Stolen: Dante’s Vow

by Knight, Natasha

  In that moment, something leaves me. Just as a dying man’s soul leaves his body, something leaves me. And for the first time in fifteen years, I can breathe.

  I look at Dante who’s looking down at Felix. He shifts his gaze to me, and we both sit up. I see where Felix’s gun is a few feet from him, his hand is bleeding. That was the gunshot. Someone shot the gun out of his hand.

  Dante and I don’t speak. We just look at each other and it takes me a long minute to drag my gaze away, over to Felix whose eyes are open wide, who is gasping for breath.

  “He’s yours if you want him,” Dante says so low that only I can hear him.

  I realize what he did, setting up the kill for me. I nod. Because yes, I want him.

  Dante stands and I straddle Felix, my knees bare on the cold, dirty ground as the skirt of my dress settles around me. I close both hands over the bloody handle of the blade and I hold it there, looking at him. I wait until his eyes grow huge with terror. I don’t feel a moment of regret at what I’m about to do. I think I know what that says about me. I’m a monster. A monster he had a hand in creating.

  And so, with that thought in mind, I drag the blade down to his stomach, listening to his pain, and then I change direction. I take my time as I draw the dagger out and set the tip over his chest. Slowly, so slowly, I push it through his ribs and pierce his devil’s heart.

  I can hear sound he makes, the gurgle of his last breaths as I lean over him bringing my face close to his, so he sees me. So he can have no doubt that it’s me washing my hands in his blood.

  “Go to hell,” I tell him and push deeper as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. I watch life leave him. His dead eyes look back at me, empty, dull, but knowing it was me who did it. Who stole his life like he tried to steal mine.

  51

  Dante

  Gray watches Mara with intense curiosity. He doesn’t flinch at what she’s doing. At the blood. At the look on her face as she drenches her hands in Felix Pérez’s blood.

  “Let’s go,” I say to her, extending my hand. She doesn’t move so I say her name. “Mara.”

  She drags her gaze from Pérez’s dead face to look up at me. I try to dissect what I see in her eyes. It’s not triumph. There is no winner in this game. It’s not regret either. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s acceptance and the knowledge that it’s over. Or maybe she’s still processing. Maybe her brain is still trying to make sense of what she’s done. Of the blood on her hands.

  “You did good,” I tell her.

  She shifts her gaze to my hand. Leaving the blade in the dead man, she places her hand in mine and I help her up. I notice she’s barefoot, her shoes a few feet away. I get them for her and help her put them on.

  She stands tall beside me looking at Gray, her eyes hard. I wonder if she sees the familiarity of his features.

  “You’re strong,” he says with a smile that isn’t unkind but doesn’t seem quite natural on him either.

  Her expression doesn’t change. “I’m not going with you.”

  Gray studies her, then shifts his gaze to me. “You were a boy when I met your father. Your brother, Michael, perhaps would have remembered me, but I doubt you do.”

  Mara shifts beside me, turns her gaze to mine.

  I see the questions in her eyes and pull her closer, wrap an arm around her.

  Gray doesn’t miss this protective gesture as he turns his gaze back to her. “I only learned about your existence five years ago. If I’d known before, I’d have come for you sooner.”

  Mara stiffens.

  “It was David Grigori who told me, actually,” he says to me but only seems able to draw his gaze from Mara momentarily. “I hear he’s dead.”

  He knows exactly how he died. I can see it in his eyes.

  I nod.

  “Good. Six feet under is where he belongs,” he says.

  “What’s going on?” Mara asks me.

  “Let’s get out of here. Go home. We can talk then,” he says.

  “Home?” She asks him shaking her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Tell me here. Now.”

  Gray sighs deeply, smiles again. “I met your mother when she was about your age. She was wild too. A free spirit. I’d never met anyone like her.”

  Mara stiffens beside me. “I don’t know my mother,” she says, her words slow because her brain is adding two and two.

  He nods sadly. “I tried to contact her but not until years later. Too late I realized.”

  I tighten my hold on Mara’s hand as she seems to grow colder beside me. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m your father, Mara. And I’ve been looking for you ever since David Grigori told me you existed at all.”

  52

  Mara

  I am reeling. My mind racing. If it weren’t for Dante, I’m sure I’d be on the ground right now. But he holds me up and I remember what he’d said a while ago. How he’d never let me fall.

  Drake Gray’s home is on the outskirts of town weirdly close to Jericho St. James’s house. Although he doesn’t have the armed guards either Dante or Jericho had, twelve-foot walls surround his property and I get the feeling his security is just a little more discreet.

  It looks like no one lives inside the house. He tells us that apart from a live-in maid and handyman, he lives alone. The house is so large most of it is not in use. He’s talking about it all as he shows us to an upstairs bedroom where we can get cleaned up. I notice how much of the house is dark, how many of the rooms we pass have furniture covered with dust cloths like no one lives here at all.

  This man is my father?

  Drake Gray, the buyer Felix Pérez had lined up, is my father?

