Broken Promises Page 10

  Dante sat on the bed buckling the wristwatch I gave him on Christmas morning. Droplets of water fell from his hair to the white, long-sleeved jersey he wore, and the smell of his cologne lingered in the air. Dante, not wearing a business suit, was a rarity. Sometimes he wore a pair of sweats and a t-shirt when we were home alone, but ninety percent of the time, he favored his suits.

  Now, seeing him wear that white jersey, and a pair of black jeans, I caught myself staring. The dress-down look did nothing to belittle the authority, and power emanating of him; nothing to decimate the aura of importance, and ruthlessness. It was visible in his eyes and the way he carried himself.

  “I sent Grace shopping when we were in Dallas.”

  “Grace?” I spun around, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s Grace?”

  A satisfied smirk was his first answer. “Hide your claws, cutie. She’s our new maid. Marie quit.”

  “Where was she yesterday?” My eyes narrowed as I watched him get up and cross the room to help me put a cardigan on. “And why did Marie quit?”

  Dante shrugged, then spun me around, and brushed my hair away, kissing the nape of my neck. He laced his hands across my chest, then rested his forehead on the back of my head, and exhaled slowly, making the hair on my back stand.

  “Why are you afraid of me, Layla?” he asked quietly, hugging me a little tighter. “Have I scared you? What did I do?”

  I tilted my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m not afraid of you. Where did you get that idea?”

  “Don’t lie.” He spun me around, annoyance tainting his features. “You were afraid at the hospital, you were afraid at the hotel, and you shuddered this morning when I found you in the kitchen.”

  He put on a suit jacket, and I took the opportunity to sit on the bed, my heart pounding because the time had come to talk, to explain, and put the past where it belonged.

  “You stopped disagreeing with everything I say, you don’t talk back, you hadn’t even rolled your eyes at me yet. You didn’t protest when I told you to sleep in that see-through nightdress.” He sat beside me and pulled me onto his lap as if sitting arm in arm wasn’t close enough. “You’re scared of me. And I don’t understand why.”

  My eyes fell to the cream carpet and stayed there while I searched for the right words.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I began quietly. Dante brushed his fingers against my cheek and gently turned my head so I’d look at him. “I’m scared to be without you. I’m afraid I’ll somehow push you away.”

  “You burnt the toast,” he smirked, though didn’t look amused. “I won’t put you out the door for that. Neither for this nor for anything else.”

  I knotted my fingers around his neck, leaning my cheek against his shoulder.

  “Don’t be mad. Just give me some time to come to terms with everything I’ve done.”

  All his muscles hardened under my touch. I didn’t want to talk about that night, but it was inevitable. We had to go through it to come out on the other side and move forward without doubts.

  Dante slid me off his lap and stood, taking a few steps toward the large French doors overlooking Lake Michigan. He was tense and serious, and my hands grew cold.

  Maybe he had a point. I was afraid of him a little. Of his reaction, words, and rejection.

  “I won’t tell you nothing changed. Or that your betrayal didn’t hurt,” he started, standing with his back to me, looking out the window. “I was determined to leave you be. I tried convincing myself you belonged in the past and I should leave you there because you didn’t deserve forgiveness.”

  His words were like little pins stuck in a Voodoo doll, which closely resembled me. I didn’t blame him for how he felt or what he said despite his words hurting more than I wanted to admit.The fact he didn’t hate me was a statement to the purity of his feelings. But regardless of how much he loved me, this conversation had to take place if we were to ever clear the air.

  Still, every sentence coming out of his mouth felt like a slap across my face. A well-deserved slap.

  “But I couldn’t do it,” he continued, turning around. “I physically can’t hate you, star. You demolished my hierarchy of values , and high jacked every one of my thoughts when you walked into Delta the first time. You knocked me out of the comfort zone, and then built me up changing the outlook I had on life, changing my focus point, and since then everything revolves around you.”

