Old Flame: Dante’s Story by Sam Mariano

11

Colette

I supportthe weight of my aching head in my hands, spreading my fingers to glare at the radio which Dante has turned up like we’re at a rager. “Can you turn that down?”

“Why?” he asks innocently, not touching the dial.

“Because my head is pounding, I want to stab something, and you’re the nearest fleshy thing available,” I mutter back.

“Maybe next time don’t drink a whole bottle of wine while you’re cooking dinner,” he suggests.

Reaching forward and cranking down the volume myself, I offer back, “Maybe next time don’t drag me over there in the first place and then I won’t have to dilute my alcohol with blood.”

Dante smirks, and I replay what I just said.

“Shit. My blood with alcohol. Whatever, you knew what I meant.”

Dante shakes his head, a roguish smile playing around his lips. “You’re drunk.”

Shoving him in the arm, I tell him, “I need to be to deal with you.”

“I’m not so bad,” he lies.

“You are so bad. You’re the worst. You’re bossy and mean and I want to punch you in the face.”

“You can try,” he assures me. “Can’t be mad when I retaliate though.”

“And punch me in the face?” I mock.

“More like smack that pretty little ass until you’re squirming.”

My stupid body soaks up his word and turns them into heat, pooling low in my belly. I scowl at my reaction and turn my head to look out the window while I unscrew the cap of the bottle of water Cherie handed me before we left the mansion.

“Are you and Cherie close?”

I glance over at Dante and see him frown in mild confusion for a moment, like he’s not sure who I mean. “The maid’s daughter?”

“She’s Vince’s sister, too, isn’t she? So she’s your cousin.”

Dante shakes his head. “We’re not close. She’s closest to Vince. Why do you ask?”

I shrug, screwing the cap back on my water. “She was much younger last time I saw her. It was strange seeing her almost an adult. It was strange seeing everyone,” I admit, glancing down at my water.

Dante’s voice is hard in the way it always is when he’s guarded. “You mean it was strange seeing Mateo.”

It was a little strange seeing Mateo, but I’m hesitant to respond to what feels like a trap. I am mildly curious about the changes in his life since last time I saw him. I’d like to see his daughter, too, but Isabella wouldn’t even know who I am anymore. She wouldn’t remember all the times I held her, daydreaming about a time when Dante and I would have an adorable baby girl just like her.

“Adrian doesn’t come to family dinner anymore?” I ask, rather than touch the subject of Mateo.

“No. He doesn’t work for us anymore. For now, anyway. If I know my brother, he’ll find a way to suck him back in.”

My lips tug up faintly. “Probably. He’s too attached to Adrian to let him go.”

“Mm hmm,” he murmurs. “The men in my family aren’t too good at letting go of the things they’ve grown attached to.”

Smoothing down the fabric hugging my thigh, I tell Dante, “The women in my family don’t like being referred to as things.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, how presumptuous of me. Did you kidnap a toaster you were especially fond of, too?”

“It made my toast just right. Never burned it. No one could blame me.”

Despite how awful he really is, I can’t help cracking a small smile. It’s shamefully nice to fall back into a comfortable pattern like this with him.

I always felt special that Dante gave me access to his lighter side, because there is nothing light about this man. He’s a beast in every sense of the word—physically intimidating, massively built, and his insides burn dark to match the exterior. He was brought up around dysfunction and twisted up even more by the path of crime he followed. Even his friends are droll and business-oriented. Dante feels like a dark fortress to me, adept at keeping everyone out. I’m the princess he keeps locked away in his tower, and as the sole resident of his dark heart, I get to see the sides of him no one else does.

It surprises me that in all our time apart, Dante never replaced me. He couldn’t have, though. If he had, I wouldn’t be here right now.

“Tell me something,” I request, glancing in his direction. “Why didn’t you fall in love with anyone else?”

Dante’s gaze never strays from the road. “Not everyone gives their heart away as easily as you do.”

I nod my head as he intentionally insults me. “So, my love is less special because I chose to share it with someone else when I thought our relationship was over?”

“That’s right.”

He’s such a dick. “If my love is so cheap, why do you want it? Why didn’t you find someone else—someone better—to meet your needs instead of fixating on me?”

