Old Flame: Dante’s Story by Sam Mariano

6

Dante

I expectto have to deal with Colette’s temper when we get home, in fact I’m almost looking forward to it, but now that she’s mentioned needing Valium, I look at her calm sadness a little differently.

I don’t like Colette drugged up and foggy. I’ve seen the men in my employ use that method of controlling the girls we sell, but the idea that I let Colette go back to the outside world where she was supposed to be safe from those risks and it happened anyway when I wasn’t there to protect her? Un-fucking-acceptable. I’m even more satisfied I killed that useless lawyer fuck now. Clearly he was not a man and couldn’t take care of her, regardless of what Colette convinced herself.

I look over at her again, listlessly staring out the window. This is not the Colette I left behind. My Colette knew her place, certainly, but that’s not what this is. This isn’t natural. This isn’t respect or submission or even going along with something she actually fucking likes, this is just… I don’t know, but I don’t fucking like it.

I tell myself she just needs to sleep off the drugs her aunt gave her, sleep off the shock of today. Even though I hate like hell to admit it, what she’s been through today is probably enough to traumatize anyone. It won’t last forever though, and once it runs its course, I’ll have my Colette back.

By the time we make it back to my house, Colette is asleep. I pick her up and she stirs, but rather than react like I’m her enemy, she curls her arm around my neck like she used to and murmurs, “I smell violets.”

She sure as shit does not. A little thread of affection winds its way around my heart. “You want me to get you some violets?”

“Mm. I like violets,” she murmurs before her head drops heavily onto my shoulder.

I know she’s only being pleasant because she’s high and half-asleep, but hearing the tone of her voice sound the way it used to when she talks to me makes me feel so fucking good. Even though this might get off to a rough start, I know it will all be worth it in the end when Collette is mine again—heart, body, and soul.

God, I can’t wait. I wish we could fast forward to that part, to her softness, her sweetness, the loving way she had about her. I spent so many nights missing her tender touch, and now she’s finally back in my bed, even if she doesn’t want to be here.

I put her down on her side of the bed and she tucks her hands under her face. Her eyes are closed and she’s still in that godforsaken wedding dress, but I want to hold her while she’s not in a position to fight me. Sometimes I like a little fight, but not right now.

I ease down on my side of the bed, kicking off my shoes and sliding closer to Colette. I wrap my arm around her, ignoring the scratch of the rough fabric that makes up her dress, and yank her back against me.

A soft little moan escapes her and she rests her hand over mine. A hot surge of lust goes straight to my cock at the sound of it, at the feel of her receptive to my touch. On impulse, to free her from the tight confines of the gown, I start undoing the pearl buttons that go down the back.

My intention is only to loosen the dress so she can sleep more comfortably, but the sight of her bare back is so irresistible, I have to lean down and place a tender kiss against her skin.

Colette sighs and moves restlessly. I should stop bugging her and let her sleep despite the swatch of white lace I can see now, despite my desire to further undress her, to peel off that lacy bra and take her beautiful tits in my mouth. God, it’s been too long. I almost let her go and ease back off the bed, but then she turns her face toward me and sighs softly as my hand brushes her back.

Fuck me. My cock strains against the crotch of my dress pants. I roll her over just to see what will happen, climb on top of her like I used to. I’m close enough that she barely has to move her arms to reach me and when she grabs a fistful of my black jacket and a fistful of my dress shirt, I assume the jig is up and she’s about to lay into me.

Her eyes drift open, but I can see she’s still not right. Half-asleep, dazed, not really with me. There’s a dreamy look on her face like she’s happy to see me, and that sure as hell wouldn’t be there if she were fully awake. I wait to see what she’ll do, then get a shock when she yanks me closer to her body and nuzzles her face into my neck.

“Beautiful wedding,” she murmurs, almost incoherently. “Oranges on top of…” I wait for her to finish, but she trails off and slings an arm around my neck. I don’t do the decent thing and wake her up—I let her pull me in for a kiss I don’t deserve. I’ve been craving the taste of her for so damn long, I can’t even remember a time I wasn’t waiting to feel the soft brush of her lips again.

