Chapter 4 - The Morning After the Monster Woke UpEmily Davies woke at 6:17 a.m. in a bed that probably cost more than her apartment building.
For several seconds, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and attempted to remember why she was surrounded by charcoal linen, floor-to-ceiling windows, and enough expensive minimalist furniture to make an interior designer weep.
Then she felt the weight around her waist.
Dante Marino was asleep beside her.
Not dead.
Not armed.
Not issuing orders.
Asleep.
Emily remained perfectly still.
This was somehow more alarming than watching him execute a man.
Dante slept on his side, one arm wrapped around her middle with the unconscious possessiveness of a man guarding something valuable. His face was softer without the cold control he wore during the day. The lines around his mouth had relaxed. His dark hair was slightly disordered.
He looked almost normal.
That was disturbing.
Emily carefully lifted his wrist.
His arm tightened.
“No.”
His voice was rough with sleep.
Emily froze.
“Excuse me?”
“Stay.”
His eyes remained closed.
“Mr. Marino, it is 6:17 in the morning.”
“Dante.”
“What?”
“If you’re in my bed, you are not calling me Mr. Marino.”
Emily looked toward the ceiling.
“This seems like an extremely inappropriate moment to negotiate workplace titles.”
One dark eye opened.
There it was.
That faint, dangerous amusement.
“Good morning, Emily.”
She hated the warmth that spread through her chest.
“Good morning.”
Dante pulled her closer.
She planted a hand against his sternum.
“I need coffee.”
“There’s a kitchen.”
“I inspected your kitchen last night. You own a $900 knife block, imported olive oil, three kinds of mineral water, and a coffee machine that belongs in a motel conference room.”
Dante’s mouth twitched.
“You criticized my appliances before kissing me.”
“I had priorities.”
“You kissed me while I was bleeding.”
“You were leaking on imported marble.”
He laughed.
Quietly.
The sound moved through his chest beneath her palm.
Emily went still.
She had heard him laugh twice before. Both times had occurred after people nearly died.
This was different.
No blood.
No violence.
No terrified guards watching their boss malfunction.
Just morning light and rumpled sheets.
Dante noticed her expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Emily.”
She sighed.
“I’m still getting used to that.”
“To what?”
“You sounding human.”
A shadow briefly crossed his face.
Nine years.
She saw it immediately.
The memory of all the years he had not laughed.
Emily regretted the sentence.
Dante did not.
He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Then get used to it.”
His voice was quiet.
“I intend to do it more often.”
Emily looked away.
That was much too intimate for 6:19 in the morning.
She slid from the bed.
Dante let her go reluctantly.
Her clothes from the previous night had been cleaned, pressed, and placed neatly across a chair.
Emily stared at them.
“When did someone do that?”
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
“You have a housekeeper?”
“Three.”
“Of course you do.”
“She’s been with me for fifteen years.”
Emily lifted her skirt.
There was no trace of blood, dirt, or apartment-floor dust.
“She came into this room while we were sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Emily turned slowly.
Dante was sitting against the headboard, looking completely unconcerned.
“And you did not think to warn me that a member of your domestic staff might enter while I was unconscious?”
“She knocked.”
“I was unconscious.”
“I answered.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Somewhere downstairs, a woman now knew exactly what had happened between the famously dead-inside head of the Marino syndicate and his secretary.
This was a disaster.
“I’m moving to another country.”
“You don’t have a passport.”
Emily’s eyes snapped open.
“How do you know that?”
Dante smiled.
“Background check.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The certainty in his voice was infuriating.
Emily dressed in the bathroom and emerged twelve minutes later looking almost exactly like the woman who had left the office yesterday.
Almost.
Her hair was pinned up.
Her blouse was buttoned to the throat.
Her gray skirt had been pressed.
But there was a faint bruise at the base of her neck.
Emily stared at it in the mirror.
Then at Dante.
He had the decency to look pleased rather than apologetic.
“You are buying me concealer.”
“I’ll buy you the cosmetics company.”
“I need one tube, not a hostile acquisition.”
Dante rose from the bed.
Emily deliberately looked away while he dressed.
She failed after approximately four seconds.
The man was built like violence given human form.
Scars crossed his ribs and shoulder.
One longer mark ran diagonally beneath his left shoulder blade.
Emily had seen enough medical invoices from the syndicate’s private doctors to recognize what several of them represented.
Bullets.
