The Bastard’s Betrayal by Katee Robert
Chapter 3
Three months later
Rose Romanov lookedgood in white.
Dante studied the pictures in front of him, his hand going to touch the new scar on his shoulder from where she shot him. In the photos, she stood on a short platform in the middle of a shop, dressed in a fancy-ass wedding gown. Her long dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and her lips were painted a fuck-me red that made his cock twitch, but the real showstopper was the dress itself. It hugged her body, showing off her perfect tits, wide hips, and bitable ass. She looked like a pinup girl getting ready to walk down the aisle.
She hadn’t been bluffing.
She really did plan to marry that bastard Romeo Capparelli.
Romeo was a savvy fucker, and he’d seen an opportunity to press his agenda. An opportunity Dante provided. He’d been sent to New York for recon and to figure out whether or not there was a Romanov-Capparelli alliance on the horizon…with the secondary aim to disrupt it. He’d spent a month watching the Romanov family before deciding Rose was his in. If he could get close to her, he could potentially influence her against the Capparellis. But he couldn’t do it as himself.
So, Jackson Smith was born.
“Dante.”
He bit back a sigh. His uncle was still furious he’d managed to fuck this up, but the old man would get over it eventually. Dante wasn’t finished in New York. “I’m not coming home yet.”
“It’s over,” he snapped. “You made your play, and you fucked it up to the point where the Romanov bitch is marrying the Capparelli heir. Great fucking job with that. You’ve also managed to stir up Kirill and his people here. It’s your mess, and you need to come back and deal with it.”
Did Lorenzo realize how weak he sounded? What kind of leader couldn’t deal with a little skirmish on his own? Yeah, he was getting up there in age, but with each year that passed, he seemed to become more unstable. More cowardly. He wanted his big, bad attack dog back home to deal with the scary Russians.
Every time the power balance waffled, he sent in Dante to make an example of some poor fuck and scare their enemies back to their own territory. He’d gotten predictable, and it bored Dante.
He wasn’t coming home until he had what he wanted. Or, more accurately, who he wanted. “I’ll be home once I wrap up a few things here,” he finally said. “Have Matteo deal with things until I return. He’s your heir.”
“And you’re my strong left hand. It’s your job to keep these fuckers in line.”
It wasn’t anything he didn’t know. He’d been the strong left hand from the moment he turned sixteen and Lorenzo handed him a gun and told him to take care of the kneeling man at their feet. A traitor, though Dante couldn’t remember what he’d specifically done. Maybe his first kill should have meant something, but he’d felt nothing at all. It turned out he was good at it, which suited his uncle perfectly.
His gaze tracked to the photos of Rose. “If you and Matteo can’t handle a little dustup with Kirill, then my cousin won’t be holding the territory long after your death.” Matteo didn’t have a problem with cowardice, but saying as much would just give his cousin more trouble. Lorenzo lashed out when he got pissed, and Dante wasn’t close enough to direct his fury.
Lorenzo sputtered, and then his voice went low and deadly. “Listen to me, you little shit. I pulled you out of the gutter after your whore mother offed herself. I gave you our family name and raised you like my own son. You will obey me and get on the next fucking plane home.”
Dante welcomed the wash of red over his vision. His mother had died when he was fourteen, an accidental overdose. It had taken another year before Lorenzo appeared and hauled him in. None of it would have happened if Lorenzo himself didn’t throw her out when she got knocked up and ruined his plans to marry her off to secure some alliance, but he liked to keep that little bit to himself when he went on these guilt trips.
They never worked. The old man might have taught Dante plenty, but Dante had more than paid any debt, and he’d never forget where the cycle of suffering started. He hated Lorenzo, but offing the old man wasn’t his play to make.
“Lorenzo.” He didn’t bother to warm up his tone. “I’m not some naive sixteen-year-old anymore. You talk to me like that again, you bring up my mother again, and I’ll kill you myself. I said I’ll be home when I’m ready, and I will. Deal with your shit on your own for once.” He hung up.
His family’s petty feuds were understandable, if predictable. His grandfather and Romeo Capparelli—the current Romeo’s grandfather; the Capparellis liked to name their firstborn sons Romeo—used to be friends. Or so the story went. It reeked of fairy tale by this point. Each family had their own version of events, about how Romeo married off his little sister to Dante’s grandfather and she died a within the first year. Verduccis claimed accident. Capparellis claimed murder. The truth didn’t matter. The Capparellis drove Dante’s grandfather out of New York, drove them off the East Coast entirely. He went back to Italy, married another mob scion’s daughter, and took over a section of LA.
Maybe the feud should have ended there, but his people loved nothing more than to hold grudges and nurse them like they were children. It wasn’t long before the Verduccis were feuding with the LA Romanovs, too.
Dante, frankly, didn’t give a fuck.
