Enrage (Eagle Elite #8)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Okay.”

  “El…” He swallowed, looked back at the pasta then back at me. “Fucking dates.”

  “You don’t want to do this?” Suddenly embarrassed I started to back away.

  “Don’t. Move.” His jaw cracked as he braced his hands against the countertop and leaned over like he was preparing for a fight. “You know what? I have an idea, here.” He turned off the stove, drained the pasta, and dished out everything onto plates like he was getting timed. Once everything was on the table, he grabbed a towel and handed it to me. “Take this.”

  “A towel?” My eyebrows shot up. “Am I on cleanup duty already?”

  “Not in that dress you’re not.” He groaned. “Just wrap it around my eyes.”

  I tried not to flinch at the hurt that spread through my shaking hands as I took the towel and wrapped it around his eyes, just as I was ready to tie it, he gripped my wrists and hung this head.

  “El,” He inhaled greedily like he could smell me in the air. “You look beautiful.”

  “And yet you don’t want to look at me.”

  “One more second of looking instead of touching and that dress would be either destroyed or on the floor, your makeup smeared, hair pulled, thighs wrapped around my body so damn fast that you wouldn’t get your date. I’d feast on your body while the spaghetti got cold, I’d worship you with my tongue and I wouldn’t take my time, I wouldn’t ask you questions. Fuck I can’t even remember Nixon’s address right now.” He confessed. “I want to do this right, El. Up until now I’ve done everything wrong, it’s the only thing I’m good at, doing the wrong thing. So give me this chance, to give you the date you deserve, and don’t let me see you until you’re ready for me to make love to you, not against the wall, not on the table, but in a bed, a nice bed where I can take my time with you where I can worship every inch of you. All right?”

  I swayed toward him as tears filled my eyes.

  “El?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I sniffed loud enough for him to probably guess I was well on my way to ruining my makeup. Nobody had ever taken me on a date.

  And nobody, not even Xavier had ever touched me on a bed, where I was able to look into his eyes.

  Where I was able to be a part of the process.

  Where I was an equal.

  I pressed a kiss to Dante’s back, he let out a guttural groan before I tightly wrapped the towel around his face and knotted it. “Done.”

  When he turned I wanted to roll my eyes or at least have a very serious one on one talk with God.

  How was it possible to look better with half of your face gone?

  His smile was sexier, his mouth a touch wider than I remembered, his skin smoother. I cupped the sides of his face, ran my thumbs down his strong jawline and pressed a light kiss to his mouth.

  He licked his lips, and nodded. “More?”

  “Food first.”

  “Food first,” he rumbled. “But now that I can’t see you’re going to have to do something for me…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Feed me.” He grinned again. “Ever seen Lady and the Tramp?”

  “Let me guess you’re the tramp?”

  “Well I’m the one who never dated just screwed so yeah I’ll take the title, after you,” he pointed to the table as his lips danced along my ear. “My lady.”

  I shivered and pulled out his chair then sat in mine, I was inches from him, our plates nearly kissing.

  “I think I like this date already.” I eyed the French bread and tore off a piece. “Apparently they stocked us up with food?”

  “I think Phoenix did the shopping.” He sat. “Loads of macaroni, Chase would have an aneurism if he saw all the boxed-up food in here and cans, the man hates anything not made from scratch.”

  “Chase should have been a chef,” I agreed.

  Dante’s face fell a bit before he shrugged. “I think we all could have been a lot of things, had we not been born in this.”

  “Yeah.” The bread suddenly felt like sand in my mouth, I set it down and then grabbed a fork.

  “What about you?” Dante interrupted my thoughts. “What did you want to be growing up?”

  “Nice date talk,” I deflected.

  “Answer the question,” he fired back.

  I dropped my fork and stared down at my hands in my lap, he reached across and grabbed them in his. I’d always been afraid of what his hands were capable of, not realizing that I had fear over a part of him that would take care of me, please me, do anything for me.

  Those hands, they would kill for me.

  Those hands, they would rip apart anyone and anything for me.

  And those hands, that night, would touch me, caress me, love me.

  The hands didn’t define the man.

  The man defined the hands.

  “I love these.” I kissed his fingers without thinking.

  Dante sucked in a breath. “My hands?”

  “Destructive, murdering, beautiful, saving — hands.” I kissed his wrist.

  “Answer the question, El.”

  Nothing got past Dante. Not even my obsession with his hands.

  I sighed as he squeezed my hands tighter. “My parents were killed by Xavier before I ever even knew who he was, before I moved in with my papa. I was playing with my dolls and a knock sounded at the door, it was the same day I told my mom I wanted to be a mom just like her.”

  I smiled even though he couldn’t see me.

  “Girls my age they wanted to be supermodels, reality TV stars, teachers, astronauts—” Tears glistened in my eyes as I shrugged. “My dream was to be her.”

  Dante leaned forward, his chair creaked. “El… what was that like? What was she like?”

  And then I remembered, like an idiot. I was talking to an orphan.

  A casualty of this life.

  Just like me.

