Vault - Inferno Pt. 2

by T. K. Leigh

  “I never meant…”

  He cupped my cheek. “I know.” He brought his mouth close, his lips brushing mine tenderly. “Now you know why I believe in fate so strongly. There was a reason Lilly died. And there was a reason we crossed paths.” He gestured between us. “I don’t care what that reason is. All I know is I haven’t felt this happy and alive since Lilly died. So, please, let me enjoy this for however much time we have…whether it’s just a few more days or for the foreseeable future.”

  I stared into his eyes, the depth of his need consuming me. I did my best to smile, although it wavered a bit. As much as I didn’t want to get his hopes up, I refused to dash his dreams. Not now. Not after everything he’d shared with me.

  He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek, then stepped back, holding his hand out for me. “Come.” He gestured with his head. My eyes settled on a small house that couldn’t have been more than eight hundred square feet.

  “Where are we?”

  “You’ll see.” He steered me up the front steps, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. Finding the one he needed, he inserted it into the lock, the wooden door opening with a loud creak.

  He crossed the threshold, pulling me with him, and turned on the light, illuminating a small kitchen and living area. I felt like I’d just stepped back in time, like I was looking at a museum exhibit. There were a few pieces of dated furniture — a worn-out couch, a small round dining table, a tiny desk, and a television with rabbit ears I doubted even worked anymore. The kitchen was in stark contrast to the gourmet one in Dante’s apartment and in the main house. There wasn’t much to it, apart from a stove, sink, and refrigerator.

  “This is it,” he stated, cutting through the silence. “This is where I grew up.”

  I glanced at him as he looked around, his lips turned up slightly at the corners, recalling the ghosts of his past. I continued into the small house, taking it all in. I wanted to remember every drawing, every old knick-knack, every photo. I’d barely been in here a minute, yet I felt the love Gabriella had for Dante and her family by the multitude of mementos adorning nearly every available surface. My parents never displayed photos of me. I wasn’t exactly a high-ranking official or politician, so I didn’t quite make the cut.

  But here… The admiration and respect Gabriella had for Dante was apparent in the way she showed him off to everybody who stepped foot in this house, even before anyone had heard the name Dante Luciano. There were photos of him playing soccer as a small boy, at the beach as a teenager, in a chef’s jacket as a twenty-something-year-old young man.

  “Why is all this stuff still here?” I asked.

  “She wanted it this way. She wanted to always have a reminder of where we came from so we never took anything in life for granted. Don’t worry. I had duplicates of all these photos made so she’d have them up at the house.”

  I stopped at a side table, one photo catching my attention. Dante couldn’t have been more than five or six at the time, a few teeth missing in his wide smile. He sat in front of a meager Christmas tree, only a few boxes of opened presents strewn about. His mother held him in her arms, wearing an expression I couldn’t quite articulate. I wondered if that was what love looked like.

  “Probably not the big extravagant Christmas you’re used to,” Dante commented, peering over my shoulder. “But she always made each one special.”

  “Santa never came to my house,” I murmured, unable to stop the words from leaving my mouth.

  He placed his hand on my shoulder, turning me around, his brows furrowed. “You don’t mean—”

  “One of my earliest memories is waking up Christmas morning and dashing down the stairs to see if Santa had come.” My eyes prickled with tears I’d kept at bay for decades. “I’d seen a few Christmas movies and heard all about Santa. All year, I’d made sure to do what my parents asked of me. I was certain he would have come.” I gripped the frame harder, the pain of that day returning, as if it had just happened yesterday. “There was nothing. The only presents under the tree were the ones that had been there the past few weeks, which were props for a photo shoot. When I asked why Santa didn’t come, you know what my mother told me?”

  Dante swallowed hard, unmoving.

  “She told me he wasn’t real. I couldn’t have been more than three. You’d think she’d tell me that maybe he forgot or something…anything to keep the hope and magic alive. But she didn’t.” I returned my attention to the photo. “You say you didn’t grow up with much,” I commented through my tears. “But I would have given anything to have a Christmas like this.”

