by Leah Holt
I remembered hearing him go into their bedroom, the same room that was sealed off until Ivy had opened Pandora's box. And as I laid there staring at the soft glow coming from the hall, I heard this sound I had never heard before.
It wasn't a scream, it wasn't an angry yell or a frustrated grunt. The sound he made was something outside of this world. If I had to describe it, I would compare it to the wild screech of an injured bear.
That's when I knew our lives had changed. I could hear his fists crashing into the walls as he sobbed uncontrollably. I never told him that I was awake to witness the only moment in his life when he truly broke down.
But when my mother was stolen from him, it changed him completely. He hadn't just lost his wife, he had lost a piece of his soul. She was the only person who had the power to make him laugh, the only person who could talk him down when he looked like his head was going to explode.
That was the one and only time I had ever heard him cry. That realization didn't set in until I was older and able to piece back together my memories.
And now here I was, driving to his funeral.
Did it make me soulless for not tearing up?
Should I be sobbing for my loss?
There was nothing there. I couldn't help but wonder how or why my father had raised me to be an empty, emotionless bastard. I was forged from titanium, heated and cooled to the point where nothing was getting through.
Because feelings equaled weakness and I was never allowed to be weak.
Until Ivy.
She had found the kink in my armor.
And I loved her for it.
The deep black tint of the limo's windows gave me some cover, but that wouldn't last for long. We were a block away from the cemetery and soon every eye would be on me. It was exactly the opposite of what I wanted.
And it was everything I didn't need.
I'd spent weeks trying to stay hidden. Now that I was here, I was no longer the hunter, it felt like I was the prey.
Remo was looking for me, his men could be anywhere, waiting for just the right moment to snuff out my life the same way he had done to my father. A single bullet was all it would take. One single slug of lead from a distant spot, away from prying eyes, and I'd be gone.
I'm not dying today, I'm not dying at the hands of that man.
“How you holding up, kid?” My uncle Carlo asked as he sat across from me. His suit was a deeper black than mine with bright white pinstripes lining the entire damn thing.
Could you guess what his line of work was?
Uncle Carlo was my father's younger brother, he flew in from Las Vegas two days ago and basically took care of all the planning for this entire funeral.
Which I was grateful for. I wasn't ready for this. Even if I had been here, I probably would've gone to him anyway.
How do you plan the celebration of life for a man like my father?
I wouldn't have had anything to say. There was no way I could have stood up there and pleaded to everyone what a wonderful, caring man he was.
Because he wasn't.
What kind of father taught their son how to kill, how to instill fear?
I had all the power I needed to keep our guys wrapped around my fingertips. He taught me to value the family business, that money was a goal, that to be a boss meant to never let your emotions get the best of you.
He took more lives than the honest hand of death.
And he bathed himself in the glory that power had given him.
That's who he was, he wasn't a father.
Flicking my eyes up at my uncle, I arched a brow and shrugged, letting my head drift back to the window.
“Your old man was a good guy, Dante. It's hard, I understand that, and after everything with Ses—”
Cutting him off, I ground my teeth down hard. “Don't.” My eyes felt like they had suddenly been pierced by hot needles. A pain filled in around the rim, setting my pupils on fire. “You know as well as I do what my father was. And as for that asshole, Sesto, he's dead too as far as I'm concerned.”
Holding up his hands in defense, his head jerked back quick. “I get it, your life sucks, Dante. You've lost all your family, that's not easy for anyone—regardless of who you are. I was just going to say that if you need to get away, you're always more then welcome to come stay with me.”
My uncle wasn't a bad man, but he wasn't a good man either. The suit could attest to that. I mean, who wears pure Al Capone gear to a fucking funeral?
When I said we had a family business, I meant it's a family business. Two states were run from behind the scenes by the Pisani's.
Huffing under my breath, I drew my hand down over my jaw. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Dante, I don't want to come off as an asshole—”
“So don't and just shut up.”
Wagging his finger at me, Uncle Carlo tilted his head. “I see, I can see it now.” Falling forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together. “You think you're going to go out there and get the fucker who did this?”
I didn't answer. Keeping my eyes firmly on him, I kept my lips blade thin.
Yes, I am. Of course I am.
What kind of fucking question is that?
Did he expect me to just sit back and forget it ever happened?
Letting out a soft chuckle, he kept talking. Even though I really wanted him to just keep his fucking mouth closed. But he was a Pisani. . . That wasn't going to happen.
“Dante, that's not how it works. You know I want whoever did this just as bad as you, but it doesn't work that way. We need to find out who before we can act. Your father played with fire, we both know that. This is the game, kid.” Leaning back, Carlo rested his arm against the window. “You of all people should know that.”
That would have been something I could understand before Ivy. But this was different. My uncle didn't know the real reason why this happened. He wouldn't understand what I had done, and why. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.
“Look,” I said, tugging at my lower lip. “I appreciate the advice, but I'll handle things the way I see fit.”
