“Dante,” I whispered, unsure what I wanted to say.
“I’ve kept my distance because I promised myself I wouldn’t complicate your position in our household. Marco needs you too much.”
“Is that the only reason?”
His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch was feather-light.
“No. I also know I’m not an easy man to care for. My life is…”
He paused, searching for words.
“Complicated. Dangerous. Not what someone like you deserves.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Shouldn’t that be my decision?”
Something flared in his eyes, hope perhaps, or desire.
“Be very sure, Ellie. Once you cross this line, there’s no going back. Not in my world.”
I knew he was right. Whatever was happening between us would change everything.
The rational part of my brain screamed caution. It reminded me of newspaper headlines about Dante Russo, of hushed conversations that stopped when I entered rooms, of armed guards and panic buttons.
But there was another part of me, the part that had watched him read bedtime stories to Marco, that had seen the pain in his eyes when he spoke of his son’s future, that had felt the careful restraint in his every interaction with me.
That part was not afraid.
“I know who you are,” I said quietly. “I’ve seen enough to understand the world you live in. I’m still here.”
For a long moment, he simply looked at me, as if memorizing my face. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.
The kiss was gentle at first, a question more than a demand. But when I responded, sliding my hands up to his shoulders, it deepened, becoming something urgent and overwhelming. His arms encircled me, pulling me against him as if he had been wanting to do so for months.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine.
“You should know that I don’t do anything halfway,” he said, his voice rough. “If you’re mine, Ellie, you’re mine completely.”
The possessiveness in his tone should have alarmed me.
Instead, it sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
“And you?” I challenged. “Does it work both ways?”
A smile, genuine and unguarded, transformed his face.
“For the first time since Sophia died, I think it might.”
As we stood there, the city spread out below us like a carpet of stars, I knew I had made my choice.
I had entered Dante Russo’s world for Marco’s sake, but I would stay for my own. Whatever dangers that entailed, whatever complications arose, I would face them.
Because somewhere along the way, this strange, dangerous man and his dinosaur-loving son had become my family.
And family, as Dante Russo would say, was everything.
