Forever Dante: Lucia (The Dante Dynasty Series: Book #11): The Dante Inferno

by Day Leclaire

  He took the comb from her and settled her head on his lap, then gently worked at the endless tangles. “I see this will be a full-time job.”

  “Sure you’re up for it?” she asked around a yawn.

  “I’ll manage.”

  She struggled to keep her eyes open, his soothing touch turning her bones liquid. The day had been one of endless highs and lows with no time to catch her breath in between. Exhaustion rippled through her and she yawned again. She barely noticed when he slipped her glass from her hand and set it on the end table closest to him.

  What had Primo meant? Why would their marriage not take? Didn’t he understand how she felt about Ty? How perfect they were together? Didn’t The Inferno mean they were destined to spend the rest of their lives together? Nonna had seemed to think so or she wouldn’t have insisted they marry.

  Well, she didn’t care what Primo thought. Their marriage might have been precipitous, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t work out, especially considering how she felt about Ty.

  “Did you say something?” he asked.

  “Mmm.” Her eyes drifted shut and words filled her head and heart, words she clutched close and drew comfort from. Words she didn’t dare speak, except to herself. “I love you, Ty. I’ve loved you from the moment we first met. And I’ll love you until the moment we part. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

  Maybe someday she could tell him that, came her final thought. And then sleep claimed her.

  Chapter Ten

  Ty woke his wife with a tender kiss to her forehead. She stirred, murmuring a small protest. “I hate to do this to you, but you need to get up.”

  She opened a single, blurry eye. It was not a happy eye. “You should run.”

  “Yup. A smart man would. Sadly, you aren’t married to a smart man.” He tossed back the covers and pulled her upright. God, she was beautiful, even grouchy. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but we need to find something for you to wear, and then drive to Dantes. We’re supposed to meet Primo in less than an hour.”

  “How’s Nonna?” she instantly asked.

  “I haven’t heard anything. I’m assuming that’s good news.”

  “Wait.” She glared at him. “What happened to my pizza?”

  “You slept through it.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You slept through my waking you.”

  “You ate my pizza?” she demanded, outraged.

  “No, I ate my pizza.” He rubbed his jaw in thought. “Now that I think about it, I might have eaten yours, too. Lucky for you I anticipated that possibility and ordered two pizzas. The extra one is warming in the oven.”

  “Wait. Pizza for breakfast?” She catapulted into his arms, lacing her hands around his neck and her legs around his waist. “You are the best husband ever and it’s only the first day of our marriage. Or is it the second?”

  “Shall we settle for the first twenty-four hours of marriage?”

  “It’s a deal.” She planted a swift kiss on his cheek. “I’d give you a better kiss, but you know. Morning breath.”

  “I’ll chance it.”

  Might as well start the way he intended to go on. He kissed her long and hard and deep. She melted against him, her response both passionate and uninhibited. Did she mean the words she’d whispered last night? Had she really fallen in love with him? Could love happen so quickly?

  Why did he ask such a ridiculous question, considering how he felt about her?

  Maybe The Inferno accelerated everything, punching the fast-forward button on what might have taken months under normal conditions? He shook his head in amusement.

  “What?” she demanded. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was thinking about The Inferno.”

  She eyed him warily. “There’s something funny about The Inferno?”

  “No, there’s something funny about my even considering the possibility The Inferno exists.” He lowered her to her feet. “You’ve got to be starving. I don’t think you’ve had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday.”

  “You’re right. I haven’t.”

  She made a beeline for the kitchen, shoving at the sleeves of his shirt that dangled from her fingertips. She picked up the hot pads beside the oven and Ty stepped in, stopping her before she could open the door.

  “Let me do that for you. I think we’ve ruined enough clothes. I’d rather not scorch my shirt, too.”

  “Okay.” She crossed to the table tucked into the bay window and took a seat, planting one foot on the edge of the chair and wrapping her arms around her bent knee. “So, you’re an Inferno believer now, huh?”