  He’d grown up not even knowing his own mother.

  He’d grown up knowing that this life that had killed his father — would most likely take him at some point.

  He grew up motherless.

  “She was always singing,” I whispered. “Everything was homemade, she’d be in the kitchen for hours, I hated that kitchen because it always meant I had to do dishes,” I laughed at the memory. “She was beautiful, happy, always doing things for others. You know, I don’t think I ever saw my mom cry? She was so strong. When—” I gulped. “When the gun shots went off, I ran downstairs, there was blood, so much blood.” I shook my head. “I stood there for at least an hour. There was no pulse. But at least their eyes were closed, you know? At least it looked like they were sleeping. That’s what I told myself when papa came with them.”

  Dante froze. “Who did your papa come with?”

  “The cavalry.” I sighed. “Or at least it felt that way, the man looked like an angel, he had salt and pepper hair, crystal blue eyes, he smelled like cigars and peppermint. His suit was pinstriped, and I remember him asking if my papa was capable of protecting me.” I licked my lips. “Papa didn’t even hesitate. He said he’d protect me with his life. The man seemed to be upset about something, he and papa argued a bit but it was decided I’d be okay. And then,” I smiled at the memory. “Even though it was the worst day ever, he knelt down next to me and placed his hand on each cold body and said a prayer.”

  “Blood of my blood, you’re free — find rest—”

  “Find rest at the end of your journey, may you be blessed, may your family be blessed, may their lives be blessed, may they be protected by the blood you spilled. Sangue in nessun fouri,” Dante finished quietly.

  I gasped. “How’d you know that?”

  He didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenched and then he leaned back in his chair and gave his head a shake. “Because it’s what Luca Nicolasi says when he loses one of his own in battle. It’s the motto of the Nicolasi family and it’s been passed down to the rest of the four families. We memorize it just in case we have to say it to a
friend, relative, associate. It’s our way of sending someone home.”

  Tears slowly began to make their way down my face. “Are you saying that, the man, that the Italians were the ones who came that day?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He opened his mouth like he was going to say more, instead he nodded to the table. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

  And that was it.

  He was either uncomfortable with the conversation.

  Or hiding something.

  But I knew Dante well enough to know this — there would be more, when the time was right, when he wanted to talk.

  And for the first time in a long time, I was able to speak about my parents’ deaths, about my dreams.

  Without crying.

  His hands, those hands, they squeezed mine again. And I knew — his strength was my own.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Not anymore.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Dante

  I WISH I could say El’s story wasn’t typical. But in our world, families were destroyed by the secrets they agreed to keep.

  And often times, it wasn’t even their fault that they were killed, more often than not, it’s because someone just knows too much.

  Often times, it’s because someone is uncomfortable with someone else’s knowledge and when you’re uncomfortable. You’re willing to kill to get comfortable again.

  El wouldn’t have been spared had they seen her.

  El would have been killed for being in the same house as the secrets.

  And still, she had no idea. She wasn’t being hunted because of Xavier’s death, it was part of it, of course.

  But she was being hunted because she’d cheated a deserved death. The mafia doesn’t just kill parents — they wipe out blood lines and for some reason.

  They wanted hers gone.

  I tried not to react and probably did a shit job of it, but this changed things, this meant that even with who I was — she was still a target to them, would always be a fucking target — unless.

  Heaviness weighed down on me.

  Unless I was boss.

  My blood was royal.

  My name was as good as Nixon’s or anyone else’s.

  But I had no title.

  Not yet.

  I promised her I’d protect her. I promised her I’d kill for her. In order to keep those promises.

  I was going to have to put on the fucking crown.

  And sit on the throne of the Alfero family.

  I may not survive it.

  “Here,” El interrupted my thoughts by lifting a fork to my lips, sauce coated my lower lip as I licked it off and moaned. “Open.”

  I opened my mouth as she slid the fork in. I chewed a few bites and swallowed. “I’m surprised you’re being nice and not getting sauce all over me.”

  “Yeah well, you haven’t seen your pants, sauce everywhere, I figured the dirtier they got the sooner you’d take them off.”

  I groaned. “Killing me.”

  “What about me? I’ve had to stare at your mouth for the last hour!”

  “What’s wrong with my mouth?”

  She was quiet and then a strangled. “It’s nice,” Came out.

  “It’s nice?” I repeated on a laugh. “Nice doesn’t make you sound like you’re choking, nice doesn’t make you wet, now does it?”

  She gasped.

  “Oh, I’m sorry is this not proper date talk?”

  “No!” She shoved another fork against my lips. I quickly shoved it away and leaned toward her. “Wet.”

  “Stop that!”

  “You,” I dug my fingers into her thighs and dragged her chair toward me. “Admit it and I’ll eat.”

  “Want some wine?”

  “Want some of my mouth?”

  “Dante.”

  “El,” I lowered my voice. “Sure, pour me some wine, just uncross your legs.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I slid my hand under her dress and inched my fingers up her thighs, one by one, until I pried them apart. She clenched my hand like she was trying to break it.

