I see the file Derek gave me, the one I had slung into my bag and forgot about, hoping it would disappear. It never did and now it’s a mess on the floor. I lean forward, prepared to tidy it up, but I catch a photo of a young boy with piercing green eyes, and I gulp – it’s Dante.
Kicking my bag away, I start to open the file, shuffling it back together in a pile. I take note of everything Derek has discovered. I have the names of every family who died in these attacks. My eyes trail down the list, taking in the surnames and the dates of their murders. I catch my own, but the one below it sobers me the most... the Valentinos.
Through the alcoholic fog I’ve self-inflicted, I sit and read all about what happened to his family. His mother and father were ambushed, his sister and two brothers slaughtered while they slept, but Dante managed to get away with only three stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. An anonymous call saved him. There’s nothing else on the matter – just that his grandfather, Marcello, had adopted Dante in the height of the ordeal.
I set the file down and push myself away from it. I feel like I’ve read further into Dante’s private life than I should have.
Could it be possible that fate had once shattered our lives and was now bringing us back to one another?
Without a second thought, I pick my cell phone up, finding Dante’s number. I call it, praying he’ll answer. He’s ignored all my other calls, so I don’t see this making a difference. When his voicemail starts, I close the call off, pick myself up off the floor, and rush to the bathroom. I need to sober up and tell him what I’ve found. I need to tell him why we’re so connected. He needs to know we’re bound.
If he’ll give me the time of day.
***
I caught a cab to the club and spent the entire journey wringing my hands together. I caught the cab driver watching me in the rearview mirror a few times, but I was thankful he didn’t ask any questions. As I enter, the music and the number of people inside overwhelm me. I stagger through the masses, making my way to the bar.
“Where’s Dante?” I ask Bethany, interrupting the guy ordering a beer. “Is he here?”
“He’s in his office, but I wouldn’t go in there,” she remarks, giving me a dire look. “He has enough to deal with.” She nods down the bar, directly to Amelia Abbiati as she grips her tumbler of drink, her face sodden with fresh tears. “He’s not been in a great mood for days, so I wouldn’t chance talking to him.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I tell her, giving a small, honest smile.
I push away from the bar, picking up speed as I find my way through the crowd, forcing myself to keep walking. The closer I get to his office, the more my feet feel like they’re treading on quicksand.
I knock but don’t await an answer to open the door.
“We need to talk,” I say, his head shooting up to face me.
“No, we don’t,” he remarks sarcastically, laughing mirthlessly at me. “You’re off the schedule so I wouldn’t have to look at you, Ryleigh. Everything I do is for a reason.”
Ouch.
My heart cramps so painfully I swear it cracks. I tell myself to harden, to revert to the Ryleigh who never felt love, who never gave way to it. Dante doesn’t feel that way for me, and I know that now. There is no point in keeping on.
“I’m not here about my shifts,” I respond, stepping into the room. “It’s something more important.”
“Something more important than you fucking up what we were creating?” he asks, executing his words nastily. “Look, I can’t deal with you right now, so get the fuck out of my office. You’re off the schedule for the rest of the week. You can await my call.”
He discards of me, tossing me aside like trash.
“You need to listen to me,” I defy him, approaching his desk. “I’ve found something out.”
“I don’t want to know,” he disregards me. “If I listen to whatever you say, then I may as well give you the key to my apartment seeing as you’ve already fallen in love with me.”
“I didn’t say I was in love with you, you asshole! Plus, I made a mistake in saying that. I see that now,” I say. My apology ignites tears in my eyes, and I loathe myself for showing this weakness, but the mortification of how he just left me is still ripe. “I’m not here for that reason. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t give a fuck about my emotional needs. I said something in the heat of the moment and I regret it, okay? But don’t let it take away from my job. I need the money.”
