Morana nodded, still grinning. “Okay, but I’m helping you plan the wedding. I’ve never been to a wedding!”
Amara realized with surprise she hadn’t either. The first wedding she was going to attend would be her own.
Tristan raised his glass. “To hope.”
Coming from him, Amara truly felt it bubbling in her heart. Hope.
Alessandro ‘Alpha’ Villanova was one reclusive motherfucker. Who the fuck stayed on the edge of the fucking Amazon?
Dante felt the sweat collecting on his brow as he got out of the black jeep that had picked them up from the airport and driven them through Los Fortis to the outskirts of the city, to the point where he had started to wonder if these guys meant to dispose of him and Tristan in the jungle. He could see Tristan was on alert too, but silent as they jumped out of the vehicle and onto one of the largest compounds he had ever seen. Dante had thought his compound on Tenebrae was big and green but this one felt endless, stretching as far as the eyes could see, situated on a plateau that dipped into the vast ocean of green on the east side, the only access road connecting to the city on the west.
“Follow me,” one of the henchmen who had picked them up, a tall, lanky guy with African heritage led them up the concrete pavement closed by climbing trellises on the sides. The scents of tropical flowers infused the air around them, the sounds of birds chirping close by a musical cacophony.
Dante was impressed, and it wasn’t easy to impress him. As a courtesy, as it was when any leader wanted to enter the territory of another, Dante had had a meeting arranged with this man, curious to meet him but wary. The fact that the property he and Tristan had infiltrated had been registered in his name didn’t win him any points, but Dante also knew how easy it was to use something in someone else’s name. Keeping his mind open for the moment, and ignoring the fact that he’d tried to possibly make a move on his woman, Dante gave Tristan a nod and both men followed the guy.
The trellises ended with the pavement and Dante came to a stop, his eyes looking upon one of the most spectacular creations he had ever seen. Just twenty minutes away from Los Fortis, Alessandro Villanova had built himself a compound the likes of which Dante had never seen.
There were three tiers to the entire compound, the bottom one with at least ten or more small brown cottages around the incline, with sloping, red-tiled roofs that had faded to a light sandstone color. A three-story grey building was to the side on that tier, the only flat-roofed structure in the place. The second tier had bigger and fewer cottages, in the same brown and red, spaced out by lush green flora with colorful flowers. And on the top tier was a huge grey mansion of bricks and glass, with wide terraces on either side of the mansion, and a large curved pool that started beside the terrace and probably extended to the back.
If places could give people hard-ons, this one would top the list. The seclusion, the exoticness, the views, the savage grandeur, it was all combined together to be a private sanctuary to a small army, an empire hidden from the plain eye.
“Fuck,” Tristan muttered from his side, taking the place in, and Dante felt that. Shaking his head, he took in the various people milling about the first tier and climbed up the stone steps that led from the ground to the top. Just living here was one serious workout.
By the time they had climbed to the mansion, Dante could feel the sweat inside his suit. But fuck, just the view was worth it – the city in the distance on one side, and vast stretches of dark forest on the other.
The henchman led both him and Tristan to a seating arrangement on one of the terraces, and Dante clocked in the lack of any security on this level.
“He’ll be with you in a minute,” the henchman said and left them alone, descending the stairs they had just climbed. The stairs were the sole point of access that he could see.
“No security,” Tristan commented, on the same page as him.
Dante nodded, pushing his hands in his pockets and staring at the view. The air at this level was cold but slightly humid. “How did we never know about this place?”
Tristan came to stand beside him. “It’s pretty peaceful here. Reminds me of these honeymoon resorts Morana keeps showing me.”
Honeymoon resorts. The guy was talking honeymoon resorts. Pigs really had to be flying somewhere in the world.
Dante turned to consider the other man. “You think you’ll ever go on a honeymoon with her?”
Tristan stared out at the lush landscape. “I don’t think she actually expects us to. Not right now, anyway. The thing with the Reaper hit her hard. For now, she’s coping by distracting herself with travel plans after Luna, and I’m letting her. She’s processing.”
Dante felt his lips lift. “You’re whipped.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
Dante grinned, looking out at the cloudy sky. “I’m happy for you, you little shit. For both of you.”
Tristan stayed silent for a beat. “You and Amara doing okay?”
“What, you’re giving me relationship advice now?”
He shrugged. “Communication and shit are important in relationships.”
Dante looked at him in surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with Tristan?”
He saw the fucker’s lips twitch.
The sound of dogs barking had them both turning to see three large German Shepherds behind the glass doors, a giant man walking towards them. Dante rarely met anyone larger than he was, but this guy had a few inches over him, both in height and thickness. Dark black hair wavy around his fucked up face, an honest-to-god eye patch over one eye, the man screamed danger and dominance in ways that had Dante’s predatory instincts come to the fore.
He put on the façade that had served him the best – the suave gentleman whom people tended to underestimate. People expected the Dante Maroni – the Wall of the Tenebrae Outfit, the son of Bloodhound Maroni, and grandson of Iceman Maroni – to be one vicious, arrogant, brutal motherfucker. He was all those things. But the suits, the manners, the charm always fooled them.
The giant guy nodded to them both, extending one large, scarred hand towards him.
“Alpha,” he spoke in a gruff voice, his one eye a dark gold, assessing them both. “Welcome to Los Fortis.”
Dante shook his hand firmly. “Dante Maroni. This is Tristan Caine.”
Alpha nodded to Tristan and waved them both to the covered area on the terrace with bamboo furniture. They all sat down, the dogs inside settling against the glass, watching their master and the strangers.
“Quite a place you’ve built yourself here,” Dante commented, breaking the silence.
Alpha just smiled, only one side of his lips and cheeks moving, the other permanently pulled down by the scar that ran under his eye patch. He was a survivor, this guy, and Dante had immediate respect for anyone who’d gone through shit to come out the other side.
An old lady with weathered skin came out with a tray from the other side of the terrace, carrying steaming mugs of coffee and snacks. She gave all three of them a smile, speaking in her lilting accent. “The coffee is a local specialty. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Leah,” Alpha told her, his voice warming fractionally. Dante wondered for a second if he should drink or refuse, but Alpha told him. “I don’t poison guests, Mr. Maroni. That’s not my style.”