The entire Verducci clan could rot, for all he cared, with one notable exception. His cousin, Matteo. It was Matteo who effectively held his leash, not Lorenzo. And Matteo was playing a deeper game than anyone. Eventually he’d get tired of his father wasting valuable resources and put a bullet between his eyes. Not a day too soon, from where Dante stood.
He picked up the photo of Rose again. She looked different than she had the entire time they dated. They’d both been playing their respective roles, and he’d enjoyed the fuck out of mining the truth from fiction when she shared things with him. She was so fucking clever, and her mundane persona was nearly as good as his was. She might not have realized the depths of the game they played, but she was no wide-eyed naive innocent.
Now the veil had been torn away and there was only the truth between them. Going forward there would only ever be the truth between them.
Anticipation curled through him. It had been a very long time since he’d felt anything but apathy. Things followed their planned course, and he did what was expected of him, going through the movements. He liked his life just fine. He bought what he wanted, had his pick of people to fuck, and killed anyone who got in his way. No one surprised him. Not when people were so damned predictable.
Rose surprised him when she shot him. Oh, he’d known she was capable of it. She wouldn’t have maintained her position as Romanov heir if she wasn’t willing to get her hands dirty.
But she shot him.
He’d seen her mask fall away in that moment, the regret and fury and something unknowable in her hazel eyes. Even with that regret, she hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger. She hadn’t let her emotions dictate her actions. She’d used cold, ruthless logic and done what needed to be done.
Dante respected the fuck out of that.
He couldn’t enjoy the revelation, though. Not when she immediately turned around and put Romeo Capparelli’s engagement ring on her finger. The second she signed the contract and kissed him in a church full of their people, she was beyond Dante’s reach.
Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to happen. She was the first romantic partner to surprise him, to challenge him, and he wasn’t ready to let her go, engagement to another man or no.
He picked up his phone and typed out a text.
Get the jet ready. I’ll be coming in hot.
* * *
Dante studied the church.He didn’t get why they’d decided to hold the wedding outside of the city, but he had to admit the little building on the hill in the country looked like something out of a picture. It didn’t make sense. This was the kind of place the girl Rose had been pretending to be would want to get married in. Not the furious woman who looked him in the face when she pulled the trigger.
In the three months since she shot him, his girl had been busy wedding planning. Dante didn’t have much experience with weddings beyond showing up for the party, but it seemed like it should have taken longer. From his vantage point, he counted a dozen enforcers around the perimeter of the church, all obvious in their ill-fitting suits and tense stances. Three families of importance would be here today. Four, technically, though it had been a long time since people talked about the Sheridans in Boston without attaching the O’Malleys to their name.
There were so fucking many of them. Rose had six O’Malley aunts and uncles, and most of them had wed and bred. The Capparellis were just as bad, and the Romanovs even worse.
Ivan from Texas was here, still big and healthy-looking despite the fact he had to be in his seventies. Kirill was here with his family, too, so Dante didn’t know what his uncle had been bitching about. Even Sasha from Seattle had shown up, and he never left his territory.
Dante’s hand hovered over the gun holstered at his hip. It was a long shot, but he’d made longer. Removing Kirill Romanov would be satisfying in the extreme. Dante didn’t have the same fervor for family the way most people in this life did, but even he would sleep better with that man six feet under. Kirill was smart and brutal, and Lorenzo was rapidly losing ground to him. The old man just wasn’t good enough. That would change when Matteo took over, but if Dante could take care of the problem for his cousin…
No.
The time wasn’t right.
He had other priorities today.
Dante dropped down from the branch he’d perched on and cut through the copse of trees to the north. There weren’t enough to qualify this as a forest, but it was more than enough to provide cover. The security guards were sticking close to the buildings themselves, especially as night fell.
From the information he’d gathered, Rose would be getting ready in the little cottage-looking thing next to the church. It was like something out of another life with its charming white wooden walls and stained-glass windows. There was even a gravel drive that circled it, the easier to make a quick getaway. The whole thing was a security risk, but apparently tradition superseded security for this event. Good. He typed out a quick text to his man waiting in the car.
Be ready.
Dante switched his phone over to the surveillance device he’d planted in the bridal suite last night. It had taken some time to dodge security, but ultimately he’d done it inside an hour. Pathetic. If he’d wanted to hide in a fucking closet at that point, he could have massacred the entire bridal party this morning in one fell swoop.
Really, he expected better of both Romanov and Capparelli.
His phone gave static for a moment, but it cleared almost immediately into a flurry of women’s voices. He knew the names, knew the faces, but he had only met Rose, so could only guess at the identities of the other speakers.
“Are you sure?” The speaker had a dry tone that was just as empty as Dante’s normally. “It’s not too late for me to put a bullet between Romeo’s eyes.”
“No. I’m going through with it.” There she was. Rose. He smiled a little at how irritated she sounded. “Besides, it would make more sense to kill him after the wedding and make me a widow.”
