Daring

The room was dim and quiet except for the soft rustle of paper as Rafe turned another page of the ledger that was spread open across the table, his shoulders slightly hunched as though he could make himself smaller if he tried hard enough, though the tension in his body made that impossible, and he was halfway through scanning a column of numbers when the faint sound of the door creaking open made the blood in his veins turn cold.

 

He looked up.

 

Dante stood in the doorway.

 

Rafe froze completely, his fingers still resting on the edge of the paper while his mind tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing, because Dante was just standing there watching him without moving even a single step inside the room, and the silence that came with that gaze felt heavier than shouting ever could.

 

Neither of them spoke.

 

Rafe swallowed slowly and tried to keep his breathing steady even though it felt like the air had become thick inside the room.

 

Dante still did not move.

 

Rafe’s mind started racing, jumping from one thought to another so quickly that none of them settled properly, because he knew exactly what this looked like and he knew exactly how men inside the Crimson Devils ended when they were caught poking their noses into things that were not meant for them.

 

He needed a lie.

 

A believable one.

 

A good one.

 

And the worst part was that Dante still had not said anything, his eyes just moving slowly across the table, over the open ledgers, then over Rafe himself, and that silent attention sent a strange heat crawling through Rafe’s chest that he hated himself for noticing.

 

Rafe forced himself to breathe.

 

Slowly.

 

Carefully.

 

He reached forward and closed the ledger in front of him with deliberate calm, letting the cover fall shut while he kept his eyes locked on Dante just in case the man suddenly decided to move.

 

The sound of the ledger closing felt louder than it should have.

 

Dante finally stepped into the room.

 

Rafe’s chest tightened.

 

Dante shut the door behind him with a quiet click and leaned against it for a moment, his expression unreadable as he studied the scene in front of him.

 

Rafe cleared his throat softly.

 

“Look,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady even though his pulse was hammering inside his ears, “this is not what it looks like.”

 

Dante said nothing.

 

Rafe continued anyway because silence felt more dangerous than anything else.

 

“I was working on the accounts earlier tonight,” he said slowly, gesturing toward the stack of ledgers, “and something felt off when I started adding the numbers again, so I thought maybe I should double check everything before bringing it up to anyone.”

 

Dante pushed himself away from the door.

 

Rafe felt his heartbeat climb higher.

 

Dante began walking toward the table with slow and careful steps, his gaze still fixed on Rafe’s face like he was trying to peel back every layer of thought hiding behind his expression.

 

Rafe kept talking.

 

“I noticed some inconsistencies,” he said, letting a small breath leave his chest as he forced the lie into shape while he spoke, “not huge ones, but enough to make me think somebody might be making moves under your name without you knowing.”

 

Dante stopped on the other side of the table.

 

Rafe held his gaze.

 

“I figured you would want to know if somebody was messing with your business,” Rafe added quietly.

 

The room fell silent again.

 

Dante looked down at the closed ledger on the table.

 

Then he slowly walked around the table.

 

Each step felt deliberate.

 

Measured.

 

Rafe kept his hands resting on the table because he did not trust them not to tremble if he moved them.

 

Dante stopped beside him.

 

Without saying a word, Dante reached out and flipped the ledger open again.

 

The sharp sound of the cover hitting the table made Rafe flinch before he could stop himself.

 

Dante noticed.

 

Of course he noticed.

 

Rafe forced a small breath through his nose and tried to act like he had not just betrayed his nerves.

 

Dante leaned over the table and looked at the open pages for a moment before speaking.

 

“Curiosity,” Dante said quietly, his voice low and calm, “is a dangerous thing inside the Crimson Devils.”

 

Rafe felt the warning settle into his bones.

 

“I understand that,” Rafe replied carefully, “which is exactly why I thought it would be better to look into it myself first before making accusations that might turn out to be nothing.”

 

Dante closed the ledger again.

 

Slowly.

 

Then he moved behind Rafe.

 

Rafe’s spine went stiff.

 

He could feel Dante’s presence at his back, close enough that the heat of his body seemed to press against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

 

Then Dante’s hand suddenly wrapped around the front of Rafe’s neck.

 

Not tight enough to choke him.

 

But firm enough that Rafe felt the strength in that grip immediately.

 

Rafe inhaled sharply.