Knives.
Fragments from the car bomb.
Dante buttoned his shirt.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m conducting a visual risk assessment.”
“Of my back?”
“Occupational hazard.”
He stepped toward her.
Emily immediately raised one finger.
“No.”
Dante stopped.
“You are not kissing me again before coffee.”
His expression became thoughtful.
“This is apparently a serious rule.”
“It is the foundation of civilized society.”
Thirty minutes later, Emily stood in Dante Marino’s kitchen with Mrs. Alvarez.
Mrs. Alvarez was approximately sixty, compact, silver-haired, and entirely unimpressed by the criminal empire surrounding her.
Emily liked her instantly.
“You’re the secretary,” the older woman said.
Emily looked at Dante.
Dante was reading messages at the breakfast counter.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at the bruise on Emily’s neck.
Then back at Dante.
“Yes,” she repeated dryly. “Secretary.”
Dante nearly choked on his espresso.
Emily closed her eyes.
This house was intolerable.
Mrs. Alvarez handed Emily a cup of coffee.
Real coffee.
Strong.
Dark.
Perfect.
Emily took one sip.
“You are now my favorite person in this organization.”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“I hear that frequently.”
Dante looked offended.
“I’m sitting right here.”
“Yes,” both women said simultaneously.
Silence.
Then Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
Dante stared at Emily.
Emily stared at Mrs. Alvarez.
The older woman walked away.
“I like her,” Emily said.
“Everyone likes her.”
“Perhaps because she doesn’t murder them.”
“Emily.”
Her phone rang.
The number on the screen erased the humor immediately.
Oakridge.
Emily answered.
“Hello?”
Dr. Aris sounded tense.
“Miss Davies, I’m sorry to call so early.”
Emily’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“Leo is physically fine.”
Those words never calmed anyone.
“He had a difficult episode last night. Someone called the facility asking questions about him.”
Emily went completely still.
Dante noticed immediately.
“What questions?”
“His schedule. Visitors. Whether he ever leaves the property for appointments.”
Emily’s blood turned cold.
“Who called?”
“They claimed to be from an insurance provider, but our administrator checked the number afterward. It was disposable.”
Dante was already standing.
The softness disappeared from him.
In its place came the man who ruled Chicago.
“Put him on speaker,” he said.
Emily did.
Dr. Aris continued.
“We increased security overnight. Leo doesn’t know anything happened, but I thought you should be aware.”
Dante took the phone gently from Emily.
“This is Dante Marino.”
There was a pause.
Dr. Aris obviously recognized the name.
“Mr. Marino.”
“You will place the facility on full restricted access immediately. No unscheduled visitors, no external transportation, no medical transfers without direct verification.”
“Sir, we have protocols—”
“You have protocols designed for family disputes and unstable patients. You do not have protocols for organized crime.”
Emily looked at Dante.
He spoke calmly.
Almost frighteningly so.
“Within one hour, six men from a private security company will arrive. They will coordinate with your staff. They will not enter patient areas unless necessary. They will not carry visible weapons inside the facility.”
Dr. Aris hesitated.
“We’re a medical residence, Mr. Marino. I can’t allow armed—”
“You won’t know they’re armed.”
Emily rubbed her forehead.
Dante continued.
“Leo’s routine remains unchanged. No disruptions. No fear. No men in suits following him through the courtyard. Understood?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He disconnected.
Emily stared at him.
“Moretti?”
“Maybe.”
“You said Carlo wouldn’t touch my brother.”
“I said I wouldn’t let him.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
Dante placed both hands on the counter.
His jaw tightened.
Emily recognized the expression.
He was furious.
But beneath the anger was something worse.
Fear.
Dante could fight gunmen.
He could intimidate rival bosses.
He could control shipping routes, judges, accountants, and killers.
Leo was different.
Leo was vulnerable.
Emily’s brother could not defend himself against a world he barely understood.
“He cannot know,” Emily said.
Dante looked at her.
“Leo cannot know someone is threatening him. His paranoia is part of his illness. If he thinks people are watching him—”
“I understand.”
“No, Dante. You don’t.”
Her voice cracked.
“He spent six months believing strangers were communicating through the ceiling vents. Another episode like that could destroy years of progress.”
Dante came around the counter.
Emily stepped back automatically.
He stopped.
She hated that he noticed.
“I will protect him without touching his routine.”
“How?”