  He removed the pizza tray from the oven and placed it on top of the stove. “I’m not sure I’d take it that far.” In a single deft movement, he transferred the pizza from the tray to a serving platter and carried it to the table, setting it between them. “Let’s say, I’m willing to discuss it, but I have serious doubts. Coffee or Coke?”

  “You can’t drink coffee when you’re eating pizza.”

  “Coke, it is.”

  “Weirdest breakfast I’ve had in a long time, but I think it might become one of my favorites,” she confessed.

  “Actually, I can’t say the same.”

  She waved a floppy sleeve in his direction. “You can’t stop there. Spill.”

  “Let’s see. A cold MRE of beef ravioli. I think that cheese spread is still glued to my guts.” He grabbed a slice of pizza, folded it in half and chowed down. “A fairly common option was a bowl of milk and dates, called sheer khurma. That one was pretty good. Better than an MRE.”

  “Meals Ready to Eat?”

  “You got it.”

  “I think I’ll stick with pizza.”

  They ate in companionable silence for the rest of their breakfast. Satisfied, Lucia sat back and studied her palm, stroking the pretty swirl centered there. “I want to ask Primo about these marks. He definitely knows more about them than he’s telling us.”

  “And I want to know what the deal is with my father’s ring. Not to mention the small matter of whether or not our marriage has taken.”

  “Well, the only way we’re going to find out is if we meet with him. The sooner the better.”

  The doorbell rang just then and Ty excused himself to answer it. A minute later, he returned with a shopping bag. He held it aloft. “As much as I prefer you either naked or wearing one of my shirts, you now have clothes again. Let’s try not to ruin these.”

  She stood and took the bag from him. “I’ll go change. I should be ready to go in just a sec.” She snapped her fingers and turned back toward him. “Hey, we should get that marriage license taken care of after we see Primo.”

  “Already done. I took care of it first thing this morning while you were sleeping.”

  Relief flooded through her. How did she get so lucky? “Wow, you’ve been busy. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Less than thirty minutes later, they arrived at the corporate headquarters of Dantes and took the elevator to the executive floor. Lucia led the way to Primo’s office and found him waiting for them, a wreath of cigar smoke encircling his head.

  She crossed to her grandfather’s side and gave him a quick hug and kiss. “How’s Nonna?”

  “Your marriage, it has helped her,” he admitted with a broad smile. “She is more herself today. Sev and Lazz are with her this morning.”

  Lucia beamed, relief washing across her expression. “That’s great news.” Then her smile faded. “I think we have a lot to talk about, though, don’t we?”

  “We do, child. Sit, sit.” For the first time, he turned to face Ty, who waited to see what sort of reception he’d receive. To his surprise, Primo offered his hand. “Where shall we start?”

  He decided to have Primo address Lucia’s question first. “You recognized the marks on our palms. How? Why?”

  Primo took his time answering, releasing a fragrant puff of cigar smoke. “I have seen them bef
ore. Or ones similar to those.”

  “Where?” He fought to keep the question from sounding terse and failed miserably.

  “On the palms of my Dante relatives. That is why I said you were not Ty Masterson.” Primo stabbed the glowing tip of his cigar in Ty’s direction. “You are a Dante.”

  Ty started to shake his head, then hesitated. Was it possible? His mother had never identified his father. Could he be a Dante?

  “Wait,” Lucia interrupted, alarm a stark undercurrent. She held her hands up. “Just wait a minute. I’m a Dante. At least, my father was. Are you saying Ty and I are related?”

  “I am saying this, yes.”

  Lucia turned a wide, panicked gaze in Ty’s direction and he glared at the old man. “How related?”

  Primo thumped his index finger against his own chest. “If I am the trunk of my family tree,” he gestured to the far recesses of the room, “there sits Ty’s family tree. Those who dwell in your tree are cousins of my own nonno. You and Lucia are cousins separated by many branches. But both still Dantes.”