 

Dante leaned closer behind him, his chest brushing lightly against Rafe’s back as his fingers tightened slightly around his throat.

 

“You are very brave tonight,” Dante murmured near his ear.

 

Rafe swallowed against the pressure of Dante’s hand.

 

“Or very stupid,” Rafe said quietly.

 

Dante let out a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

 

“With men like you,” Dante said slowly, “it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference.”

 

Rafe’s fingers curled against the edge of the table as he forced himself to stay calm.

 

“If I wanted to cause trouble,” Rafe said carefully, “I would not be sitting here with the evidence spread across your own desk.”

 

Dante’s grip tightened slightly.

 

“You assume I believe your story,” Dante said.

 

“I assume you are smart enough to check the numbers yourself,” Rafe replied.

 

There was a pause.

 

Dante’s hand remained around his neck.

 

Then Dante reached forward with his other hand and shut the ledger again before sliding it toward the cabinet beside the desk.

 

Rafe listened as Dante opened the cabinet door.

 

The ledgers were placed inside.

 

Then Dante closed the cabinet and turned the key in the lock with a small metallic click.

 

The sound echoed through the room.

 

Dante’s hand was still around Rafe’s neck.

 

“You understand something,” Dante said quietly.

 

Rafe waited.

 

“I do not like people sniffing around my operations,” Dante continued.

 

“I figured that much,” Rafe admitted.

 

Dante hummed softly.

 

“But I also do not like the idea that somebody might be moving money through my name without permission.”

 

Rafe turned his head slightly even though Dante’s grip made the movement limited.

 

“So we agree on something,” Rafe said.

 

Another quiet pause filled the room.

 

Then Dante finally released his neck.

 

Rafe let out a slow breath he had been holding.

 

But Dante did not step away.

 

Instead he placed both hands on the back of Rafe’s chair and leaned down slightly.

 

“You lied to me tonight,” Dante said calmly.

 

Rafe closed his eyes for half a second.

 

“I might have,” he admitted.

 

Dante’s fingers tapped lightly against the wood of the chair.

 

“But you also showed initiative,” Dante added.

 

Rafe opened his eyes again.

 

“That sounds like a compliment,” he said carefully.

 

Dante moved around the chair until he was standing in front of Rafe again.

 

“It is not,” Dante replied.

 

Rafe raised an eyebrow slightly.

 

“Then what is it.”

 

Dante studied his face for several seconds.

 

Finally he spoke.

 

“From now on,” Dante said slowly, “you will work directly under me.”

 

Rafe blinked.

 

That was not what he expected.

 

“At your side?” Rafe asked cautiously.

 

“Yes.”

 

Rafe leaned back slightly in his chair, confusion flickering across his face.

 

“That seems like a strange reward for someone you just accused of lying.”

 

Dante’s expression did not change.

 

“It is not a reward.”

 

“Then what is it.”

 

Dante leaned forward and rested one hand on the table beside Rafe.

 

“It is supervision.”

 

Rafe let out a quiet breath.

 

“So you want to keep me close.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And if I say no.”

 

Dante’s eyes darkened slightly.

 

“You will not say no.”

 

Rafe considered that for a moment.

 

Then he smiled faintly.

 

“You know,” he said slowly, “most people would be terrified sitting where I am right now.”

 

“And you are not?” Dante asked.

 

Rafe met his gaze without looking away.

 

“I am,” he admitted softly, “but I am also curious how long it will take before you decide whether you want to kill me or keep me.”

 

Dante studied him for a long moment.

 

Then he straightened up.

 

“If I discover that you lied about those suspicions,” Dante said quietly, his voice carrying a quiet finality that made the air feel heavier again, “I will end you myself.”

 

Rafe tilted his head slightly as he held Dante’s gaze.

 

“So I guess that means I should start finding those inconsistencies for real,” he said slowly.

 

Dante’s eyes remained locked on his.

 

“Yes,” Dante replied calmly, “because if I discover that you wasted my time tonight, Rafe, I will make sure the last thing you ever hear is my voice telling you exactly why you are about to die.”

 

The first meeting Rafe sat through felt like a mistake that nobody had bothered correcting.

 

He was seated at the long table with the rest of the Devils, men who had been around far longer than him, men whose loyalty had been proven with blood and prison time and ugly stories whispered around the clubhouse bar, and Rafe could feel their eyes on him even when none of them were openly looking.