“And I’ve decided that I don’t need any new staff. The ones I have cope just fine. I was stupid to ever think working with you in two lines of duty was a good idea. You only work for me when I need you and that will be when I decide.” He stands up now, tidying his desk as if he’s ready to leave it. “Wait for my phone call, Ryleigh. Right now, I don’t need you anywhere near me.”
“You’re a fucking cowardly bastard,” I insult, finding my nerves shatter. “I say one sentence and you run. You didn’t want to work things out or allow me to apologize. You ran. You left me there completely naked and humiliated. I don’t know why I said it, but I sure as hell regret it. Is that what you want me to say, Dante? Because I would scream it from the rooftops if it meant we could just forget it.”
I don’t regret it. I could learn to love him. He could’ve easily been the first man. He was certainly the last.
“That’s the thing, little wolf,” he says, approaching me. “I won’t forget it. I’m not a man who forgets or forgives easily. The moment those words passed your lips was the same moment I upped my game. I’m even more ready to get you to break because the sooner I can do that, the sooner I can get rid of you. Now, listen to me... you will wait for my fucking call.” I see the viciousness in his eyes, the beautiful greens now terrifying. “Quit it with the phone calls, Ryleigh,” he states, his tone menacing. “You’re starting to act like a desperate ex.”
“I just needed to talk to you, to get answers as to why I hadn’t been given any shifts. You just answered them,” I say, driving a strength into my words. I swallow hard on my tears, telling myself I can break later. “But I’m not here for that matter now or to beg forgiveness.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he swears, coming closer to me. I still feel that electric buzz, the one that causes him and me to push boundaries and fuck like animals. “Everything was perfect, we both got something from what we were doing, but look what you did, Ryleigh. I’m not here to play happy fucking families with you. I pulled you in to fucking play with you. That’s the game you presented yourself up for.”
“Just hear me out. It’s about my past and yours...”
“I know all about my fucking past!” he roars; the shout of his words causes me to close my eyes. “And I couldn’t care less about yours. Now, I have a best friend out there who is on the brink of destruction because of that so-called word love. It destroyed us, and it’s destroying her.” He steps away, stalking toward the door of his office. “I don’t need you, and I don’t want you. Can you see that now, Ryleigh?” he questions before turning around to face me. “I need you when I decide I need you. I don’t need you right now,” he tells me, his voice dangerously low. “If I did, I would have called you.”
He turns to the door, throwing it open, and he marches out. He doesn’t look back, just walks toward the front of the bar, getting lost in the crowd. I follow, out of instinct; I go to see what he’s going to do now. I fight the crowds, only to find him making a beeline for Amelia in the corner.
"Come on, sweetheart," I hear him say, scooping Amelia up off her chair and into his arms.
"No!" she screams, hitting out and struggling, forcing him to put her down. "Don't call me that, you cazzo bastardo!”
I watch as Amelia beats against Dante’s chest, and he just accepts it. For her he takes the pain, takes the humiliation she’s causing, and waits for her to break. Which she does. Suddenly, her fit of anger diminishes into a barricade of tears and she collapses against him. She clings to his
shirt, tearing at it as she howls and wails each new painful sob.
This is the destruction love causes – it’s painted all over Amelia’s beautiful face.
“Amelia,” Dante murmurs to her, pushing her away from him. “Piccola, let’s get you out of here.”
“He left me,” she says, her voice completely wrecked with tears. “He couldn’t love me anymore because of who I am. This life destroys everything, Dante.”
Dante says nothing, just holds her while she stumbles drunkenly on the spot, unable to hold herself up any longer. He murmurs something to her that I fail to hear and I watch as he scoops her up, delicately handling her as if she’s about to shatter completely. He gives me a look, a sideways glance, and I watch him shake his head the instant he sees me. I can tell he sees the total devastation I can’t even begin to hide. I can’t help how I feel right now, not after watching him with her. The way he is with her is something I long to feel. He loves her and it shows in his every gesture and action. He cherishes her, and he would die to look after her. She is, and always will be, a priority for him. While he just broke me down, he picked her up.