  That’s why he’d wanted me back so badly. That’s why Felix had sent Samuel with the tracker. Because when the opportunity came, he planned to take me back. To sell me again. Not that he knew who the buyer was. Just a man with money who wanted me, and all Felix needed to hear was the part about the money. By then things were going south with Petrov and now I wonder if it wasn’t Felix who’d been the one to let the truth about me come out to Petrov. The fact that I wasn’t Elizabeth Grigori but her worthless friend. That’s why he’d offered to pay Petrov back. And all the time I’d thought it was me who’d given it away. I’d certainly been the one who was punished.

  “Have a hot shower. There are clothes, Mara. Everything is prepared. I’ll see if one of my men can find you something to change into,” Gray says to Dante.

  “I’m fine,” Dante says. “I’d like to get Mara cleaned up.”

  Gray is hesitant but nods. “As long as that’s all right with my daughter.”

  My daughter.

  I nod although I’m not sure why. I don’t need this man’s, this stranger’s, permission. I want to be alone with Dante. I need to figure this out.

  “I’ll be downstairs. Are you hungry?” he asks me.

  “No.”

  He nods and is hesitant to walk away but he does and closes the door behind him.

  Once we’re alone, I sit on the edge of the bed and Dante takes my face in his hands, crouching down in front of me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I… I don’t know. Did you know about this?”

  “I found out earlier this evening. Just a little bit before you did. Charlie recognized his name and remembered when he met with David. It must have been when he met your mother.”

  “It’s real?”

  “It certainly makes sense. I don’t know that your mother ever told anyone about Gray. I think their affair was brief and she was gone so soon after your birth.”

  “I have a father.”

  Dante’s face darkens with worry, and he pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Into some warm clothes. Then we can go downstairs and talk to him. Figure out what the hell is going on.”

  I look up at him. “I… Are you staying?”

  He takes my face in his hands, brushes the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “I was
wrong, Mara. I thought it was best to walk away. I thought you’d be safer. St. James… What happened to his fiancée, I didn’t want that to happen to you.”

  “Dante—”

  “Let me finish.”

  I wait.

  “I never told you how much I love you. It’s always been you for me. You were right about destiny. If I’m not too late, that is.”

  My eyes mist and a bubble of hope inflates inside me. Hope. God. Is this what hope feels like?

  “Don’t cry. No more of that,” he says. “If you need time—"

  I shake my head, reach up to touch his face. “That’s the thing about destiny. It’s always perfectly on time.”

  He smiles and leans in to kiss me, his lips soft, my kiss cautious. My fingertips come to his chest and the way he looks at me when I draw back shows regret. He cups the back of my head, pulls me close, and I let him. I stand up on tiptoe, weaving my fingers into his hair. I kiss him and this time, it feels different. Not hurried. Not like this may be our last kiss. Because this is our beginning. The start of our destiny.

  53

  Mara

  Drake Gray is waiting downstairs when Dante and I are shown into an informal living room half an hour later. This one is much smaller than the other, with a fire raging in the stone fireplace. He has changed into a beige sweater and dark slacks, crouching before the fire, arranging a new log onto the already large stack.

  On our way down I’d peeked inside some of the rooms. It’s strange, the house is so impersonal that it’s almost like a hotel. Like anyone could move in and call it theirs. It’s a little lonely, actually. But this room looks lived in. Personal. I’m glad to see it because when I look at him, he looks as lonely as the house.

  He straightens, replaces the brass poker and sips his drink as he turns to us. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie with the softest lining I’ve ever felt, along with a pair of combat boots. The closet and dresser were full of new clothes with their tags still on, all in my size. Did he think I’d just move in? This is all so weird.

  Dante changed into a charcoal sweater and slacks the housekeeper sent up. We threw our other things away.

  “Better?” Drake Gray asks.

  I nod and study him, see the crow’s feet crinkle his temples, note the shade of his eyes so much like mine. His hair is a darker shade of graying blond, but I recognize the dimple in his chin. I see it every time I look in the mirror.

  “Drink?” he asks.

  Dante nods and he turns to me. “You’d better take one too,” he says.

  I don’t argue and a moment later we’re settled on the couch in front of the fire. Dante sips his whiskey, while I just hold my glass and study Drake Gray who is seated on the wing chair. He’s studying me too.

  “I don’t understand this,” I say. “My mother died when I was very young. I don’t have a father. If I did, I’d know about it.”

  He looks into his glass, nods and sips before he turns to me. I take a sip of mine and have to work through the burn, but it feels good once it’s down.

  “I didn’t know about the pregnancy. We had a brief affair. I was married at the time, Mara.”

  Ah.

  “I am ashamed of how I handled things and I don’t want to make excuses, but I was young and ambitious and quite frankly stupid.”

  “Did she try to contact you?”

  He nods gravely. “She did. And I ignored the calls until she stopped calling. But I never stopped thinking of her.”

  “That didn’t do her any good, did it?”

  Dante squeezes my hand.

  “No, it didn’t. And I’m sorry. Very sorry.”

  “Where’s your wife?”

  He drinks a big swallow of his drink. “We separated a few years ago.”

  “Do you have kids?” Do I have brothers or sisters?