  Dante quickly enclosed me into his arms, kissing my head as he soothed my sobs. I’d never told that story to anyone, not even Mila. I’d never shared these parts of myself. I’d locked them in a box, thinking I could just move on and forget. For the longest time, I had. But Dante brought out feelings in me I didn’t think possible, feelings I didn’t think were real. And it made the pain of my past hurt even more.

  Not saying a word, he just held me. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to mourn the childhood I never had. To mourn the lack of Play-Doh, bubbles, and balloons. To mourn the absence of cake and ice cream. To mourn the loss of hope.

  I tore away from his chest, wiping my cheeks, keeping my head lowered. “I’m sorry. I—”

  Dante grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “I promise you, Eleanor. I will give you the Christmas of your dreams. The Christmas you deserve. The Christmas you had ripped from you. Just give me the chance.”

  I stared into his determined gaze, the magnitude and depth overwhelming. Instead of repeating the same excuse I’d told myself, I nodded. “Okay.”

  His expression lit up. “Okay?”

  I smiled a small smile. “Okay.”

  Happiness seeming to wash over every inch of him, he crushed his lips to mine, almost knocking the breath out of me with his sheer joy and affection. I ran my hands through his hair, curving my body into his, kissing him with all the admiration and devotion he deserved.

  I didn’t know why I’d agreed to give him a chance. Maybe I wanted to live in his fantasy world a little longer. Maybe I wanted to pretend the idea of celebrating the holidays together wasn’t anything more than a pipe dream. Maybe I wanted to feel the same hope Dante had for our future. The same hope my parents ripped from me too early in my life. The same hope I’d always dreamed of, but never felt…until now.

  Chapter Eight

  “We should probably head out.” Dante turned to me later that evening after we’d rejoined his family in the main house.

  “We’re not staying here?” I tilted my head.

  “As much as I love my mother and she loves me…” He inched toward me, leaning closer to whisper into my ear. “I’m not so sure I want her overhearing us when I make you moan and scream out my name. And that’s exactly what you’ll be doing tonight.”

  He pulled back, smiling a salacious smile at me, my heart rate picking up dramatically. I never knew what to expect with him. One minute, there would be a bit of vulnerability about him as he begged me to consider the possibility of a future. The next, he’d be the Dante I propositioned my first night here — dominant, powerful, compelling.

  “A little confident of your capabilities, aren’t you?” I asked with a sly grin.

  “Perhaps, but I haven’t heard you complaining yet.” He winked, then grabbed my hand, helping me up from the couch.

  “Are you taking off?” Beatrice asked, standing from the reading chair.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  He glanced at me, protectively wrapping his arm around my shoulders. This morning seemed like ages ago now. It almost didn’t seem possible that, just mere hours earlier, I’d walked into Dante’s living room to see Brock standing there.

  “We’ll be around all weekend,” he offered. “Stop by.”

  Beatrice stood on her toes, kissing Dante on both cheeks. “I will. The kids would love to see you.”

  “I’d like
to see them, too.”

  Beatrice hugged me, then we made our way through the room to say the rest of our goodbyes, promising to get together for breakfast on Monday before we headed back to Rome.

  As we approached the foyer, Dante glanced over his shoulder, then stopped. “I’ll be right back,” he said, turning from me. “Just one minute.”

  “Sure.”

  I lingered in the entryway, peeking around the corner to see Dante standing by the staircase with his mother. There was something about the way he looked into her eyes, the way he leaned down and placed a kiss on each cheek, the way he rested his forehead on hers, drawing in a shaky breath. I’d never felt the love of a mother for a child or vice versa…until that moment.

  I’d never thought much about having children of my own. I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with my own parents. I guess I didn’t want to repeat the cycle of disappointment. As I watched Dante share a tender moment with his mother, I entertained the idea for the first time, despite how absurd it truly was. A warmth flowed through me as I pictured Dante singing our child to sleep, teaching him or her Italian, walking into the kitchen on a Sunday morning to see them making pancakes together. The images were so real in my head, I could almost taste the vanilla and smell the butter.

