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking. If he’s thinking it too.

  “St. James?” he asks.

  “Still at the hotel.”

  “Because he’s waiting for a visit. If he knew about the attack, I’m going to kill him.”

  I know this isn’t just talk. I know Dante means every word and when I see the image of him beating Alvarez to death, I shudder.

  “This one is ours,” Matthaeus says, and we pull onto a driveway where the tall gates slowly open. Two armed guards stand just inside the property. From here, I can’t see the house. The place seems big and from a quick count of soldiers, well protected.

  Dante glances at Noah in the rear-view mirror. I know Noah doesn’t like him. He then shifts his glance to me momentarily before shifting it back to the road.

  “You two will get settled here. There are more than two dozen armed men on the property. You’ll be protected. Eat something. Relax. Get some sleep. You didn’t sleep at all on the flight.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “Matthaeus and I have an errand to run.”

  “Visiting that man. St. James.”

  He doesn’t reply, just slows the car to a stop. He doesn’t kill the engine. After climbing out he opens my door and helps me, then closes it. We stand, me with my back pressed against the SUV, him leaning on one arm, hand directly over my head. The other hand closes over my pelvic bone.

  “Promise me you’re going to eat something.” I’m too skinny. I know.

  “I’ll eat. Thanks for letting Noah come.”

  “That was Cristiano’s idea.”

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  He glances over the top of the SUV I guess at Noah. “I don’t dislike him,” he says when he looks back at me.

  “Word play.” I don’t look away from him. I feel like every time I see him could be the last time. “I’m scared for you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He leans in close, tilting his head, scruff of his jaw against my cheek as his breath raises goosebumps along the nape of my neck. I feel him inhale, feel his lips on the underside of my jaw just below my ear and that sensation goes right to my core. I wrap my hands around his shoulders, reassured by the sheer strength of this man.

  “You do things to me,” he whispers, the words almost a rumble rather than sound.

  My nipples tighten as they brush against his chest, too many layers between us. His hardness presses against me and butterfly wings flutter inside my stomach. He draws back a little, dipping his head to touch his forehead to mine, and looks at me.

  “Come back to me,” I say.

  “You’re dramatic.”

  Not dramatic but realistic. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll come back to me.” I wonder if he realizes how much I mean this. How much I need him to come back. How much my own life depends on his. Because I don’t want to die. But I also don’t want to live if he dies.

  He kisses me and I close my eyes. It’s a tender kiss, not hurried but like a promise itself. The start of something.

  When he draws back and I open my eyes, he brushes his thumb across my cheek. It comes away wet.

  “I promise,” he says. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

  I blink again, unable to hold back the fat tears that drop heavy onto my cheeks. I hug him, press my face into his chest and squeeze my eyes shut to inhale his scent so deeply there’s no room for anything else but him. Just him. And then it’s time to go. Someone clears their throat and Dante’s hands come to my arms, unwinding them from around his neck. He touches his forehead to mine one more time, then kisses the tip of my nose. He takes my hand and walks me to Noah who is standing nearby, jaw tense, eyes narrowed on Dante.

  Dante’s expression changes. Cocky Dante surfaces.

  “Don’t look like that,” he says to Noah and ruffles his hair like he’s a kid.

  “Fuck off,” Noah brushes his hand away, fixing his hair that is now standing up in all directions. He makes a point of taking my hand and giving Dante a rebellious grin. I think what he really wants to do is flip him off. A few moments later, Noah and I are inside the double front doors and a trio of SUVs heads off the property.

  34

  Dante

  I watch her in the rearview mirror until she disappears. When I see Matthaeus studying me, I clear my throat, focus on the drive into the city. Matthaeus goes over what he’d managed to dig up on St. James which isn’t much. No criminal record. No social media profiles. No links to any organizations apart from IVI which he’s disclosed. One family home in his name that he doesn’t live in, in New Orleans. No other known address.

  “Where has he been for the last five years?”

  “No idea. Can’t find a damn thing. It’s like he disappeared from life.”

  “No. There has to be something. We’re just missing it. Any other family?”

  “A brother, but he appears to be clean. At least on the surface.”

  “I doubt that.”