  He spoke slowly as if such a blatant manifestation of feelings was alien to him. It probably was. Dante was thrifty with words. He was a man of action – better at showing than telling. Now not only did I hear how much he loved me, but I saw it in his eyes too.

  “I don’t want you scared of me or scared that I’ll ask you to leave.”

  I was ashamed that the need to earn Frank’s acceptance remained my priority for so long. Until the very end, I was determined to kill the only person who loved me selflessly.

  “Turn the table. Wouldn’t you worry? I lied for months…” I uttered, avoiding his eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course, it does!”

  I hid my face in my hands, feeling powerless, and all-out furious. His forgiveness was what I hoped for, but the way he tried to brush off what happened wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

  It made me think he didn’t really understand; that he didn’t acknowledge or process my deceit. And he had to, or else I’d forever worry that at some point it’d resurface, and we’d fall apart.

  “Don’t ignore it. Don’t act like it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

  “I didn’t say that. It was. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I don’t need to relive it over and over to accept, forgive, and forget. It’s in the past. Leave it there.”

  I shook my head a firm no, and Dante frowned, growing annoyed in sync with me.

  “I have to explain,” I said, holding his gaze. “I want you to know why I agreed to help Frank, and why I didn’t tell you when I realized I loved you.”

  “I know why you agreed,” he huffed, resting his back against a dressing table. “You told me how much you lacked attention and love. I can add two and two together. I also know that if you weren’t afraid of my reaction, you would’ve told me.” His green eyes seemed to look right through me. “And we’re back to square one. You’re afraid of me. You were afraid for a long time, and you still are. I guess you just hid it better before.”

  A bitter scoff came from me, and made Dante cross his arms, his patience hanging by a thread. At least we were getting somewhere. The hint of accusation in his voice was exactly what I was after.

  We both needed to shout a little, we needed to place the blame, let go of the animosities, and draw a clear line between the past and present if we wanted to avoid the repressed emotions ever backfiring at the least convenient moment.

  “I’m not a good actress. You saw what you wanted to see,” I scoffed, blame dripping from the tone of my voice like blood drips from a wound. “A pretty face, a damaged mind, a scared, scarred girl in need of attention. A virgin…”

  Dante’s jaw worked, and he gripped the table with both hands, his knuckles white with the effort. I was hitting all the right spots, but he fought to stay calm.

  “Don’t do this, Layla,” he said, but it was too late.

  The atmosphere already changed. He looked like a grenade without the safety pin, and every one of my words brought his countdown closer to a spectacular bang. I was afraid to see his fury unleash, but I’d rather get the blast now, then wait for it for years to come.

  “A tool to get back at Frankie,” I continued. “You liked showing me off. Rubbing me in his face like a trophy, feeling like you were winning.”

  Dante pushed away from the dressing table, halting my rant. The hair on my neck stood to attention, and heart picked up the pace while I braced to see all of his colors.

  But he showed me none. He crossed the room, clenching his fists at the sides, and left without slamming th
e door as I expected him to.

  “Don’t ignore me!” I shouted and rushed to follow him downstairs. “Stop acting like you’re okay with it because I can see you’re not. Say what you need to say, and we can move on!” I caught his arm, halting him at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t pretend it didn’t happen!” I screamed and watched him turn around. “Tell me I’ve hurt you, that you don’t trust me, that I don’t deserve you. Tell me something. Anything. Just don’t act like you don’t care!”

  Dante grabbed my wrist in one hand, and tugged hard, forcing me down a step, and straight into his arms.

  “Shut your mouth,” he hissed, pushing me against the wall, and bending down to get eye level with me, still clenching both of my wrists in one hand. “Do you really think your betrayal means anything in the face of what happened since?”

  He wasn’t shouting, but he didn’t have to, the tone of his voice conveyed emotions loud and clear. Anger radiated off him in hot waves.