His dark eyes cut in my direction. “Oh, I had plenty of someone elses meet my needs, Colette.”

Ew. I scowl at him and a pit of jealousy opens up inside me. I try to ignore it and shut it down, but I feel everything more intensely when I’m drunk. It’s like the polar opposite of being on my meds. “And I’m the faithless whore for being in a single committed relationship with someone else. Got it.”

“You can be as insulted as you’d like. You’re the one who left my bed empty. That wasn’t my choice, it was yours.”

“And you’re the one who left my heart empty,” I launch back, shooting him a dirty look. “You’re the one who comes from the fucked up family where murdering first and asking questions later is apparently an acceptable way to deal with an errant girlfriend. I’m sorry if I wasn’t willing to risk my life to be in a relationship with you, Dante. I’m sorry that I wanted something normal and safe where I didn’t have to feel afraid all the damn time.”

“Yeah?” he asks, almost amused. “How’d that work out for you, Colette? Did you find that safety you craved?”

“No,” I snap, memories of all the times I was afraid slamming into me. “I never got to feel safe. I never got to feel like I was free. I never stopped looking over my shoulder.” Shaking my head, I tell him, “Apparently there is no life after you. Not unless you’re dead. I suppose you wouldn’t be able to hurt me then.”

“Is that what you want, baby? You want to put a bullet in my chest?”

“Sometimes,” I fling back, only halfway meaning it. “At least then I’d finally be free.”

“Would you?” he asks, rather casually. “‘Cause you thought you’d be free of me if you left me, and that wasn’t true. Maybe you’re wrong about this, too. Maybe you think you’d be free, but really you’d be damned to a life of missing me and never being able to have me again.”

The damndest thing is, the arrogant bastard is probably right. When I originally got involved with him, I had no idea he would be so much like an infection with no cure. I didn’t know that the longer I spent with his sickness, the lower my chances of ever experiencing health again. He should have come with a warning label, something to advertise that being with him meant passing a point of no return. Once you let him in, he’ll ruin you—not just for anyone else, but for yourself. You’ll never be able to leave and feel well again. You’ll become dependent on him in ways that don’t even make sense.

Dante isn’t a sickness you can shake and recover from; he’s a disease, and once he infects you, he’s with you until you die.

The really terrible thing is how much I missed his darkness when we were apart. I missed that sick feeling of needing him. When I met Declan, I liked so much about him, but there was something he lacked. No matter how much I enjoyed his company, I never needed it. His love never wrapped me up like a warm blanket; I never craved him so much I missed him when he went to work. It wasn’t unhealthy, so it didn’t feel like love.

He wasn’t the only one, either. I’d gone on lots of first dates after leaving Dante, trying to find someone else I connected with, trying to capture some other fish in the sea. No matter how many guys I met, none of them had his unapologetic roughness. No one was as confident or aggressive as Dante. They asked me too much and told me too little. Everything was too polite and nothing—nothing—was raw.

Dante was raw. He may be brutal and mean, he may do things I hate, but nothing matched the animalistic need we felt for each other when we were together. I don’t like the tickle of it I feel right now, thinking of him with other women. I’m not a violent person by any means, but if he armed me and pointed his finger at some random woman who occupied my side of his bed while I was gone, I’d shoot her dead.

Mine.

No, Colette.

I worked too hard to pull myself out of this toxicity the first time, I won’t let him pull me back in.

Attempting to shake it off, I do my best to remember the healthier life I got used to living without him. I don’t know how I’ll hold onto it when he’s forcing me to live with him, but I have to find a way.

Normal may have been far less exhilarating, but it was also less dangerous and heartbreaking. I need to stay tethered to the world where murdering people for pissing you off is not okay.

The real world is vanilla, not death by chocolate.

Mm, now I want cupcakes.

“Can we go to Francesca’s bakery?” I inquire.

Dante glances over at me, one dark brow rising in surprise. “It’s Sunday. The bakery is closed.”

“I want cupcakes,” I inform him.

“We can stop at the store and get stuff for you to make your own cupcakes,” he offers.

“That’s fine. I probably need to be supervised so I don’t burn myself on the oven though. I had a lot of wine.”

“I think I’m qualified to keep an eye on you,” he assures me.