She’s not as passionate as she usually is, given her state. It’s like I’m rousing her with my lips, kissing her awake. I’ve done it before, back when she welcomed such a thing, but I know I’m probably pushing my luck right now.

I just don’t care. Colette’s lips soften beneath the brutal, crushing stamp of my mouth on hers. I’m not here to be tender, I’m here to mark what’s mine, and that’s my mistake.

The roughness of my kiss rouses her. I catch her gasp against my mouth, then she lets go of my clothing, unhooks her arm from around my neck, and starts shoving at the solid mass of my chest.

“What are you—Get off me, Dante!”

Rather than get off her, I grab her wrists and trap them against the mattress on either side of her. “What if I don’t want to get off you?”

Her blue eyes flash angrily, and that spark of real emotion pleases me, even if the emotion is negative. “I don’t care what you want,” she tosses back. “Just like you don’t care what I want. This isn’t a relationship anymore, it’s captivity, and I’ll be damned if I let you forget it.”

“Well, if you’re my captive, I might as well treat you like one, right?” Just to get a rise out of her, I grind my cock against her, a coldly dispassionate enough look on my face that her expression shifts through several emotions—shock, panic, then a glimmer of real fear. She opens her mouth, an inaudible denial on her lips, then closes her mouth again, just like she did back at the house when I threatened her aunt.

“No, I suppose you would,” she says, just as dispassionately. “Well, go on, then. If you’ve brought me here to use me like a whore, go ahead and do it—just don’t expect me to care for you this time, because I won’t.”

There’s my little stick in the mud. I could smile, but I don’t; that would alert her that the threat isn’t real, and I feel like playing with her. Reaching down like I’m going to unbutton my pants, I tell her, “Well, as long as I have your blessing…”

Alarm jumps in her eyes again and my facial expression nearly cracks. “That was not my blessing,” she says, hurriedly. “I’m not—I’m on birth control, but I don’t have it with me. If I can’t keep taking it, it won’t be effective.”

That drains the faint trace of humor right out of me. My blood boils thinking of Colette going to get birth control so she can fuck somebody else. I’m glad she was careful and didn’t want to have his babies at least, but he shouldn’t have had his hands—or any other body part—on her to begin with.

I struggle to rein it in because there’s no point making things worse, but I don’t want to. I want to make her hurt the way that hurts me. I want to paint her a picture using excruciating detail. I want to tear off this godforsaken wedding dress and tell her that Declan’s death wasn’t quick and painless, that the impact from the crash didn’t get the job done, and the way his car rolled didn’t kill him, it only crushed vital organs so that when Luca climbed down to check on him, he could see the pained way her fiancé struggled to draw breath. I could tell her about the relief on Declan’s stupid fucking face when he saw Luca, thinking someone was there to help him get back to her, and I could tell her instead, I had my guy finish the fucking job. It was practically a mercy killing at that point. Not what I wanted, personally, but Luca talked me out of killing him myself. He knew I’d be too angry, and anger makes people sloppy. Plus, in case anyone asked questions about Declan’s death once I took Colette back, I needed to have a solid alibi.

As long as Declan ended up dead before he married Colette, it didn’t matter how it got done. Still, I kinda wish I’d done it myself. Kinda wish I could hold up the hands that ripped him apart and make Colette kiss each fucking knuckle, showing me her repentance for daring let another man touch her.

Of course, I wouldn’t get that right now, either.

Covering her body with mine, holding her captive beneath my weight, I lean down and drag my lips across her jawline. “What’s wrong, Colette? Don’t want to have my babies anymore?”

She turns her head trying to escape me, but she can’t. “Stop it, Dante.”

“What if I treat you the way you say I’m treating you?” I ask, kissing her cheek even as she struggles against me. “What if I take you anyway? What if I take you every night until I do put a baby in you?”

Gasping as she shoves uselessly at me again, she says, “I’m not playing these games with you.”

“It’s not a game. This is your life now,” I tell her, calmly, my grip on her wrists tightening as she struggles harder. “Will you hate my baby like you hate me?”

Tears glisten in her eyes as she looks up at me like I’m being unspeakably cruel. “Stop it. Stop perverting my old dreams.”

I shrug my shoulders like her words don’t matter to me. “You know it’s in my blood, Colette. I don’t need your consent to take you, to keep you, to make you mine. You know I don’t.”