Clucking his tongue against the inside of his lip, my uncle stared right through me. “You sound just like your father.”
“Then you know what I have to do.”
Nodding, his jaw popped out as he looked back at the window. “Just use your head, don't be stupid, Dante. Every cop is going to be watching you like a fucking hawk now that you're back.” From the corner of his eye, he watched me. “I don't know where you disappeared to, but I hope it was worth it.”
“It was. . .” Pausing, I looked down at my hands. “And it still is.”
The limo slowed to a stop, and I was more than happy for the ride to be over. I didn't want to spend any more time talking about what I planned on doing. I knew he was family, but blood or not, I didn't want him involved.
My uncle loved my father, but this was my fight. I could have asked him for help, filled him in on what I knew, and who did this.
But I needed this.
This was my battle, my war, and I was going to be the one to finish it.
If he knew, he'd have people here in less then an hour, and I wouldn't get to have the satisfaction of doing it with my own two hands.
I couldn't have that. Call me a stubborn bastard, call me selfish and greedy. . .
I was, I wouldn't argue that.
That was what got me into this mess to begin with; My greed.
Throwing the door open, I took off up the sidewalk, and followed the herd of people towards my father's final home. I didn't look back at my uncle, but I could feel him watching me.
And as I made my way to the front, I felt all the other eyes burning holes into the back of my head. Everyone was watching me.
What the fuck are they looking for?
As I glanced around, some of the eyes looked sad, they seemed to hold pity for me and my situation in them. Others had disgust, fear, terror. Were they ex
pecting me to light up the place? Yank my gun from my waist and start firing it off in a fit of rage?
I was a bad, bad man. But I didn't just kill for fun, I didn't just devour people because I had an angry heart.
Everything I'd done had come down to punishment. Follow the rules, pay your fee, take care of your debt, and we didn't have a problem.
But if you didn't or if your mouth was too big for its own good. . .
I was coming, period.
There was a strange feeling floating around inside me. I was angry because he died by the hand of someone who was beneath him. I was worried for Ivy and her safety. I was sad because Bane was my father.
Then there was something else, it started off small, but as the funeral pressed on and I stood there stewing with all these emotions building up, something else crept in. Something that was so distant and foreign I couldn't place it at first.
The feeling wrapped around my stomach, sliding up my chest and tickling the back of my throat. Swallowing hard, I pushed the lump back down where it settled in my gut.
I felt sorry.
This was my fault.
It was because of my selfish nature that my father was no longer here. It was because I stole something that didn't belong to me that he lost his life.
Everything was because of me.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?
I couldn't even concentrate on what was going on around me to actually be present right in that moment. I had never felt sorry like that before.
Everything I'd ever done in my life, all the horrible things; it was all for him. All of it came with the job, every order given to me, I followed.
Now he was gone.
Fuck!
I had the urge to scream and kick, to pick up the flowers and throw them across the grass. But I held that all in and it was whirling deep inside me, turning my insides into a torrent of explosions and pain.
Save it for Remo. He's the one who'll pay for this.
The funeral only lasted an hour, but it seemed to go on forever. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there and go back to Ivy. I needed to be here, but she needed me too.
I watched the crowd, looking and searching for Remo or one of his goons. But I didn't see anyone. There were at least ten news vehicles parked on the outskirts, all with cameras and reporters standing around watching like this was some damn circus sideshow.
Police cars were blocking them from getting any closer, the men in blue all gawking just the same.
Fucking assholes. Don't they have anything better to do then this?
I had so much rage inside that my fingers were curled into my palms, cutting into the skin. My father was more then just a headline; he was a man, a father and a brother.
But they didn't see that. All those fucking assholes could see was Bane the boss, Bane the quiet voice of death, Bane the front page story.
As the priest finished his speech, the crowd of family and friends all tossed single roses down onto his casket. Passing by me, each person sent their soft apology my way. Some were genuine, others were spoken out of fear.
But I didn't listen. I couldn't listen, there was no way for me to focus.
I felt like a fucking robot. My head nodded on reflex, short words of thanks came out without me trying, but I wasn't really there.
The only thing on my mind was revenge.
I saw Remo in every face that stood before me. Every hand that waved through the air made me think of the only reason I came back to this fucking city to begin with. I'd spent years channeling every death at my hands into a figment of my imagination that didn't exist.
But when it was his turn, when Remo was begging for me to forgive him and let him live. . . I wasn't going to force that memory away. I wanted to remember it.
“Excuse me, Dante Pisani?” A voice chimed in, breaking my thoughts as a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed.
My muscles stiffened, bracing and ready to fight. But I stood still, I didn't jerk away or spin around to grab his throat. The need was there, but I held it in, bottling it up. Turning slowly, I nodded at the man, looking him up and down.
Who the fuck is this?
Yanking a badge from the inside pocket of his blazer, the man said, “Dante, I'm Detective Jones with the Hoboken homicide unit, I'm really sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you a few questions.”
