Fear

Dante Romano

The sight of another man’s body caging my wife is enough to make me want to break every bone in his face. I’ve killed men for less.

My knuckles tighten on the steering wheel until leather creaks. I should’ve ripped the door open the second I saw her stumble out of the building, but I waited, watching. Old habits. A Romano never steps blind into an ambush.

But when the bastard slams her against brick, and her head snaps back, I kill the engine and step out. I’m no longer thinking. I’m moving.

Her eyes catch mine over his shoulder. Wide and desperate. She’s terrified. But not of me. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that she will never look at another man that way again.

I’ll make damn sure of it.

“Let go of her,” I say, low and even.

The punk twists, still holding her wrist like he owns it. He doesn’t know yet what mistake he’s made. But he will.

Oh, he will.

Because no one touches what’s mine. Not without consequences.

The blond idiot makes the mistake of sneering at me. “Back off. This is between us.”

Between us.

The words scrape against my skull. One step, and his back slams into the wall where he had her pinned a second ago. My hand clamps around his throat. I feel his pulse hammer beneath my palm, weak and frantic.

“You put your hands on her.” My voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t have to. “Do you have any idea whose name she wears now?”

His eyes widen as recognition finally sets in. He stammers my name like a prayer. I squeeze until his face mottles red, until his fingers scrabble at my wrist in useless panic. I could crush him right here, leave him twitching on the asphalt like the insect he is.

But then, she stops me.

“Dante…” she sniffs, giving me a pleading look. She looks fragile. Breakable. But she won’t break under anyone but me. “Please…”

Fuck!

A prickly sensation rakes down my spine and my fingers tightens around the bastard. I want him dead.

I release just enough for him to suck in a ragged breath, then throw him aside like trash. He hits the pavement hard, coughing, eyes wild with fear.

I don’t look at him again. He doesn’t matter anymore.

She does.

Issa—Clarissa, as she insists on calling herself because she thinks I’m dumb enough not to notice. She presses her back against the brick, clutching her wrist where his hand had been. Her lips are parted, her chest is rising too fast. She looks at me like I’m salvation and damnation bound together in one man.

And God help me… I like it.

I step closer, closing the space between us. She doesn’t flinch.

“If another man lays a hand on you…” I murmur, low enough for only her to hear, “he dies.”

Her breath hitches. My fingers wrap around her wrist and I pull her towards the car. She gets in, taking one last look at the bastard who’s still wriggling on the floor.

I’m not done with him yet.

The drive home is in silence. She sits rigid in the passenger seat with her hands folded neatly on her lap. By the time we pull into the gates of the mansion, her fingers are trembling. She’s terrified and, God, I want to taste that fear.

I kill the engine and lean towards her. “Who was he?”

“Huh?” she avoids looking me in the eye.

“You heard me right, Issa!”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie?” I repeat.

I clench my jaw so hard, I taste copper. She knows that’s not what I’m asking.

“Charlie Wilson.”

“Okay.” I say simply, then lean in closer. “Go inside.”

Issa finally looks up, holding my gaze for the first time since the drive.

She blinks fast, then bites her lower lip. I’ve analyzed her enough to know she does that when she’s nervous.

My little liar.

She holds my gaze for six seconds. That’s a record. Either she’s just young and dumb—she’s 22– or she’s just got more steel than her sister. One of the reasons I’m playing her little game of pretend. Because she thinks she’s fooling me but I’m simply keeping myself entertained.

Annalissa Hale is definitely the first person that’s dared to look me in the eye and lie to me multiple times. And that makes me want to know how far I can push her before she breaks. Chip away at that nerve she thinks she has, until she gets on her knees, confesses and asks for me to spare her life.

But for now, let her think she pulled one over on me. Let her sweat and stumble, dressing in her sister’s favorite colors, eating her sister’s favorite foods, trying to play a role that doesn’t fit.

I’ll watch her struggle. I’ll watch her unravel and break little by little. This marriage suits me either way.

“Uhm…sure.” her voice is barely above a whisper as she steps out of the car.

I grab my phone from the cup holder and dial a number.

“Get me Charlie Wilson.” I order and end the call immediately.

I’ll make sure that bastard pays for laying his hands on what’s mine. I should’ve gutted him right there for daring to watch her body fold with fear. That’s mine to take. Only I am allowed to make her tremble with terror.

I step out of the car and storm towards the house. Walking in, a few of the maids bow as I pass, but I don’t slow down. By the time I reach the bedroom, my blood is already boiling.

Issa stands at the dresser in a white robe, removing pins from her hair. She startles when the door clicks shut and I twist the lock.

“Strip,” I order.

Her lips part, her eyes going wide. She looks like she didn’t hear me right.

“Wh-what?”

“I said strip. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Color rushes to her cheeks as her hand flies to the robe’s belt. She doesn’t move.

I take a slow step closer, voice dropping to a growl.

“Charlie saw you fold with fear tonight. That doesn’t sit well with me. From now on, no man—alive or dead—will ever get to see you like that. Do you understand?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. Still frozen.

I close the distance, my shadow swallowing hers.

“I’ll burn every trace of him from your skin. Strip, Issa. Layer by layer, until the only thing you feel when you’re naked is me carved into your breath, your bones, your fucking soul.”

Her fingers tremble against the knot. For a moment I think she might defy me. Then the belt loosens, just a fraction, the fabric gaping at her collarbone.

Fear coats her skin.

That fear is mine.