I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence before he crossed the room in two long strides and gripped my arms.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded. He scanned me from head to toe, his expression tight.
What…the robbery. Of course. He was the CEO. Someone must’ve told him what happened.
“I’m fine. A little shaken, but fine.” I forced a smile. “You’re supposed to be in California until tomorrow. What are you doing home early?”
“There was an attempted robbery at one of my flagship stores, Vivian.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Of course I came back right away.”
“But the Santeri deal…”
“Is closed.” His iron grip remained on my arms, strong yet gentle.
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The day had been surreal, made all the more surreal by Dante’s sudden appearance.
It was only then that I noticed his rumpled shirt and tousled hair, like he’d been running his fingers through it.
For some reason, the visual made my eyes blur with tears. It was too human, too normal for a day like today.
Dante’s fingers tightened around me. “Be honest, Vivian,” he said, the words somehow both comforting and commanding. “Are you okay?”
Not are you hurt, but are you okay? Two different questions.
Pressure built inside me, but I nodded.
His eyes were a dark storm, his face etched with lines of anger and panic. At my response, skepticism joined the mix, soft but visible.
“He held you at gunpoint,” he said, his voice lower. Tauter. Promising retribution.
The pressure pushed against my eardrums, an invisible force dragging me deep beneath a turbulent ocean.
My smile wobbled. “Yes. Not the…” I eased a deep breath past my tightening lungs. Don’t cry. “Not the highlight of my week, I must admit.”
Dante’s body vibrated with tension. It lined his jaw and coiled beneath his skin, like a viper waiting to strike.
“Did he do anything else?”
I shook my head. Oxygen thinned by the second, making each word difficult, but I pushed forward. “Security got there before anyone was hurt. I’m okay. Really.” The last word pitched higher than the rest.
The muscle in his jaw ticked again. “You’re shaking.”
Was I? I checked. Yes, I was.
Tiny trembles rippled through my body. My knees quaked; goosebumps peppered my arms. If it weren’t for the warmth and strength of Dante’s hold, I might’ve collapsed on the floor.
I noted these things with detachment, like I was watching myself in a film I wasn’t particularly invested in.
“It’s the cold,” I said. I didn’t know who turned on the air-conditioning in November, but my room was a meat locker.
Dante stroked my skin with his thumb. Concern pooled in his eyes. “The heat is on, mia cara,” he said softly.
The pressure expanded to my throat.
“Well, then, it must be broken.” I rambled on, my string of useless words the only thread holding me together. “You should get it fixed. I’m sure you could get someone here soon. You’re…” Something wet trickled down my cheeks. “You’re Dante Russo. You can…” I couldn’t breathe properly. Air. I need air. “You can do anything.”
My voice cracked.
One crack. That was all it took.
The thread snapped, and I broke down, sobs wracking my body as the emotion and trauma of the day overwhelmed me.
The high of the Legacy Ball news followed by the terror of the robbery.
The thud of heavy boots against the marble floors in that cold, stark room.
The metal against my skin and the unshakeable sense, that if I died today, I’d do so without ever having lived. Not as Vivian Lau. Not as me.
Dante’s arms wrapped around me. He didn’t speak, but his embrace was so strong and reassuring it erased any self-consciousness I might’ve had.
The turbulent waters closed overhead, drowning out the light.
They tossed me back and forth until my body shook from the force of my cries. My stomach hurt, my eyes ached, and my throat was so raw it hurt to breathe.
And still, Dante held me.
I pressed my face against his chest, my shoulders heaving while he rubbed a hand over my back. He murmured something in Italian, but I couldn’t decipher what he said.
All I knew was, in the icy aftermath of the robbery, his voice and embrace were the only things keeping me warm.
Dante
“You got blood on my shirt, Brax.” I rolled up my sleeves, hiding the bloodstain in question. “That’s the third strike.”
He glared at me, his expression mutinous beneath the blood and bruises. He was tied to a chair, his arms and legs bound with rope. He was the only one of his accomplices still conscious.
The other two slumped in their seats, their heads lolling and their blood hitting the floor in a steady drip, drip, drip. Several of their limbs bent at unnatural angles.
“You talk too much.” Brax spat out a mouthful of dark red liquid.
Brax Miller. Ex-con with a mile-long rap sheet, balls of steel, and a brain the size of a walnut.
I smiled, then hit him again.
His head snapped back, and a pained groan filled the air.
My bruised knuckles stung. The room jokingly dubbed the Holding Cell in my private security headquarters smelled like copper, sweat, and the thick, cloying scent of fear.
It was two days after the attempted robbery at Lohman & Sons, longer than we’d ever held someone. My police contacts turned a blind eye to my activities because I saved them time and manpower, and I knew when to draw the line. I’d never killed someone.
Yet.
But I was really fucking tempted right now.
“The first hour was for trying to rob one of my stores. The second…” I held out my hand. Giulio placed something cold and heavy in my palm, his face impassive. “Is for threatening my wife.”
My fist closed around the weapon.
I normally let my team handle these unpleasantries. Robbery, vandalism, disrespect. They were unacceptable but impersonal. Nothing more than crimes to be punished and examples to be set in the most brutal and, therefore, effective manner possible. They didn’t require my personal attention.
But this? What Brax did to Vivian?
This was fucking personal.