Amara stood still beside the wall, her knees slightly shaking at the elevated height, as he straightened. Damn if the fact that he still towered over her didn’t have her lady bits tingling. She didn’t understand what had just happened. She wanted this man. She wanted to do naughty, wicked things to him and have him do naughty, wicked things to her. Her panic didn’t make sense. But then, it rarely did.
“I’m sorry,” Amara whispered, feeling her stomach twist, hating that she didn’t know if her refusal would make this her last opportunity to experience something like this with him.
She should have known not to underestimate the man Dante Maroni had become.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Amara,” he took a hold of her fingers and tugged her towards the center of the room on her tottering heels, supporting her weight, tapping something on his phone before pocketing it. “That’s not how this works.”
The opening trails of a song filled the room as he pulled her in, pressing her flush against his body, one hand holding hers, the other on the small of her back, in a familiar way he held her when they danced.
“How does this work?” she swallowed, asking his shoulder.
“It works with you stopping me when you need to, and me stopping. Or you telling me to keep going, and me going on. Simple as that.”
“And if I keep stopping you?” she voiced the one fear she had.
“Then I stop. No questions.”
Amara pressed her nose into his shoulder, inhaling that woodsy fire scent of his that she loved, feeling heady, feeling beautiful, feeling loved.
He began to sway them softly at first, and she tightened her hold on his shoulder to keep her balance.
“Let go, Amara,” he lined his lips with her ear, speaking the words against her lobe, his mouth brushing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Let go of everything inside your head,” he continued speaking, guiding her forward, then back. “Feel. Just close your eyes and feel. The music. This moment. Me.”
Amara felt her eyes flutter close, her heart racing. “What if I get hurt?” she whispered into his jacket.
He pulled back so she could see him, his eyes solemn, soft, sincere on hers. His face dipped closer and he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.
“Then, I’ll kiss your scars.”
And just like that, the little of her heart she’d been holding onto was his.
That night, they danced. That night, they talked.
He told her how he wanted to buy the gallery one day in honor of his mother. She told him of her dream, of helping people heal. He told her about the pink-haired girl he’d had to kill. She told him she’d seen him bury the body. He told her about his brother and his love for building things. She told him about Nerea and how she was slowly accepting her.
He didn’t kiss her below the neck again. She didn’t ask him to.
That night was perfect.
And then, the morning came.
Amara waited in the woods, outside the shack where she had seen him years ago.
She was going to tell him about his father’s offer and let him handle it, as her mother had said.
She saw him walk out of the path, dressed in perfectly ironed grey pants and a black button-up, his sleeves folded over his forearms, his eyes on the shack behind her. Something dark passed in them before he looked at her, his face more stoic than she was used to.
“What happened?”
The hope inside her fluttered a little, but she pushed it down. “Your father made me an offer yesterday.”
She saw him frown before nodding at her to go on. She did, recounting the whole meeting, the offer, the threat, everything. With each word, something dark fell over his face. With each word, the vein on the side of his neck throbbed. With each word, his beautiful dark eyes got more and more closed.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the shack behind her, silent once she was done.
Realization dawned on her. It was the same place he’d had to kill Roni. Shit.
A strong wind moved through the trees, pushing her hair around, chilling her arms. The clouds remained overhead, casting everything around her in a gloomy glow. Amara pulled at her scarf out of nervous habit, before stopping herself, the silence making her antsy.
Dante clenched his jaw, before finally spearing her with a look she had never seen from him.
And she knew.
He was going to break her heart. After all the promises, after everything, he was going to be the one to break her.
“It’s a good offer,” he said simply, and Amara felt something in her chest splinter.
She took a deep breath, looking down at the ground, her hands fisting at her sides.
“Even if I could risk my brother, which I can’t, my father’s right,” he told her, his words chipping small, little pieces inside her, “I’m young right now. One day, I’ll have to take over and marry someone more suitable for my status. That’s not a future for you. You can have a better life away from this place, Amara.”
How many times did people break before they stopped mending? The pain in her heart enveloped her body. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know herself. But god, it hurt. And while Amara wasn’t a stranger to pain, this one was another kind entirely, the kind that made her want to drop to her knees and howl at the unfairness of this, the kind that made her want to slap him across the face for daring to make her hope.
She stayed standing, hands fisted at her sides, keeping her eyes glued to the ground, the thin layer of snow, and the plants that were suffocating under it.
“I’m sorry, but I think we both lost sight of that,” his voice was harsh as he continued, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t look up. Now right now. “We’re not a love story. We’re a tragedy in the making. There’s no happy ending for us. I feel that you have a better future ahead of you, and you should take it.”
Each word hit the nail harder, not into her coffin but into her flesh, leaving it bleeding and raw and open.
Darkness frayed around the edges of her vision, her jaw hurting from keeping it closed tight. Amara closed her eyes, pushing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, willing the little trick to work.
Don’t let him see. Don’t let him see. Don’t break.
She should have known. She should have known they were too good to be true. Hadn’t she said to herself that girls like her didn’t end with guys like him? She should have never let herself believe the madness he had weaved into her soul.
“You should leave,” he told her.
She was going to. She was going to leave and never see him again.
Keeping her face to the ground, Amara walked away from the clearing without a word, wondering if there would ever be an end to the pain, realizing that there wasn’t much difference between true evil and true love. They snuck up on the vulnerable, gripped them by the throat, and left a realm of ruin behind.
Dante had been to Shadow Port previously for work and he was going again in two days, but it was the first time Tristan wanted to accompany him. He said it was because he wanted to look at some property in the city, but Dante knew he wanted to spy on the little Vitalio. Over the years, he had seen the man fall deeper and deeper into an obsession that would have been unhealthy had it not been the only thing sustaining him.