  “What?” I gave my head a shake as my heart roared to life right along with every cell in my body. “The hell, are you wearing?”

  “Garters,” she choked out.

  “I’m full.” I stood.

  “I’m not.” Her voice teased. “Sit, I’ll pour you wine, we can talk some more, you know, like on a real date.”

  Hated that word. Date. She was my wife!

  I sat anyway.

  I tried to control my thoughts.

  Garters. Garters. Garters.

  “What color are they?” I asked once she handed me a glass of wine.

  She sighed loudly. “You’ll find out.”

  “Same as your dress? Would we call this a dress? Because it looks like lingerie.” I took a large sip.

  “It is.”

  I choked.

  “The girls bought me boxes and boxes of it.”

  “Did they now?” I pounded my chest, voice strained. “Remind me to thank them next time I see them.” Or buy them their own island in the south of France, along with a pony for every child born from here until forever.

  “Uh-huh.” The teasing in her tone intensified the sound of her putting her wine glass down on the table filled the room. “I haven’t unpacked everything but there’s a lot of lace.”

  I swallowed and forced myself to breath. “Only twenty-four hours and all that lace… sounds like a challenge.”

  “You do love challenges.”

  “I like winning.” I smiled. “I like prizes. I’m the mafia’s version of a raccoon only with a shiny gun and knife fixation — right along with an unhealthy obsession with rust colored eyes, red lips, and apparently garters. What color did you say again?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You sure?”

  “Stick to killing, you’re horrible at negotiations.” She laughed.

  “I’m only horrible because I’m distracted.”

  “And again, stick to guns, Dante.”

  “Guns huh? Just because I can’t negotiate with my mouth doesn’t mean I can’t do other things with my lips, my tongue,” I leaned closer to her until I could hear her faint intake of breath. “I haven’t heard you complain once.”

  “Maybe because I’m afraid of you.”

  “You were.” I nodded. “But not anymore.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you anymore — I’m afraid for you. It’s worse, so much worse.”

  “No more talking about death, mine or anyone else’s, El.” I stood and offered her my hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

  “So you can see my garters?”

  “I didn’t say I was taking the blindfold off.”

  “But how—”

  “Let me worry about finding my way around your body, besides, I kind of like the idea of hide and seek right now.” She gripped my hand in hers. “And I think, that allowing you to do whatever you want in a bed is probably the best idea I’ve ever had.”

  Her hand fell. “Is it because you feel sorry for me?”

  “No.” I spoke slowly, purposefully. “Every woman deserves to be worshipped El, but I think often times men are stupid assholes who forget that women don’t just want to be objectified — they want to participate, so I’ll wear my blindfold, and you…” I grinned. “Do your worst.”

  “I’m liking this date more and more…”

  I laughed, it felt good, talking with her, so natural that I could almost forget the constant weight on my shoulders, and the ticking clock hanging over our heads.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  El

  THE BLINDS WERE open in the master bedroom, creating a silver glow from the moon as it cast its light across the white duvet and giant king bed.

  There was a fireplace off to the right next to a sitting room that connected to a giant bathroom with a shower big enough for ten people.

&n
bsp; It was warm yet modern.

  “You’re quiet.” Dante stood in front of me, hands on his hips, his low-slung jeans hugged his leg muscles and his black shirt barely hid his built chest and biceps.

  “I was just staring at you,” I finally admitted after a few beats. “You know the wives all think you’re hot.”

  He tilted his head. “And I care about this because?”

  “You don’t get how sexy you are.”

  “No, I don’t, you should probably keep telling me as you strip and show me those garters of yours.”

  “I go first.” I pushed him lightly on the chest, and he fell back against the mattress. “And the garters are white.”

  He groaned his head falling back against the pillows like he was trying not to react. “A promise is a promise.”

  I’d been used as a sex slave for years.

  I’d never once sat on a man and stared down at him. Had Xavier given me the chance I would have slit his throat open with my fingernails if need be.

  “You’re quiet again,” Dante said, bracing my hips with his hands. “Am I doing this wrong?”

  I laughed. “I like this side of you, the one where you aren’t scowling all the time.”

  “I don’t,” he scowled. “Scowl all the time.”

  “You’re doing it now.”

  “I have a sexy as hell woman straddling me and I can’t even see her, what do you expect me to do? Laugh? You realize how painful it is to be pressed against you and not feel you?”

  I smiled at that. “Do you trust me?”

  He sighed, running his hands up and down the sides of my ribs. “You could have a gun to my head right now and I wouldn’t know, El. The first thing I do when I walk into a room is look for exits. I’ve never been blindfolded, I’ve never let any woman straddle me because I don’t trust anyone not to have an agenda. I walked into this room blind. I laid down for you. Blind. Yeah, El, I trust you.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed his neck, then pulled the towel free. His crystal blue eyes locked onto mine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not what’s wrong,” I said. “It’s what’s right. I want to see you. I want you to see me.” I ran my hands through his hair. “I just want us.”

  His chest rose and fell as he drew lazy circles with his fingers on my hips, and then we were lying down next to each other, staring.