 

Dante sat at the head of the table like he always did, calm and quiet, listening while two men across from him talked about a shipment of weapons that was supposed to arrive in two weeks.

 

Rafe tried to keep his expression blank.

 

He kept his hands folded in front of him on the table, nodding slightly whenever someone spoke to him even though nobody actually expected him to speak.

 

Inside his head everything felt loud.

 

Because Dante had kept his word.

 

Ever since that night in the records room, Dante had kept Rafe close.

 

Too close.

 

Meetings.

 

Deals.

 

Private discussions that Rafe had no business hearing.

 

At first Rafe thought it was a trick meant to expose him, some test where Dante was waiting for him to slip and reveal something he should not know.

 

But the days kept passing and Dante kept calling him to sit beside him.

 

Rafe hated how aware he was of Dante’s presence.

 

Every small movement.

 

Every time Dante leaned back in his chair.

 

Every time his voice dropped low during negotiations.

 

Rafe kept reminding himself that this was a dangerous man, the kind of man who punished betrayal without blinking, and yet the awareness inside him kept growing stronger every day.

 

One of the suppliers across the table cleared his throat loudly.

 

“So we are agreed then,” the man said carefully, glancing between Dante and the others, “three shipments every month and payment delivered through the usual channels.”

 

Dante leaned forward slightly.

 

“You will deliver the first shipment early,” he said calmly.

 

The supplier frowned.

 

“That was not part of the deal.”

 

“It is now,” Dante replied.

 

Rafe kept staring at the table.

 

The room stayed quiet for several seconds.

 

Then the supplier sighed.

 

“Fine,” the man muttered, “we will adjust the schedule.”

 

Dante nodded once.

 

“Good.”

 

The meeting ended shortly after that.

 

Chairs scraped the floor as men stood up and gathered their things, and Rafe stayed seated for a moment because he could feel several pairs of eyes burning into the side of his face.

 

One of the Devils muttered something under his breath.

 

Another one gave him a look that clearly said he did not belong there.

 

Rafe stood slowly.

 

He turned slightly and caught Dante looking at him.

 

Just looking.

 

No expression.

 

The attention made his chest tighten.

 

Rafe looked away quickly and followed the others out of the room.

 

The next meeting was worse.

 

This one did not involve business.

 

It involved punishment.

 

Rafe had not known that when he walked in.

 

Two men were already on their knees in the center of the room when he entered, both of them bruised and shaking while Marcus stood nearby with his arms crossed.

 

Rafe slowed his steps.

 

Dante sat in his chair watching them.

 

“Come in,” Dante said without looking at him.

 

Rafe stepped inside and stood beside the wall.

 

One of the men on the floor started talking quickly.

 

“Boss please we did not mean to do anything wrong,” the man said, his voice trembling badly, “we only took a little from the shipment and we planned to return it after the next sale.”

 

Marcus scoffed loudly.

 

“You stole from the Devils,” Marcus said harshly, “and now you want to explain it like it was a misunderstanding.”

 

The second man started crying.

 

Rafe felt his stomach twist.

 

Dante spoke quietly.

 

“How much did you take.”

 

The first man swallowed.

 

“Ten thousand.”

 

The room fell silent.

 

Dante stood up slowly.

 

Rafe felt cold spread through his body because he knew exactly what was coming even before Dante reached for the pistol resting on the table.

 

The two traitors started begging.

 

“Please boss we can pay it back,” one of them cried desperately.

 

Dante did not even hesitate.

 

The gunshot echoed through the room.

 

Then another one followed.

 

Rafe flinched even though he tried not to.

 

The bodies hit the floor heavily.

 

The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air while Dante calmly placed the gun back on the table.

 

Nobody spoke for a moment.

 

Then Dante glanced at Rafe again.

 

Rafe felt his heart pounding.

 

Because one thought kept pushing its way into his head.

 

If Dante ever discovered the truth about him, that same gun would not hesitate.

 

Later that afternoon the whispers started spreading through the clubhouse.

 

Men leaned together at the bar, talking quietly whenever Rafe walked past.

 

He heard his name more than once.

 

He heard someone mention promotion.

 

He heard someone say Dante’s personal assistant.

 

By the time Marcus stormed toward Dante’s office, half the gang was already watching.

 

Marcus did not bother knocking.