  Okay. That wasn’t too bad. He reached for Lucia’s hand and gripped it tightly. “So, we’re distant cousins. An odd coincidence, but we shouldn’t end up with three-eyed children.”

  Primo released a bark of laughter. “Not three-eyed children, no. But a double dose of The Inferno, yes.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucia asked. “What double dose?”

  “Ah.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, perhaps to gather his thoughts and organize them into a coherent whole. At long last he regarded them, a certain sadness lingering in the depths. Old memories haunted his gaze, clinging like ancient cobwebs. “My nonno once told me all Dantes are marked by The Inferno in some fashion. Some, like Lucia, feel its presence like a burn, an itch centered in the palm. Yes?”

  Lucia nodded, rubbing the center of her palm. “Yes, just like that.”

  He nodded in Ty’s direction. “Others, these cousins I mention, receive a mark. Whether mark or burn, it does not matter. The end result remains. When you touch your soul mate, The Inferno flares to life. My family is fortunate. We know then and there.” He turned his attention to Ty. “Your family, not so fortunate. They must wait until the mark appears, then figure out who they touched. Who carries a mark that matches their own.”

  Ty lifted an eyebrow. “If we both have the mark, why does only Lucia feel the burn?”

  Amusement glittered in his burnished gaze and he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Who can say? The Inferno has not granted me this knowledge. Do you doubt The Inferno, the possibility that you and Lucia have experienced it?”

  Ty gave the issue serious consideration. “I’d be lying if I said I believe without qualification,” he admitted at last. “It sounds too bizarre to just accept without question.”

  Primo nodded. “This I can understand, though it does not change what has happened. The end result remains the same. If you are smart, you will heed the mark and your marriage will be blessed. But if you ignore it, if you turn from The Inferno out of fear or ignorance or stubbornness, that blessing becomes a curse.”

  “A curse,” Ty repeated.

  Primo shook his finger at him. It would have been amusing if not for the grave expression carved across the old man’s face. “For the rest of your life you will live with regret. If you marry another, one who is not your Inferno mate, that marriage will be a disaster for you both. Hear my warning and heed it. Ignore The Inferno at your own peril. My own son ignored it and experienced its curse instead of its blessing. Lucia married out of ignorance and her marriage was another disaster.”

  Ty spared his wife a concerned look, relieved that she appeared to take the comment in stride. “Okay, then we’re good, right? We’re married, aren’t we?”

  “But are you united?”

  “Primo!” Lucia reprimanded, turning red.

  The old man released a roar of laughter. “The young are so repressed. Child, I did not mean sexual congress. I refer to your hearts and minds. Are they united? Or was this wedding ceremony just for Nonna’s benefit?”

  She released a sigh. “Maybe a little of both? What does it matter? We’re married.”

  He hid behind a fog of cigar smoke. “Perhaps.”

  Ty chose to interrupt. “So, you think I’m related to these cousins of yours?”

  “I do. Those Dantes, most of them dwell in Texas now. We call them Those Damn Texas Dantes because they are rude and cocky. It is possible those are your people.”

  Ty started to say something rude and cocky and caught himself at the last minute. “And you think my father stems from those Dantes?”

  “Before I answer, I think it is now time for me to ask you questions, Mr. Ty Masterson who is not Ty Masterson.”

  He stirred in annoyance. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  Primo waved his concern aside. “I have already said it is my turn to ask the questions. Then you may ask any which I have not already answered. The first question will be an easy one. Tell me your mother’s name.”

  “Candice. Candice Masterson.”

  “I wish to know more about Candice. Not how you describe her to most people, but the truth you keep buried deep inside.” He swept a hand from heart to head. “Here. And here. Tell me, was she good to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Primo nodded. “This makes me glad.” He pointed at Ty, moving his index finger in a slow circle. “But there is something I sense here. If you were to describe your mamma, what one word would you use?”

  “Sad.” The description escaped without thought or hesitation and the instant he said it, he longed to yank it back. He released a sigh. “She was often sad, especially around Christmas. Christmases were rough in our household.”