  “Are you okay?” Dante’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. I watched him hurry toward me, his brows drawn together in concern. “Your eyes…”

  I blinked, wiping away a tear that had escaped. “It’s beautiful,” I commented with a small smile. “How much your mother loves you. How much you love her. I wish—”

  He drew me into his embrace, cutting me off. “Don’t wish for things that are out of your control. I know you may not believe it, but everything happens for a reason. If you didn’t have the relationship you do with your parents, you may never have ended up on that plane a few days ago. Our paths never would have crossed.” He leaned back, peering into my eyes. “And we never would have had this.”

  I shook my head, my eyes continuing to water. “What is this, Dante?”

  He let out a simple laugh. “It’s fate.”

  The beat of footsteps grew closer and we both snapped our heads up to see Gabriella approaching us.

  “Eleanor.” She reached out as Dante released his hold on me. She enclosed me in her warm embrace, kissing my cheeks. “Just remember…” She pulled back, looking into my eyes. “No matter what course you choose, what is meant to be will be.”

  I swallowed hard, unable to come up with any response. She squeezed my arms, then turned from us, heading toward the stairs.

  “Mama, let me help you.” Dante rushed to her side, reaching for her arm.

  She slapped his hand away. “I can handle these stairs. I’m not dead yet.”

  He stepped back, the lines around his face creasing with worry as he watched her climb the winding staircase. I wondered why he was making such a fuss. Gabriella didn’t seem old and frail by any stretch of the imagination. She was perhaps in her sixties, but I knew plenty of people that age who were still very active.

  “Buonanotte, tesoro mio,” she said when she reached the top of the landing.

  “Buonanotte, mama,” Dante answered with a sigh, keeping his eyes trained on her until she disappeared down the hallway and we heard a door closing. Then he turned back to me, fixing his expression. “Ready?” He held his arm out toward me.

  “Si.” I grabbed onto his elbow and he led me out of the house. The drive was quiet as Dante navigated the rustic country roads. This was the Italy I’d always imagined — rolling dirt roads lined with trees and vines, yellows and greens everywhere. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was romantic. The air infused me with a sense of serenity.

  After driving for about twenty minutes, Dante turned into a driveway. Once he entered a code into a keypad by the entrance, the wrought iron gates opened, allowing us access. He drove down a narrow dirt drive, around a bend, then up a hill.

  “Wow,” I murmured in awe as a palatial brick building came into view. I’d been around money and power all my life, but had never seen anything so opulent. “Is this yours?”

  “Si,” he said with a shrug, as if it were nothing.

  “Wow,” I repeated.

  “You like?” He lifted a brow as he put the car in park.

  “I like. And I haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

  “Well then, allow me to give you a tour.” He jumped out and ran around, helping me from the car before grabbing our bags.

  When he opened the front door, permitting me to enter ahead of him, I blinked repeatedly, overwhelmed by the elegance surrounding me. It was as if old-world Italy had collided with modern luxury, but in the best way possible. I didn’t think houses like this existed in the real world. Everything was exactly as I would have imagined a villa in Italy would be — light-colored walls, neutral furniture, exposed brick and wood.

  “Beatrice has a wonderful eye for design, don’t you think?”

  I gaped at him. “She designed this?”

  He nodded. “Yes. And my mother’s house. And my apartment in Rome.”

  “Incredible,” I breathed, following him past the entryway, which made quite a statement with its vaulted ceilings, and into a large living area. My eyes were immediately drawn to the exposed light wood beams overhead, an accent of light brick on the large rounded archways separating the spacious rooms. Past the formal living area and through one of the archways was a TV room, library, and a game room. There was even a workout room and an indoor pool.

