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“Away from you!” I shout, my voice cracking as I throw open the door and step into the large, unfamiliar space. Unsure of which way Aydin and I came from, I take the next right, fully expecting Dante to follow me. But he doesn’t.
A winding staircase down and two right turns later, I find myself lost, the labyrinth of corridors seemingly endless. What kind of house is this anyway? I mutter, as I start to retrace my steps, my fingers trailing along the cool, smooth walls. Most doors have no handles, only sleek black handprint panels that mock me with their inaccessibility, a reminder of the world I’m not privy to.
The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of my bare feet on the carpet and the pounding of my heart. Where is everyone? I strain my ears, thinking I hear faint sounds—a deep chuckle, maybe—but I can’t tell where exactly they’re coming from.
Finally, sick of it all, I crumple to the carpeted stairs, my body shaking with sobs. It seems like ages ago that Kira talked me into going to Resin nightclub, a distant memory from another life, a life that was falling apart but a life nonetheless.
“Addy.” Dante’s voice is gentle as he suddenly appears beside me. His hand reaches out to comfort me, then he thinks better of it and lets it drop to his side. “Tesoro, I’m not destroying your life. I’m saving it.”
“It doesn’t feel that way, Dante.”
Dante moves to the door opposite the staircase and places his palm against the sleek black panel on it. It swings open. He holds out his hand to me. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”
Seeing no other choice, I follow him into the room. It’s a large space with a seating area off to the side where a rich gold velvet chaise longue sits. A pool table dominates the center of the room, with cue sticks lined up along the wall.
Dante leans against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes never leaving me as I drop into the velvet chaise lounge. “Until I know who was behind the blast, Addy, it has to be this way.”
I shake my head, trying, and failing, to clear the fog of irritation. “But you said Kira knows the truth. Why can’t my dad be told too? He may be a liar, but he doesn’t deserve this.” I remember the sheen of tears in his eyes the last time I was home. No matter what, he was still my father for eighteen years. “He’ll be devastated, Dante.”
“No doubt he will be,” Dante agrees, but there’s a hard edge to his voice. “In fact, the entire Boston Irish Mob will be devastated. Although vengeful and bloodthirsty is a more apt description of how they will react.”
My spine stiffens as I welcome the familiar buzzing in my ears, that white noise that signals to me that it’s time for me to bail, to leave a conversation I don’t want to face. But this time, Dante seems to pin me in place with his piercing gaze, his eyes intense and unwavering, and I’m unable to move a muscle, my body frozen under the weight of his stare. It appears I am being forced to confront the truth that I refused to face the last time I spoke to Dad.
Still, I balk, my mind grasping at straws, desperate for any way out of this reality. “Dante, I’m talking about my dad, and you’re going on about some Irish Mob. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.” My voice wavers, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears.
Dante’s stare remains unwavering, his eyes boring into mine. “Baby, you do. Your father masquerades as an accountant, a paragon of morals, but deep down, you’ve always known. Tell me that even before finding out about the counterfeiting, you didn’t know there was a darkness in him.”
“I-I . . .” My voice trails off, my throat constricting with emotion.
“Benjamin O’Shea is not only a high-ranking member of the Boston Irish Mob. He’s the second in command.” Dante’s words hang in the air, the truth of them settling over me like a heavy blanket.
I stare straight ahead, frozen to the spot as my world turns over again for what seems to be the tenth time in the past twenty-four hours. My heart races, my palms go slick with sweat as I try to process this new reality. After a few moments, I feel the seat dip as Dante sits next to me and pulls me into his arms, his warmth enveloping me like a protective cocoon, the scent of him both comforting and overwhelming.
“I can’t believe . . . How is this my life?” My words are muffled against his chest. But deep down, I know Dante is right.
“Baby, this has always been your life. You just weren’t living it.” As if to emphasize his point, Dante’s fingers graze the scar over my hip, the touch sending a shiver down my spine.
My mind reels with the implications of his words. “How long have you known all this?”
Dante’s fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Addy, haven’t you wondered why every time you’ve stepped into Chicago, the Irish Mob goes crazy? That day you came to Ecolab, the Irish showed up because of you.”
I shake my head, clutching at straws, but the memories come, hitting me hard and fast. Dad’s lies. His instructions to stay away from Chicago and the warning that there was much more he needed to tell me.
“Why? Why would they follow me around?”
“Your father’s orders, I imagine. Remember when I told you that we and the Mob don’t get along?”
I nod woodenly, recalling how he’d pulled the car over to tell me this. His eyes had bored into mine, his expression so earnest, as if he’d expected me to understand.
Dante continues, “After that night we broke up, a war broke out between us and lasted for months, until Benjamin came to draw a truce.”
“My dad came to see you?” I sputter, my eyes wide with shock.
He nods. “He wanted to negotiate new terms of peace. He also told me to back off because you were his daughter and that you were promised to someone else.”
For the longest time, I can’t say anything, my mind struggling to process this new information. Finally, I find my voice. “He lied. I’m not engaged to anyone.”
Dante doesn’t look convinced. “Yes, an engagement would require that you know about it. But your father and his goons are not the most transparent sort. If you were promised to some mobster, there’s a good chance he won’t tell you.”
