Chapter 3 - The Apartment with No Curtains
Dante moved me into a penthouse that night.
I refused.
He ignored me.
That established the tone of the next forty-eight hours.
“I have an apartment.”
“It has one lock.”
“It has three.”
“One can be opened with a credit card.”
“That happened once.”
“That should not strengthen your argument.”
We stood inside an enormous apartment overlooking Manhattan.
Glass walls.
Marble kitchen.
Furniture so clean it looked unused.
I folded my arms.
“I am not staying here.”
Dante removed his coat.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
Relief lasted one second.
“You may stay at my townhouse.”
I stared.
“You are impossible.”
“I have been told.”
The diner shooting had made the news.
Police called it random street violence.
I knew better.
Bellini Development belonged to Matteo Bellini.
Dante's rival.
According to Dante, Matteo had been searching for leverage.
And I had apparently become leverage because Dante had eaten terrible pie three times.
“This is why people don't date mobsters,” I said.
Dante looked up.
“We are dating?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“Acting charming while I'm terrified.”
The humor disappeared.
“I am sorry.”
That stopped me.
He meant it.
“Clare, I never expected Matteo to notice you this quickly.”
“That implies you expected him to notice eventually.”
Silence.
I stared.
“Dante.”
“I should have stayed away.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn't.”
“Why?”
He crossed the room slowly.
Not threatening.
Careful.
“Because the first night I walked into that diner, every person looked at me like they were afraid I might punish them for breathing incorrectly.”
His eyes held mine.
“You looked at me like I was an inconvenience.”
“You ordered espresso in a diner.”
“I deserved it.”
I almost smiled.
He continued.
“I have spent fifteen years surrounded by people who tell me what they think I want to hear.”
His voice softened.
“You didn't.”
“So that makes me interesting?”
“It makes you rare.”
My heart betrayed me with one heavy beat.
I turned toward the windows.
“No curtains.”
“What?”
“This place has no curtains.”
“The glass is privacy-treated.”
“Normal people still enjoy curtains.”
“I will buy curtains.”
“I don't want you buying me anything.”
“I meant for the apartment.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“You can choose them.”
I laughed despite myself.
That night I slept in a bedroom larger than my old apartment.
Or tried.
At two in the morning, I found Dante in the kitchen.
He stood barefoot in black pants and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up.
No gun visible.
No guards.
For the first time, he looked almost like an ordinary man.
“What are you doing?”
“Making tea.”
“You drink tea?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“You haven't slept.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“I heard you walking.”
“You were listening?”
“The entire apartment is quiet.”
He handed me a cup.
Chamomile.
I hated that he had guessed correctly.
We sat at the kitchen island.
“Tell me about Bellini.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Our fathers were partners once.”
“What happened?”
“My father betrayed his.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It wasn't.”
“What kind of betrayal?”
Dante looked into his tea.
“He arranged for Bellini's father to be arrested.”
“Why?”
“To take his territory.”
I blinked.
“And you inherited the feud.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want it?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
“Then end it.”
“If it were that simple—”
“It is simple.”
He looked at me.
“No, it isn't.”
“Men always say things aren't simple when the simple answer requires giving up power.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I expected anger.
Instead, Dante studied me.
“My father would have hated you.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
“Very much.”
The next morning, I received a phone call.
Tommy.
“Clare?”
He sounded terrified.
“What happened?”
“Someone came looking for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“A woman.”
That was not what I expected.
“Name?”
“She said Elena Caruso.”
Dante, standing across the room, froze.
I covered the phone.
“Who is Elena?”
His face had gone hard.
“My mother.”
My mouth opened.
“Your mother went to my diner?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
That was a lie.
I could tell.
“What aren't you saying?”
Dante looked away.
“Clare.”
“What?”
“My mother believes every person close to me eventually becomes a weakness.”
“Comforting.”
“She has spent my entire life removing weaknesses.”
Something cold moved down my spine.
“What does removing mean?”
Dante didn't answer.
The elevator chimed.
Security moved in the hallway.
Then a woman entered.
Elegant.
Sixties.
Black dress.
Silver hair.
Perfect posture.
She looked at Dante.
Then at me.
Her eyes traveled from my borrowed shirt to my bare feet.
“So,” she said.
“This is the waitress.”
I stood.
“Clare Murphy.”
“I know who you are.”
Dante stepped between us.
“Mother.”
“Don't.”
Her voice was quiet.
She placed a folder on the table.
“I came to show Miss Murphy what loving you costs.”
I looked at the folder.
Dante went pale.
“Elena.”
She slid it toward me.
Inside were photographs.
A beautiful young woman.
Blonde.
Smiling beside Dante.
Then another photograph.
A car destroyed by an explosion.
My stomach turned.
“Who is she?”
Dante didn't answer.
His mother did.
“His fiancée.”
I looked at Dante.
Elena's voice became colder.
“She died because someone wanted to hurt my son.”
The room disappeared around me.
Dante whispered my name.
But I was staring at the burned car.
Suddenly the bullet through the diner window felt very close again.
Elena looked directly at me.
“You think Dante is interested in you.”
She paused.
“He is.”
May you like
Then she delivered the part designed to destroy me.
“And if you stay, someone will eventually kill you for it.”