  “It doesn’t. You chose me,” he finished, sealing my lips with a forceful kiss. “Listen to me now, because I’ll say it once and as it befits your beautiful mind I expect you to accept it.” He let go of my wrists, and moved his hand to my face, ghosting his fingers across my cheek. “For two weeks you weren’t mine and the very awareness that you weren’t, drove me half insane. I can’t and won’t let you leave me again. Never. You’re mine, star. You belong to me. Now and always. Understood?”

  There was something about the way he spoke that had me swell inside. It sounded like the most natural and obvious thing that I was his and was always supposed to be his.

  “You killed your father because you love me. Now I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you because I love you.”

  My throat turned dry, and lips parted. I could count on one hand how many times I heard these three words in my life, and I was certain Dante was the first to mean what he said.

  I knew he loved me. I’ve felt it for a long time, but to know and to hear are two different things. Pleasant heat spilled under my skin, and a smile tugged on my lips.

  “Again,” I pleaded.

  He smirked, shaking his head. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know. You accused me of loving you some time ago.”

  “Of course, I knew.” I pecked his lips. “You did a half-assed job hiding it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

  I sighed a dreamy smile on my face, no trace of the anger boiling in me three minutes ago. “Repeat it. Please.”

  “I love you. And I want my feisty, sassy star back, Layla. I’ve got something for her.”

  He dragged me back upstairs, and sat me on the bed, moving away toward the nightstand behind my back. I heard the familiar sound of a gun being tucked into a holster and frowned.

  Dante came to stand in front of me, ran his fingers through his messy hair, and crouched down, placing one hand on my knee. He held the other one open. A small, black box sat on top of it, revealing a ring with a diamond the size of a pea.

  “You already have one, but this is the engagement one.”

  I looked at the small, red, satin box and felt like I was going to be sick. Thousands of thoughts flooded my head like lava floods everything in its path after the volcano erupts. A cold sweat washed over me. I wanted to cry, shout him in the face to take it, that I didn’t deserve a ring; that I was a traitor and the worst plague he came across, but I couldn’t. I swallowed the words and halted the tears while my heart was trying to break. I had a man of my innermost dreams next to me, and I couldn’t keep him.

  Dante pressed his cheek to my temple. “It’s not what you think,” he said, amused. “I mean, yes, it’s a ring, but not an engagement ring.”

  And I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or if my heart finally broke.

  This time I felt joy, pride, and excitement. And love. More than I could handle. More than Dante could accept.

  I looked from the ring to his handsome, content face. No hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He was calm and confident in that sexy, arrogant manner of his. He didn’t ask the question, and he didn’t have to.

  I was his. Now and always.

  And I was about to throw myself into his arms when one potential explanation for the sudden, extraordinary proposal sprung to mind.

  “Clever,” I said, taking the ring out of the box. Regardless of the reason, it was mine and was supposed to look pretty on my finger. “You don’t touch the boss’s wife, right? You hope at least the ones who respect the unwritten rule will refrain from hunting me down if I marry you?”

  “If?” he chuckled, kissing my forehead. “You don’t have a choice. And you know you’re too smart for your own good? It didn’t cross my mind, but it isn’t stupid. Few bosses respect the rule, especially when it comes to big money, but I know some who do.” He raised from the crouching position and grabbed my hand, pulling me up with him. “The ring is yours because you’re supposed to be Mrs. Carrow, not Miss Harston. I hate your surname.”

  I climbed on my toes to reach his lips. “And I will be Mrs. Carrow, but only after the hit is closed.”

  ☐

  Carlton waited for us downstairs, and just like all of Dante’s men, he acted as if I never left. He was giving Dante a hard time, making fun of his protectiveness while checking my stitches, and making sure the bruises and cuts were healing at an expected rate.

  “She needs a pill too,” Dante said when Carlton finished.

  I raised my eyebrow in question.

  “You’re not wearing a patch, cutie, and it’s not like we used other protection the past two days. I’m not getting you pregnant now.”