  Primo’s golden eyes focused with hard, unrelenting determination. “Now I ask an odd question and you will give me an immediate and truthful answer. Sei d'accordo?”

  “Sono d'accordo.”

  “Were you ever in a train wreck?”

  Ty inhaled sharply. “How did you know that?”

  Primo closed his eyes, deep lines carving a path from cheekbone to the corners of his mouth. “Ah. That explains much.”

  Tension filled him. “Explains what?”

  “I do not believe you are Ty Masterson,” Primo shocked him by saying. “I believe your name is Romero Dante.”

  “Wait,” Lucia interrupted. “That’s your name.”

  “Sì. If your husband is who I believe, he was named in my honor.” Sorrow filled his gaze. “That train wreck happened on Christmas Eve and took many lives. It took the life of a boy of four named Romero Dante, along with his parents. The train wreck, it occurred not far from Dallas. Would this be the same accident you were involved in?”

  “Yes. I was also four.” Ty swallowed. “But, if Romero died, then I can’t be him.”

  Primo nodded. “Unless, it was not Romero who was killed that sad day, but the young son of the woman you called mamma. You describe her as sad, and admit it grew worse at Christmas. Perhaps it grew worse because Christmas marked the occasion of her true son’s death. The real Ty Masterson’s death. Based on what you know of her, is this at all possible?”

  He clamped his back teeth together, his jaw clenching. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Could not? Or will not?”

  Ty’s hands closed into fists, possibilities spinning through his head.

  “I see you are putting together memories of your past and wondering if I am not correct,” Primo said gently.

  “Maybe,” he gritted out.

  Primo puffed on his cigar and gave Ty a moment to reflect before speaking again. “I wonder . . . I wonder if in the traumatic aftermath of this horrendous train wreck, upon seeing her only child dead, if Candice did not commit an act she would not normally think to commit. In her unbalanced state, did she claim you were her child? When she saw you lived and your parents did not, when she saw her own child taken from her, is it possible in that
terrible instant she acted in a way contrary to her nature? Did she decide she could not live without her child and you became that child for her?”

  “You’re reaching,” Ty snapped.

  Primo held up his hands. “Possibly. Possibly. Still, I wonder.” He leaned forward, intensity slipping through his words and across his face. “Did Candice Masterson somehow convince herself you were hers and over the years came to believe it? This sadness you speak of . . . Perhaps when reality intruded upon fantasy and the truth could no longer be denied, such as the anniversary of the accident, the anniversary of her true son’s death, she struggled to face what she’d done. It would explain her sadness.”

  “Or maybe she just didn’t like Christmas.”

  “Or maybe her guilt and grief became too much to bear. Maybe the truth haunted her at that time of year.”

  Damn it to hell! Ty looked away, Primo’s words hammering relentlessly at his heart and soul. It would explain so much about his mother, his childhood, the odd things she would say at times. Her rushing him to the hospital after catching him eating peanut butter and her bizarre insistence that he was deathly allergic to it when he wasn’t. Her spending every Christmas Eve in her room, weeping. The ring she gave him and her odd phrasing when describing it.

  The ring belonged to your father.

  Ty longed to deny the possibility that he wasn’t who he’d always believed. Longed to offer proof he was Ty Masterson and not Romero Dante. One final incident stopped him. His mother’s words on her deathbed.

  I wish I really were your mother.

  Lucia shifted in his direction, murmuring his name, her hand tightening around his in clear support. One glance warned she’d made a similar connection.

  “And if it’s possible?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Compassion slid across Primo’s face. “If you are willing, we can uncover the truth. There are tests.”

  “And if the test proves I’m not Romero Dante? If I really am Ty Masterson?”

  “Then your father is a Dante. There is no other explanation for why you bear that mark upon your palm, one you share with my Lucia. It comes from The Inferno and is unique to the Dante line.” Primo’s eyes turned cold and hard. “However, that does not explain the ring you gave to my nipote. And that brings us to the final part of our conversation today.”