  “No, we never had children. Her pregnancies were unsuccessful.”

  “Oh.” At that his face darkens and I see a sadness in his eyes. That loneliness in his posture. “I’m sorry.”

  He nods, drinks, then gets up to refresh his empty glass. My glass is still full, and Dante declines so after refilling his drink he sits back down.

  “What’s your connection with Jericho St. James?” Dante asks.

  Drake Gray looks at him. “Jericho St. James?” He shakes his head. “I know the name but can’t say I know the man.”

  “So David put you in touch with Felix Pérez to find Mara?”

  He nods.

  “What did he want in return?”

  “Connections. I’m part of a powerful organization. A founding family member.”

  “IVI.”

  He nods. “David wanted in.” His lip curls in disgust. “And he planned to sell me my own daughter to get what he wanted. When I contacted Pérez and learned about the Russian, well, things weren’t easy to say the least. The plan was to kidnap you from the Russian, but that’s no easy task against a man like Petrov. Then Pérez had an idea to put the truth about who you are out there. I didn’t know he’d do that. I wouldn’t have agreed to it knowing it would put you at risk, Mara. I hope you weren’t hurt because of that.”

  I don’t answer but drink a sip of my whiskey instead, liking the warmth, the lightness of my limbs.

  “It’s late,” Dante says, putting his empty glass down and getting to his feet.

  “You can’t take her back to the island.”

  “I don’t think you get a say in what Mara wants or needs.”

  “I’m her father.”

  “I’d like to see a DNA test before I accept that.”

  “You can have it.” Drake turns to me. “Anything you want or need.”

  “How about if I get a say in what I want or need,” I say, standing.

  Both men turn to me.

  “I’d like proof,” I say to Drake although looking at his face, I know it’s true. I see it more and more. And I feel it.

  He nods. “Tomorrow. We can get a test.”

  Dante looks at me. “If it’s what you want, I’ll take you.”

  Drake gets up. “Why don’t you two spend the night here? Your man too. You can call anyone you need to. We can talk some more in the morning. Go together to the lab.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dante says. He takes my hand and walks toward the door.

  “Please,” Drake says, eyes on me. “I’ve only just met my daughter.”

  Dante turns to him and is about to tell him no again, but he continues.

  “You’re free to go whenever you want,” Drake adds. “I would just like a chance to know you after all this time,” he says to me.

  I see the emotion in his eyes. And in a way, I feel his loneliness. I turn to Dante and nod. “One night,” I say quietly. “I’d like to stay. It’s late anyway.”

  Dante isn’t convinced but after a long moment, he nods. I think about how this day started and how it’s ended. How destiny has sought us out. All of us. And brought us together. I won’t be so quick to trust this stranger yet. Even when it is proven who he is. But I want to. God, how I want to.

  Epilogue 1

  Dante

  One Year and Three Months Later

  When I brought Mara back to the island a few weeks later, everything was different. She was different. We were different.

  That night in the bowels of the opera house I knew she needed to be the one to drive the dagger into Pérez’s heart. She needed his blood on her hands. In a twisted way, it was cleansing.

  But you can’t come out of a life like she’s had and not be twisted in some way.

  The DNA results came back to prove what Drake Gray claimed. That he is Mara’s biological father. And he’s been good to her. Giving her a lot of space, knowing she needs to go to him in her time. I can see she wants to more and more, although we’ve only spent a few weeks with him so far. I won’t hold her back and I won’t leave her to navigate it alone.

  As far as Gray, he’s lonely. The more I get to know him the more
I see it. He’s not close with any of his brothers and he no longer speaks with his ex-wife. No children. No cousins. Nothing. In a way I feel sorry for him.

  In the year we’ve lived on the island with my brother and his family, Lenore and Noah and even from time-to-time Matthaeus, Mara has grown lighter. Happier. That glow that I saw on Scarlett and wanted for her, she’s getting there.

  Scarlett and Cristiano had a little girl, Clementine. And Alessandro, for as little as he wanted a baby sister, is her champion. It’s nice to see my brother happy. Nice to be a part of his growing family.

  I wanted to go after St. James for delivering Mara to Felix Pérez, but he’s once again disappeared. And when I mention him, Mara tells me to leave it alone. Says she understands what he did, why he did it. Says she doesn’t fault him. I wonder if he knew who the buyer was all along.

  But I don’t want to think about any of that today.

  Today is Mara’s birthday and she hasn’t celebrated very many of those. Lenore is preparing a feast. Gray is even flying over for a few days. Mara likes it when he comes for visits.

  “Almost ready,” Mara says when I enter our bedroom. She’s just tying her bikini top.

  I look her over. She’s stunning. She’s put on a little weight finally and looks healthy and on her hip is a tattoo of a single red poppy, the stem long and delicate, the petals of the flower a bright scarlet, symbolizing remembrance and hope. I was surprised at her choice but understand it. She’s strong. She doesn’t want to forget. Or maybe she’s accepted that she never will. And this beautiful, wild flower doesn’t so much hide the brand as overwrites it. Gives her back her strength, her power.