  My cheeks turned hot when I realized what pill he had in mind. And because he so blatantly spoke about our sex life with both Carlton and Grace in the room. She polished the marble countertops, avoiding eye contact with me since Dante introduced us. I guess she could sense I didn’t like her. She was young, pretty, and Dante adored her.

  What was there to like?

  Dante and I were so hungry for each other at the hotel and then all day yesterday I hadn’t paid any attention to the fact we didn’t use a condom. We only did the very first few times we had sex, and then Carlton put me on a patch. The ‘have you got protection’ catchphrase never rooted in my brain.

  Dante considered me for a second, standing by the kitchen sink, sipping the cold coffee, a frown making an appearance.

  “Forget it.” His tone clipped authoritative. “Don’t even ask.”

  “What?” I frowned, not understanding his sudden annoyance.

  “No.” He took a step forward, pointing a finger. “And that’s the end of the conversation.”

  Grace’s ears perked up, and she chanced a glance in our direction, then averted her gaze when I caught her red-handed. I raised an eyebrow focusing on Dante, annoyed by his behavior and Grace’s presence.

  “Don’t boss me around or I swear to God...”

  “No,” he cut in, and blood boiled in my veins. “This one thing is out of the question, Layla. We’re not even going to talk about kids for a few more years.”

  “Stop interrupting me!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. “You’re not my father; you’re not my boss. You’re my fiancée, so start acting like one.”

  I didn’t have to point out Dante’s new status, but I couldn’t help the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head because of Grace. The enormity of my betrayal blew my insecurities out of proportion.

  Dante exhaled, squeezed the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes as if fighting an internal battle.

  “You’re too young,” he muttered, and then his eyes flew open. “Fuck it.” He crossed the room crouching in front of me and placing his hands on my legs. “Fine. You want a baby, you’re getting a baby.”

  I glanced at Carlton, who watched our exchange with a frown, which did little to hide the mild amusement and confusion. He shook his head as if to say he had no idea what was going on.

  He wasn’t the only one.

&nb
sp; The look on Dante’s face was both – soothing and disturbing. He was willing to scrap whatever plan he had for us for the near future based on my whim. And selfishly, I cheered inside knowing he put me and my happiness on a pedestal.

  “If you’d stop interrupting me I’d tell you I don’t want a baby.”

  He studied me for a second, then his shoulders relaxed.

  “Good,” he pressed his lips to my knuckles. “You’re too young.”

  “My imminent death poses a bigger problem than my age.”

  “You’re safe. I told you no one will touch you. And I told you to stop worrying.”

  Easier said than done.

  THIRTEEN

  LAYLA

  Grace walked into the house, and a cheerful “good morning!” reverberated throughout the peaceful space.

  Her face fell when she realized I was the only one home.

  She only smiled when Dante was around, and it infuriated me beyond reason, but as long as she kept her hands to herself, I didn’t attack. It wouldn’t be half-bad if he didn’t like her, but he did. A lot.

  “Good morning,” I said, crossing my legs. “Start upstairs today.”

  If she wanted to snap, she didn’t let it show. She nodded and climbed the stairs, leaving me alone to pace around the living room and keep glancing at the clock on the wall.

  Dante left half an hour ago to meet some high-profile hacker Jackson had found, hoping he’d be able to track Morte. So far, we were in luck. I’ve been back in Chicago for five days, but no one tried to kill me yet. It’d prove troublesome considering the armed army, vicious dogs and bulletproof windows in the house I wasn’t allowed to leave.

  I sighed, putting my cell on the table. What was taking Julij so long?

  For three days I begged Dante to let me visit Jess. Be that as it may, she was my mother, and since my future had a big question mark written all over it, I wanted an opportunity for a healthy, peaceful conversation, a few answers and burying the hatchet. Maybe even a chance to build our relationship from scratch – without Frank’s authority and meddling.