“Get out of my club, Ryleigh!” he shouts out to me. “You’ll be called when you have shifts coming up and not before then.”
Customers look at me and the actions of Dante Valentino have embarrassed me yet again – this time publicly. It’s in that instant I find myself closing off more so than ever. I had no idea what I was getting into when I followed him that first day, and after finding a semblance of purpose, it disintegrated.
I have no place in anyone’s life. I never had, and he’s the proof I never will.
This life was a riptide and I wasn’t sure I could stay above the current much longer.
I start to leave the bar, keeping my head down. I’m not wanted here, and I don’t want to go home quite yet. I couldn’t deal with the torturous silence. So, I go to the only place I know – back to Jackson.
***
I stood outside of the club before I entered. Luckily, Tim, the doorman, made me feel welcome enough to enter. I had run out on this club, on the friends I had made, and the family I was part of. As soon as I had entered, it was as if I had never left.
That was further verified when Jackson found me.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he asks me, casting a look at me.
“Can we talk?” I ask him, not willing to play to his cheerful tone. “It’s important.”
“Sure,” he tells me, moving to put his hand on my back to guide me through the club. “Want a drink?”
I shake my head, not willing to fall victim to alcohol again. He gets himself one, carrying his glass of scotch over to his desk. He doesn’t sit behind it. Instead, he leans against it as I stand hugging myself self-consciously before him.
“What’s brought you here, Ryleigh?” he asks. “I thought Dante had occupied your time.”
I can hear his anger at the entire predicament. It laces his every word, heats every syllable. It’s hard to ignore that Jackson hates that he was right – this would end badly.
“No, he’s taken me off the schedule for the time being.” I find myself becoming more and more awkward before my boss – or was he my former boss, now? “Can you please give me some shifts?” I beg him, unable to meet his gaze. “Without the shifts at Dynasty, I’m losing money.”
“Why don’t you have shifts?” he asks, leaning forward a little. “I thought that was the revised arrangement. You worked shifts with him and did whatever sordid little duties he had on the outside for you. He’s kept you from working with Jodi.”
“I know,” I mutter, rubbing my arm as insecurities eat away at me. “He’s got bigger and more important things to deal with than me right now.” I give a tight smile, shrugging. “He’s proven that to me.”
“Has something happened, Ryleigh?” he asks, and I can tell how transparent I am to him. “You can talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I remark, snapping the words. “I know you were against what Dante wanted, and I should’ve listened. I just need money to be able to pay rent and pay off Derek for his work. Without any work at Dynasty, I’m sinking.”
“You should’ve come to me sooner,” he reprimands me. He stands; grabbing his glass, he comes over to me. Holding it out, he waits for me to take it. “Down this and come sit with me. You know that whatever happens, I will always make sure you’re not out of work.”
I adhere, caving to take the alcohol. I down the glass and he promptly takes the glass back. While he goes to pour more liquor, I head over to the couch on the far side of the room and situate myself as far into corner as I can.
“I never thought I’d have to come begging to dance around a pole again, you know?” I comment, laughing emptily at my joke. “I thought I had found my calling.”
“What, in killing men?” Jackson asks, crossing the room with two drinks. I can see he’s not pleased with my choice of action. “Dante and I aren’t currently talking. He threw a tantrum when he was gloating about you killing a man the other night.”
“It’s all he wants me around for now, so you may have to hear more of that.” I take the glass he offers, and I stare at the brown liquor instead of at Jackson as he sits before me. “I knew him. The man I killed, I knew him,” I say, daring myself to look up finally. “He didn’t know me, though.”
“You knew Shawn?” Jackson asks me, his brow furrowing. “How?”
“He killed my mother.” My response is deadpan, the emotions not even hitting a single syllable. “He might be older, but it’s all in his eyes.” I shake my head, denying the memories from creeping up. “He was one of them who agreed to leave my sister and me alive. They wanted us to bleed out. He was the one who handled my mother after they dealt with Samantha and me.”