“You’re not as cruel as your—” She stops again, her expression unfocused for a minute, then she looks me dead in the eye. “Actually, maybe you are.”

Colette knows enough about my family history to know I’m the son of a monster, but she also knows that unlike my brother, no fiery hatred for the old man burns in my gut. I’ll admit the old man did some horrible things, but he had his reasons so I’m not gonna judge him. While the comparison to my father is a clear insult, it doesn’t burn me the way it would if she said it to someone else.

My brother, for instance. Mateo despises our old man, but he has more personal reasons than I do. There were things Dad did to hurt Mateo and his loved ones that he never did to me. Mateo has never been easy to love. He was a weird kid who grew up to be a dangerous man—a king in his own right, his power more or less unchecked. When we were just kids, though, our dad earned a permanent spot on Mateo’s shit list when he cost him the friendship of the only person Mateo knew he could always count on—our maid’s son, Adrian Palmetto.

He works for us now, but only by way of coercion and Mateo’s clever knack for manipulation. Adrian hates Mateo, but he has his reasons and he still serves the family loyally, so I don’t have a problem with the guy for his personal feelings.

My big brother, though. He claims not to hold grudges, but sometimes he makes exceptions. When he does, his vengeance is fatal if you’re lucky, catastrophic if you’re not.

Currently he’s sitting on Dad’s throne, running Dad’s family, while our old man battles terminal illness. If it were possible to give someone a terminal illness intentionally, I would assume Mateo did. I don’t complain though because I like the way Mateo runs things, the leeway and power he gives me that our father never did. Our dad clutched his control in a tight, greedy fist. Mateo delegates—mostly to me—to free up his own time for the aspects of the business he prefers, like cushioning our bottom line and growing our portfolio of legitimate businesses.

Since taking over, my brother has busied himself multiplying our already massive family fortune, making it look so damn easy I wonder why our dad didn’t try harder. Sure, we always had plenty growing up, but the only thing better than a lot of money is a lot more. I always thought Dad was a good businessman, but Mateo is far better. Smarter, more focused, more in control of his emotions and much less impulsive. He got the best of both of our parents, I guess, and our dad got the worst of his.

When it comes to love and women, especially, our father’s legacy is famously horrendous. Only woman he ever claimed to love ended up dead by his hand—a path Mateo has already followed once, and if my instincts are as good as they usually are, a path he’s probably about to head down again.

Not me, though. I’ve never killed a woman I was romantically involved with. Colette is the only woman I’ve ever really loved, and I damn sure wouldn’t kill her.

I’d hurt her, though. I already have. A nobler man would have let her move on and marry someone else if that’s what she wanted, but I’ve never claimed to be a noble man.

At least the worst is over. Now that she’s here with me again and I know mine are the only hands touching her, I can wait for her to stop being pissed at me.

You wouldn’t know the worst is over by the hatred in her eyes as she looks up at me right now, but it’s better than her numbness. Somewhere in there I know she’s still the same old Colette, because even though she means it right now when she insists she hates me, even though she wants to wound me like I’ve wounded her, she won’t say those hateful words. Regardless of how great her anger at me is right now, she won’t proclaim hatred for our unborn babies.

Colette’s deliberate thoughtfulness is one of the many things I love about her. A lot of people will say things they don’t mean in anger. Colette doesn’t. If by some chance she did, it would gnaw at her until she apologized and assured me she didn’t mean it. It’d kill her to do it, but she wouldn’t be able to help it.

One of the perks of loving someone so much my opposite.

I’ll always be able to outmaneuver her pretty little ass.

The thought brings a smile to my face. Colette misinterprets it, probably figures I’m taunting her, but really I’m just happy she’s here. She’s seen more of my smiles than anyone else so she should know when it’s a real one, but right now she’s pissed off and she sees what she wants to see.

Glaring up at me, trying again to shove me away, she huffs and struggles, then finally stops and holds my gaze. “Are you done? I’m tired.”

Best thing I can do is let her get some sleep. The sooner she sleeps off her grief, the sooner she can get back to accepting that she’s mine. “For now,” I tell her, nodding once.

“Good. Get off me.”

That time, I do.