  IVI itself is interesting. A society begun centuries ago by educated, wealthy men whose descendants to this day are active members.
There are thirteen founding families from all over the world, the majority from Europe and North America, and the information available about them is vague at best. But I recognize some of those names and I’d be more surprised if things weren’t vague. Money and power like that buys silence and influence. They have compounds in most major cities around the world and at least some presence in many less-cosmopolitan areas.

  They appear to have some sort of outdated caste-like system—elitist if you ask me—with a judicial branch they call The Tribunal.

  Now that is one of the most interesting pieces. IVI, or The Society as they’re called by members, has a Tribunal in most locations. They seem to operate separately of any legal courts and there are rumors about sentences that go as far as execution in rare instances. The last was only a few months ago in the New Orleans faction.

  I’m intrigued. And I want to know what David thought he was doing trying to buy into something like this. I mean, I get it. Money and power. Those are the things that rule men like him. Well, that and vengeance. I want to know who he worked with. If he had a contact within the organization. Who that contact is and if they had anything to do with the trafficking of women. Of girls like Mara.

  My head is fully in the game as I pull up to the circular drive of the posh hotel where I met St. James the first time. I drop the keys into the waiting hands of a valet. Matthaeus and I enter through the glass doors that slide open as we approach. Two men flank us as we step onto the elevator. The others will remain in the lobby. As I watch the doors slide closed, I remember the last time we did this at a different hotel. It was only days ago but feels like a lifetime.

  He’s taking up the entirety of the thirty-second floor so when the elevator doors open, we are greeted by two men in suits who I’m sure are armed beneath their jackets. One stops us, the other comes forward to search us. They relieve us of our weapons even finding the switchblade I’d put in my boot before leading us to the double doors directly in front of the elevator. They open the doors, and we enter, my men stopping just inside as Matthaeus, and I move into the room.

  It’s a large, circular space, the building itself circular. And very modern with minimal furnishings and floor-to-ceiling windows for walls. Everything is white. White marble floors veined with gold. White leather furniture. White furs draped over chairs. White counters in the kitchen.

  “Blood has to be hard to get out of the rug,” I say, observing the thick carpet beneath my boots that spans the whole of the sitting space. I stop, unbutton my jacket. Matthaeus takes his place to my right.

  Jericho St. James has his back to the room as he watches out the window. He turns to us, sips from a crystal tumbler as he looks us over. From what I can see, he’s not surprised by our visit.

  “Gentlemen,” he says, noting the two men I brought. “Welcome back.”

  I don’t like his face. I don’t like his smug grin. I take a step toward him, and a large man instantly steps between us, hand firm on my chest to stop me.

  “That’s not necessary,” St. James says to him. “But you didn’t need to bring soldiers,” he adds for my benefit.

  “I lost a man. I should have brought an army.”

  “I’m not the one you lost your man to. Sybil, get my guests a drink.”

  I turn to where Sybil is standing. She’s petite, young, attractive, wearing a very short maid’s uniform. I raise an eyebrow as she places a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers on a tray, carrying it to us. St. James has now taken a seat on one of the three leather armchairs. Again, white. It’s a fucking eyesore.

  When the woman bends to put her tray down on the coffee table her skirt rides up. She’s not wearing anything underneath. She takes her time in that position as she pours for each of us, and I see the glint of a butt plug between her cheeks.

  I catch St. James’s eyes on me. He smiles. “For later,” he says, and I like him even less.

  “Sit. Please.” He gestures to the chairs and Matthaeus, and I sit down.

  “I lost a man,” I say again.

  “Like I said, you didn’t lose him to me. I didn’t have anything to do with the attack on your warehouse,” he says, then tilts his head like he’s confused. “You were living in a warehouse?”

  “Your warning was convenient.” I don’t bother answering his question.

  “My warning was common sense. Any idea how he found her?”

  “Tracking device in her bracelet.” I’m sure they were watching the warehouse, waiting for an opportunity.

  “I hear Felix is pissed he lost one of his best men.”

  “You hear a lot of things. What are you playing at?”

  “I’m playing at trying to get you on my side. We have a mutual interest in finding Felix Pérez sooner rather than later. He’s met with some high-profile people over the last forty-eight hours. We’re running out of time.”

  “How do you know this?” Charlie hasn’t been able to turn up any information on his whereabouts.