“You never talk about your family,” Jackson remarks, taking a slow sip of his scotch.
“What’s to talk about?” I ask Jackson, shrugging. “I have nothing but a photo of that life. I have one photograph that shows that I once belonged somewhere. I don’t even look at it because it reminds me of everything I lost.” I inhale deeply, striving to forbid even a single tear from falling. “I don’t talk about my family because I never had one.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I reply, snapping at him. “Jackson, I remember very little about them. I don’t remember how my mom’s voice sounded, or if I was close to my sister, or if my dad’s hugs were my favorites. That day has corrupted every memory I have of my family. So, I never talk about them because I have nothing to say. Pathetic, isn‘t it?”
“No, it isn’t,” he assures me, reaching out to take my hand. “I don’t remember any of those things about my family either. They died in a car accident when I was about seven. Marcello found me, and he vowed to take me in. He gave me a new family, and in time, I never remembered what my dad’s favorite sport was, or what my mom used to hum while cooking breakfast. But I do remember she used to sing, and my dad and I used to play in the backyard. You came from somewhere, Ryleigh, and you will find somewhere to belong again.”
“I thought I had found it,” I state, the conviction lost in my voice. “Killing Shawn made me feel some sort of tie to my past break away.”
“So, you’re going to go on a killing spree?”
“No,” I say, diverting my gaze. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have all my facts straight, but I know that Shawn was part of it, which links Dante, and...” I pause, the words choking me. I struggle through, and my following sentence comes out hoarsely. “Dante was the other sole survivor.”
There’s a moment of silence – deliberate, gut-wrenching silence. The look that passes fleetingly through Jackson’s eyes causes me to feel sick.
“You knew?” I ask, aghast.
“I never knew you were part of what happened to Dante. I didn’t know that. I knew he was the sole survivor of a crime wave, but Ryleigh, it’s never spoken about so I never bothered to press. I know t
hat Dante’s family was wiped out and he was left fighting for his life, but I never knew your pasts connected... if they do, that is.”
“Does he know?”
“Oh, Dante knows everything,” Jackson admits, somberly. “But I can’t discuss that with you, Ryleigh. Dante knows very broken pieces about his childhood, only what he’s learned now, but it’s not my place to say. Dante was obsessed with what happened to him twenty years ago, and he’s endured a lot since. He wanted answers, but he doesn’t discuss anything with me.”
“Do you think he knows about me?” I ask, worrying about the details.
“No… of that I am certain.” Jackson rubs his jaw. He looks concerned with the fallout. “If he knew, you wouldn’t be anywhere near his club. He keeps those who were maliciously involved to it close for reasons only he knows. He disregards any other little detail regarding his past, no matter how near or far. He doesn’t care for anything but the culprits.”
“But they’re his family...” I trail off. “He needs to know. He needs to know that I am that other survivor.”
“And he will, but let him cool off,” Jackson advises. “He’s dealing with issues involving both of us and now Amelia. If we go to him with this, he’ll blow. I know Dante. I’ve lived with his mood swings and reactions to problems. He needs time to sort his head out, but when he’s ready, we’ll tell him.”
I feel uneasy with Jackson’s advice, and I know he doesn’t completely believe it either. But I listen; I’m not ready to face Dante yet – not for pleasure, not for business, and not to hash out our pasts with one another. I could be running after a pointless lead, but the hunch I have over this matter is too heavy to ignore. For now, I just hope Derek finds more and Dante gives me the time of day soon.
“You can take your shifts back here,” he tells me, changing the subject. “Let Dante call on you, Ryleigh. Whatever happened will solve itself. For now, come back here and let us look after you. I know something else has happened and you’re not willing to share and I’ll allow that. Dante is an irritating bastard when he gets in a mood, but he’ll get over it. Then we can tell him anything you want to.”
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