“I’ll put people around the outside perimeter. Plain clothes. Separate vehicles. Oakridge will look exactly the same.”
Emily swallowed.
“And Carlo?”
Dante’s eyes became black.
“I’m going to ask him.”
Emily understood immediately what that meant.
“No.”
“He threatened your brother.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I’ll know soon.”
“Dante.”
He turned toward the hallway.
Emily grabbed his wrist.
He stopped.
She had never stopped him physically before.
“You cannot start a war every time someone scares me.”
He looked down at her hand.
Then into her eyes.
“If someone scares you, perhaps not.”
His voice was quiet.
“If someone threatens Leo to get to you, yes.”
“That is insane.”
“This is not a normal relationship, Emily.”
Her hand loosened.
Relationship.
The word hung between them.
Neither had said it before.
Dante saw her reaction.
He took her hand.
“You walked into my life and made yourself important.”
“I did not make myself anything. I filed your taxes.”
“You bullied me into signing fraudulent depreciation paperwork while I was holding a gun.”
“That was time-sensitive.”
“You became important anyway.”
Emily looked at him.
“You realize this is precisely why Carlo targeted me.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps we should make it less obvious.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I spent nine years pretending nothing mattered to me. I’m done pretending.”
“This isn’t romance, Dante. This is operational security.”
“And hiding you won’t protect you.”
“It might stop half of Chicago from assuming I’m your weakness.”
Dante stepped closer.
“You are not my weakness.”
Emily stared at him.
“You are the reason I’m stronger than I was six months ago.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Before Emily could respond, Tommy appeared in the doorway.
He took one look at them and immediately looked away.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
Emily released Dante’s hand.
Tommy held up a phone.
“Someone sent this to three commission families overnight.”
Dante took it.
Emily moved beside him.
The screen showed a photograph.
Her apartment building.
Emily walking toward the entrance carrying groceries.
A red circle had been drawn around her.
Below it was one sentence.
THE KING OF CHICAGO HAS A QUEEN.
Emily’s stomach dropped.
Dante became completely still.
Tommy spoke carefully.
“Everybody knows now.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Wonderful.
She had spent thirty-one years trying to remain invisible.
Now the Chicago underworld believed she was sleeping with the most dangerous man in Illinois.
Which, technically, was accurate.
“That,” Emily said quietly, “is going to make HR extraordinarily complicated.”
Tommy made a choking sound.
Dante looked at her.
For one heartbeat, fury remained on his face.
Then disbelief.
Then reluctant amusement.
“Someone put a target on you and you’re worried about HR?”
“I am HR.”
“You told me I was HR.”
“You were incorrect.”
Dante laughed despite himself.
Tommy looked between them.
And for the first time, Emily realized something important.
She could make Dante laugh when he was angry.
Not because she was entertaining him.
Because she reminded him there was something beyond anger.
Something worth returning to.
Dante handed the phone back to Tommy.
“Call a commission meeting.”
Tommy blinked.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
Emily frowned.
“What exactly are you going to tell them?”
Dante looked at her.
His expression was utterly calm.
“The truth.”
Emily’s suspicion deepened.
“What truth?”
“That anyone who touches Emily Davies, her brother, or anyone under her protection is declaring war on the Marino family.”
“No.”
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“You are not announcing me to the Chicago Mafia like some kind of territorial acquisition.”
“You’re not an acquisition.”
“Good.”
“You’re worse.”
Emily stared.
Tommy wisely backed toward the hallway.
Dante smiled faintly.
“You’re management.”
Emily considered this.
“That is slightly more acceptable.”
Tommy left before either of them could involve him further.
Dante reached for his jacket.
Emily caught his sleeve.
“Dante.”
He turned.
“Don’t kill Carlo unless you know he did this.”
His eyes hardened.
“You’re asking me for restraint?”
“I’m asking you for evidence.”
“You really are an accountant at heart.”
“Administrative operations.”
“Emily.”
“Evidence, Dante.”
He studied her for several seconds.
Then nodded once.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Evidence first.”
Emily exhaled.
“And then?”
His smile contained absolutely no warmth.
“Then we discuss the appropriate penalty.”
Emily looked at him.
She had probably saved Carlo Moretti’s life for approximately twelve hours.
Possibly less.
She went upstairs to find her laptop.
May you like
If she was going to become a target in a Mafia war, she was at least going to update the payroll system first.
Some standards had to be maintained.
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