He looked young, a lot younger than I would expect for a detective. His hair was cut short with a little puff spiked up on the end. He didn't have the aged appearance of a man who hunted killers and saw dead bodies on a regular basis.
Relaxing, I said, “Now's not a good time.” Turning, I swept his hand off my arm, and started for the limo.
“I understand, but we've been trying to reach you in regards to your father's death, and well, you're a hard man to find.”
“Maybe that's because I didn't want to be found.” Keeping my pace, the detective stayed right beside me, still rattling off his reverberated cop speech.
“We really need to talk to you, Dante. If you could—”
“We?” I asked, interrupting him and glancing around over his shoulder. “It looks to me like you're the only one here asking.”
Forcing a smug grin, Detective Jones cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I know you're familiar with how this stuff works, so let's make this easy, come with me and let's talk.”
“Sorry, I have someplace to be.” Holding the handle to the door, I started to open it.
The detective threw his hand on the window hard, keeping it closed. “Look, we can do this now, or I can get a warrant for your arrest and we can do this cuffed.”
Smirking, I yanked on the door, and pulled it open. “See you when you get the papers then.” Climbing into the limo, I gave him a wave and shut the door.
I don't talk to the cops. Never have, never will.
I wasn't like Sesto. They could try and scare me, they could wave their fucking guns in my face and threaten me all they wanted to. I would never talk to them, they didn't have shit on me.
And I wouldn't leave Ivy.
Interrogations take hours upon hours. I could end up there all night. No fucking way. There was no way in hell I would leave Ivy to wonder where I was, worried that something happened, afraid I might be dead.
She came first, above all else. Ivy was the most important thing to me.
And no one would get in the way and jeopardize my promise to her.
I was saving her.
The limo was quiet. My uncle had his car pick him up at the cemetery and I was happy he planned it that way. There was a small gathering going on at a little pub my father used to love downtown called The Thirsty Glass.
The place had been open for years, it was a regular hangout for my father and our family since he was young. It was the birth place of Bane Pisani, where his entire legacy had started. It was only fitting that it ended there too.
But his last heir to everything wasn't going to be present. I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable or get caught up in something I wasn't ready for yet.
Thoughts of my father brewed something else, another memory that had a tendency to float up over the years. A moment in my life when I was younger where everything changed, coming to a head in setting the stones for my creation.
For his creation.
Tapping the window that separated the driver from the back, he lowered it and asked, “Yes, Mr. Pisani?”
“Take me to the park and ride off Route Seventy Eight.”
“But, Sir, I was told to drive you to the bar.”
“No,” I barked, shaking my head sternly. “I just need you to take me to the park and ride.” Holding out a fifty, I nudged it at him through the window. “And keep it between us, can you do that?”
“I. . . I—Sir, I can't accept—”
Flipping up another fifty, I asked, “Can you do it now?”
The old man nodded, reaching back and grabbing the cash. “What wil
l I tell them, Sir?”
“Tell them I never got back in.”
Five
Ivy
“Where the hell have you been?” Folding my arms across my chest, my foot snapped out to the side. “You've been gone for hours—I thought something bad happened.”
He wouldn't look at me. Slumping his shoulders, he stepped inside the house and unbuttoned his coat. Closing the door, Dante slipped the jacket off his arms, draping it over the chair, just staring blankly at the floor.
His cheeks were sunken in, dark circles stained the skin under his eyes. He looked nothing like the man who left me only hours before.
What the hell happened?
“What, you're not going to answer me? Seriously, Dante? I've been waiting for you for five hours! You said you'd be back in two! Are you okay?” Stalking forward, I grabbed his arm and twisted him to face me. “After everything we've been through, you can talk to me, you know that.”
Lowering his head, his lips scrunched up as he just shook his head side to side and shrugged his shoulders.
“What happened?”
His hands flew up, capturing my face, holding me steady. His eyes flickered, catching the glow of the lamp. Gold ignited behind his dark brown eyes, bursting in small bright pops.
My heart skipped a beat, thumping long notes against my ribs. The way he looked at me, the love in his eyes. . . It took my breath away.
We stood there like that, just looking at each other. He wasn't speaking, his hands massaged my cheeks, fingers tickling the base of my head. I wanted him to say something, anything.
I hated the quiet between us, I couldn't stand it anymore. “I can't have you—”
His lips crushed mine before I could utter another word, his eyes open and breathing me in. My muscles went loose, body leaning in and curving against his chest. Pressing my palms against the firm muscles of his stomach, I spread my fingertips over his corded abs.
How does he do this?
How does he make me give in with just a kiss?
The kiss was long and sensual, filled with a tenderness that melted my insides. As Dante pulled away, his hands stayed firmly on my face as he finally started to speak. “When I was fourteen, my father came home one night with a box.” His eyes glazed over as his thumbs caressed my jaw. “He held that box in his arms, just staring at me for a long time.”