 

He pushed the door open and stepped inside while Dante was sitting behind his desk going through paperwork.

 

Dante looked up slowly.

 

“You look irritated,” Dante said calmly.

 

Marcus shut the door behind him.

 

“I want to know what you are doing with the new kid,” Marcus said bluntly.

 

Dante leaned back in his chair.

 

“Which new kid.”

 

“You know exactly which one I mean,” Marcus replied.

 

Dante sighed softly.

 

“You are talking about Rafe.”

 

“Yes I am,” Marcus said sharply, “because the entire clubhouse is talking about how you have him sitting in meetings meant for trusted members and I just heard someone say you plan to make him your personal assistant.”

 

Dante let out a quiet laugh that held no humor.

 

“People love rumors,” he said.

 

Marcus stepped closer to the desk.

 

“So it is not true.”

 

Dante shrugged.

 

“I never said that.”

 

Marcus frowned.

 

“Then why are you involving him in everything.”

 

Dante picked up a pen and tapped it lightly against the desk.

 

“Observation,” he said simply.

 

Marcus stared at him.

 

“That is your explanation.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Marcus shook his head slowly.

 

“You never observe recruits yourself,” Marcus said, his voice filled with suspicion now, “you leave that to me or to the clubhouse manager.”

 

Dante smiled faintly.

 

“You were the one complaining about his incompetence last week.”

 

Marcus frowned deeper.

 

“So you decided to train him yourself.”

 

“Exactly,” Dante replied calmly.

 

Marcus did not look convinced.

 

“You expect me to believe that.”

 

Dante shrugged again.

 

“Believe whatever you want.”

 

Marcus opened his mouth to speak again but a knock interrupted him.

 

Both men turned toward the door.

 

Rafe’s voice came from the other side.

 

“Boss it is Rafe.”

 

Dante glanced at Marcus before speaking.

 

“Come in.”

 

The door opened slowly.

 

Rafe stepped inside holding a folder filled with documents.

 

He immediately noticed the tension in the room.

 

Marcus was glaring at him openly.

 

Rafe hesitated.

 

“I can come back later,” he said carefully.

 

“No,” Dante replied, gesturing toward the desk, “come here.”

 

Marcus let out an irritated breath.

 

He brushed past Rafe without hiding his anger.

 

“This conversation is not finished,” Marcus muttered toward Dante before leaving the office and slamming the door behind him.

 

The silence that followed felt thick.

 

Rafe stepped closer to the desk and placed the folder down.

 

“These are the shipment reports you asked for,” he said quietly.

 

Dante barely looked at them.

 

He opened the folder lazily and flipped through the first few pages before closing it again.

 

Rafe watched him carefully.

 

“You look tired,” Rafe said.

 

Dante looked up.

 

“That is an observation you should probably keep to yourself.”

 

Rafe shifted slightly.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Dante leaned back in his chair again.

 

Rafe hesitated before speaking.

 

“If the reports are wrong I can double check them,” he offered.

 

“They are fine.”

 

Rafe nodded slowly.

 

The silence stretched again.

 

Rafe could see the tension in Dante’s shoulders and the faint irritation in his eyes.

 

“You seem stressed,” Rafe said cautiously.

 

Dante raised an eyebrow.

 

“And you plan to fix that.”

 

Rafe hesitated before answering.

 

“If there is something I can do to help.”

 

Dante studied him carefully.

 

Rafe held his gaze.

 

“I mean with work,” Rafe added quickly, his voice softer now, “if there is anything you want me to handle so you can rest for a bit.”

 

Dante did not answer immediately.

 

Instead he stood up from his chair.

 

Rafe stepped aside to let him pass.

 

Dante walked toward the door.

 

Rafe assumed he was leaving.

 

But instead Dante locked the door.

 

The sound of the lock clicking made Rafe turn slowly.

 

Dante walked back toward the desk.

 

Rafe watched him carefully.

 

Dante picked up the phone sitting on the desk and dialed a number.

 

His eyes never left Rafe.

 

The call connected.

 

“Yes,” Dante said calmly into the phone.

 

Rafe felt a strange tension creeping into his chest under that steady gaze.

 

Dante leaned back in his chair again.

 

“I do not want to be disturbed,” Dante said quietly into the phone while still looking directly at Rafe, “no calls, no visitors, nothing unless the building is on fire.”