“Except it wouldn’t make sense at all.” This one sounded sweet and innocent. A feat for a mafia princess. “Mama and Papa negotiated a decent prenup, but if one of you dies mysteriously—or violently—then the consequences are hefty.”
“Thank you, Sasha. I most definitely wouldn’t have realized that on my own.”
They devolved into squabbling, and he turned down the volume and rounded the corner. The twilight gave the area an expectant edge, or maybe that was just his anticipation coloring everything. It was almost time.
“I need a minute.”
He clued back into the conversation with interest. Rose sounded frazzled as fuck. Good. She cursed when her sisters tried to question her. “Just a fucking minute, okay. Just…I’ll be out when it’s time to walk down the aisle. I just need to get my head on straight.”
Dante grinned. Damn, she really was making this easy on him, wasn’t she? He slid behind a tree with direct view of the door in time to see a cluster of women leave. There was Anya, the likeliest owner of the cold voice, and Sasha and Lorelei, women who could have been twins, with their plump bodies and sweet faces. Next came Keira Romanov. He’d seen pictures of her when she was younger, and she used to look nearly identical to Rose with her petite frame, dark hair, and hazel eyes. Time had softened her, thickening her waistline, and smudging her sharp jawline. She was still a beauty, though.
Last came one of Rose’s aunts on her mother’s side, Carrigan O’Malley. She had to be sixty, but she still strode like she was walking on a runway. This was a woman who owned every space she strode into. A woman who was dangerous. She turned a sharp gaze on the trees, and he moved back into the shadows, holding his breath until she turned and headed for the church.
Keira motioned to the enforcer near the corner of the building. “Escort her to the church when she’s ready.” She looped her arm through her sister’s, and they disappeared into the growing darkness.
Dante waited thirty long seconds before he moved. He tossed a rock in the opposite direction. Predictably, the enforcer turned toward the sound. It was the last thing he did. Dante rushed up behind him, pressed his gun to the man’s back, and pulled the trigger twice. The silencer did its work, and the man barely got a gurgle out before he collapsed. Dante eased the body to the ground, took a moment to straighten his cuffs, and typed out a quick text to his driver.
Now.
It was time to go get his girl.
He didn’t bother to knock. He just opened the door and stepped into the suite. It was a fucking mess. Makeup and clothes were scattered across every available surface. It looked like a bomb of girly shit had gone off. And in the middle of the chaos stood Rose herself.
“I said I need—” She looked up and met his gaze in the full-length mirror in front of her. She was wearing the same dress she’d tried on three times at the fancy little shop, the one that hugged her curves and looked like someone had spilled diamonds over her body. Her dark hair was styled up, leaving her long neck exposed. She even had a fucking veil pinned.
Dante didn’t like it. No, that was too mild. He fucking loathed it.
She turned slowly to face him, and he raised his gun. “Move slowly, Rose. Don’t try to go for that gun in the drawer.”
“Seems you’re familiar with the place.” She lifted her hands slowly, which only served to show off the dress even more. Christ, she was flawless. A perfect body, a gorgeous face, and ice water running in her veins. If the circumstances were any different, he’d enjoy this moment immensely.
But Rose wasn’t dressed to perfection to walk down the aisle to him.
The thought of Romeo fucking Capparelli peeling this dress off her body had Dante seeing red. “What the fuck were you thinking choosing this one?” He motioned at the offending garment. “Do you want every man in that place to picture fucking you?”
Her brows winged up. “Half of the men in that place are related to me. But as for the rest?” She shrugged as much as she could with her arms raised. “Why stop with the men?” Her voice was perfectly even and in control, as if she faced down her exes holding guns on her every day. “I don’t know what you’re aiming to accomplish, but it won’t work. If you kill me, you’ll have the entire Romanov family, both stateside and in Mother Russia, gunning for you. Not to mention the Capparellis might decide to stop pussyfooting around and finally stamp out your clan for good.”
He made an impatient motion with the gun, and she flinched. “Turn around, Rosa. Put your hands at the small of your back.”
She considered him for a long moment. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you d—” He lunged forward as she dove for the gun hidden in the vanity drawer. She was quick, but he was quicker. Dante caught her around the waist and yanked her back against his chest. She started struggling but immediately went still when he pressed his gun to her temple.
Fuck, she smelled good.
He shook his head sharply. Not yet. Patience.
“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Even now, even shaking in a way she couldn’t hide, she still managed to sound dry and unimpressed. Dante clasped her throat in a rough grip and turned them to face the mirror. She was breathing a little too fast, but she didn’t look away. He raked his gaze over the gown one last time. “I’m going to enjoy cutting this off you.”
“Do it, and you won’t live to see the dawn.”
“You had your chance to end this. It’s my turn now.”
She tensed even more. “It’s bad luck to kill a bride right before her wedding.”
Dante laughed. “I’m not going to kill you, Rosa. I’m going to claim what’s mine.”