  “My sources are better than yours.”

  “Then why haven’t you moved in?”

  “I’m not a killer.”

  “So, you want me to be your muscle.”

  He shrugs a shoulder, sips his whiskey.

  “I’m not looking for a job,” I say.

  “I know where he’ll be on Saturday night.”

  “Where?”

  “You agree to help me, and I’ll tell you.”

  “How do I know you weren’t behind the attack on the warehouse?”

  “I don’t work with pigs like Alvarez.” His lip curls with distaste and I see how his eyes narrow, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I know the kind of man he is. The things he’s done.” I remember what Mara said about him being the one who killed my sister. My five-year-old sister. Fuck. “I’m not that sort of criminal,” St. James must still have been talking but I’d tuned him out.

  “But you are a criminal,” I say, forcing myself to focus.

  He shrugs casually like he could give a shit.

  “I need proof you’re not going to fuck me over,” I say.

  “Proof such as?”

  “You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can think of something.”

  His gaze is narrowed but he never takes his eyes off me. “The Petrov brothers.”

  “They’ll do.” This is what I’m hoping for. He somehow has an in with them. I don’t know the extent of his relationship with the Petrov family, but I don’t like what I’m seeing.

  He finishes his drink, sets his glass down. “Clear the room,” he tells the soldier who stopped me advancing on him.

  The man gives the order and a moment later, it’s just the three of us and his bodyguard, my own men sent to the hall.

  “Viktor is the one you want.”

  “I want both.”

  He shakes his head. “Sacha wouldn’t have touched your girl.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “He doesn’t like girls. And I know for a fact he didn’t want to have anything to do with what he called his father’s and brother’s dirty habit. Petrov was married to his mother at the time he took Mara. Viktor and Sacha are only half-brothers, you know.”

  I didn’t. I didn’t much care who he was married to or the exact details of their bloodline.

  “He’s very close to his mother. Always has been. Viktor has assumed control of the family, the finances, the businesses. Everything.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Sacha would prefer he did not have control of any of it. He’s the…more intelligent of the two. Definitely the more reasonable.”

  “I’m sure he can hire a Russian hitman to take out his brother.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “What’s your relationship with Sacha Petrov?”

  “We’ve done some business together. I’ll be honest, it would be profitable for me, too, if Viktor was out of the picture. And here we have something else in common. You and I would both prefer Viktor dead.”<
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  “First you’re pissed that I took out the father and now you want the son executed too?”

  “Considering the circumstances, I adjusted my plans.”

  Silence as I study him.

  “He raped her. But you already know that,” he says casually.

  My jaw ticks. This asshole knows exactly what buttons to push and how to push them. He sees my weakness. Probably has from day one.

  “There’s a dog fight.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out a folded piece of paper. He probably planned this all along. “Tonight. In a few hours in fact. Viktor will be there. He’ll likely be drunk. And too trusting of soldiers he shouldn’t be trusting of.”

  I reach to take the sheet of paper, unfold it, read the address. I hand it to Matthaeus who quickly sends the location to Charlie to check.

  “Is this sufficient to start to build trust between us? Coupled with the fact I saved your life the other night.”

  “I’m curious what you were doing inside Petrov’s club in the first place. Quite the coincidence.”

  “There’s no such thing as coincidence, Dante.”

  He knew I’d be there. How? Was he taking a chance I’d succeed in killing Petrov? Hedging his bets.

  “No, there isn’t. What were you doing there?”

  “Sacha Petrov mentioned your…appointment.”

  So I’m right. He’s working every angle.

  “And he knows you’re giving me this information about his brother. What is this some elaborate back-scratching scheme?”

  “Business. That’s all. I need something. He needs something. You need something. A show of faith is what I’m giving you tonight. Access to one of the men who hurt Mara.”

  I narrow my gaze. “If you’re lying, if this is some sort of ambush—”

  “It’s not.”

  “I’ll kill you,” I say as if he hasn’t spoken at all. “I’ll do it slowly. The way I like.” I look around the white space. “The hotel will have a hell of a cleaning bill.”

  He clears his throat, stands. “If you’re finished threatening me, I’d like to get back to Sybil. She’s had that thing in her ass for a couple of hours. Can’t be comfortable, poor thing.”