  “Lilly loved to swim,” he said after finishing the tour of the lower level. There was a hint of melancholy in his voice before his expression brightened. “And so do a lot of my cousins’ kids. It gives them a way to blow off steam during the colder months. But there’s also a spa and pool outside, too, for when it’s warmer.”

  “This house is spectacular.” I sauntered toward him, swaying my hips. My eyes grew more heated with each step I took. “But you haven’t shown me the best part yet.”

  He shortened the distance, an electricity buzzing between us. “And what’s that?”

  “The bedroom, Dante,” I replied firmly.

  A devilish smile curved on his lips. “This way, mia cara.”

  Clutching my hand in his, he led me to a staircase just off the entryway. With every step I took through his home, I marveled at how far Dante had come from his meager beginnings. He worked hard for everything he had. I never knew what that was like. Most people in my life, with the exception of Mila, had been handed everything, myself included. To say I was anxious at the prospect of returning to California and having to rebuild my life from scratch was certainly an understatement. But seeing how much Dante had been able to achieve, even with all the curveballs life had thrown at him, gave me hope I’d find my own way, too, whether or not he was by my side as I did so.

  We slowed to a stop outside a light wood door at the end of the hallway. He pushed it open, a soft glow illuminating the room. I stepped inside, instantly surrounded by serenity and comfort. A four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, sheer linens draped over the canopy. Just past that was a sitting area by the fireplace. I could picture myself curling up in one of those chairs during the cooler months, a fire in the hearth warming me. But that wasn’t what took my breath away. It was the view from the French doors.

  I padded toward them, unlocking them and stepping onto the balcony. Rolling hills spread out in front of me, the almost full moon lighting acres of vineyards. I’d never seen anything so gorgeous, so heavenly, so…perfect. It was as if Dante had peered into my imagination and constructed my dream home.

  He approached, brushing my hair over my shoulder. His lips delicately met my skin, causing a shiver of anticipation to trickle down my spine, my heart rate picking up. My eyes fluttered closed as I basked in his proximity, his touch, his essence.

  His hand trailed down the contour of my frame, settling on my hip. Tightening his hold, he tugged me against him, my pulse
skyrocketing as I gasped. The sudden change from the gentle, tender lover to the dominating, controlling man I thought him to be when we first met momentarily took me by surprise.

  I spun around, meeting his wanton stare. His chest heaved as he seemed to undress me with his eyes, ripping every last protective barrier to shreds, leaving me completely exposed and unguarded. Dragging my tongue along the curve of my mouth, I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him toward me, but he resisted, a coy smile crossing his face.

  “Is this the way you want to play it?” I mused in a sultry tone. “You want to play hard to get?” Chewing on my lower lip, I released my hold on him. “Because I’m here to tell you, Signor Luciano…”

  My fingers found his tie and tightened, tugging him as I walked backwards from the balcony into the master bedroom, keeping my eyes glued to his. He remained silent, his powerful expression unmoving, giving nothing away.

  “When I see something I want, I stop at nothing until I have it.” I smiled flirtatiously as I repeated his words from earlier. Raising myself onto my toes, I leaned into him, sweeping my lips against the stubble on his jaw. “And I want you,” I murmured.

  As I began to loosen his tie, he swiftly grabbed my wrist, his lust-filled eyes searing my skin. “Not yet.” He shook his head. “Not until I say so.”

  Freeing myself from his hold, I stepped back and gave him the look I reserved for the courtroom or a negotiation when I wanted to make it apparent I wasn’t one to be messed with. “You’ve been in control since we met.” I walked away from him, glancing over my shoulder as I stopped in front of a reading chair.

  “And while I certainly love the way it makes me feel…” I lifted my foot onto the chair, leisurely running my hands down my leg, taking my time, torturing Dante with each drawn-out second. “The way it makes my skin yearn for your touch…”

  I loosened the buckle on my wedge sandal, sliding it off my foot and dropping it to the floor before switching legs, teasing Dante even more as I caressed the other leg. His fists clenched, his chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern. I tossed the other sandal to the side, then straightened, slowly lowering the zipper of my sundress.