I headed down to the garage, the cool underground air hitting my face as I tried to shake the phantom sensation of his thumb against my collar. My skin felt like it was humming. It was a dangerous reaction, one that didn't belong to a man on a mission. I was here to dismantle his empire, not to find myself breathless because he touched my neck.
I found the blacked out SUV tucked in the corner of the private bay. I did a quick, practiced sweep of the wheel wells and the undercarriage for trackers or explosives habits of a man who lived two lives before sliding into the driver's seat.
Minutes later, the heavy thud of the passenger door closing signaled his arrival. The car suddenly felt much smaller.
"The docks are a forty minute drive," I said, my voice reclaimed by the cold, professional 'Dante' persona. I gripped the leather steering wheel, my knuckles white.
"Take the long way," Santo replied, leaning back and loosening his tie. The movement was fluid, almost predatory. "I need the air."
I pulled the vehicle out into the night, the city lights blurring into long streaks of neon across the windshield. We sat in a silence that wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it was thick charged with the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand up. Every time I shifted gears, my hand brushed dangerously close to his knee. I could feel him watching me in the periphery, his gaze never leaving the side of my face.
"You drive like someone who's used to being chased," Santo said suddenly.
I didn't look at him. "In my line of work, usually I am."
"And what line of work is that, exactly? You're more than a hired gun, Dante. You have the eyes of a man who thinks ten steps ahead. It makes me wonder what's waiting at the end of your path."
My heart did a slow, heavy roll in my chest. He was fishing, testing the boundaries of the fabricated life I'd built for him. "At the end of my path is a paycheck and a quiet night. Nothing more."
Santo chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the car's interior. "You're a terrible liar for someone so skilled at disappearing. There's a heaviness in you. A secret you're carrying like a debt."
He reached over, his hand resting on the center console, mere inches from mine. "Most men in this city want my head on a platter or my money in their pockets. But you... you look at me like I'm a puzzle you're trying to solve before it explodes."
I felt the sudden urge to pull the car over and tell him everything to see the look on his face when he realized the 'shadow' he trusted was the very man sent to put him in a cage. But then I thought of my sister, of the strawberry jam on the counter, and the life I had to protect.
"Maybe I just don't like puzzles," I gritted out.
"Or maybe," Santo whispered, leaning closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath against my ear, "you're afraid of what happens once the puzzle is finished."
The tension was broken by the sharp, piercing vibration of my phone in the cup holder. The screen lit up the dark cabin, flashing a contact name I hadn't hidden well enough
LITTLE BIRD.
It was my sister. She never called this late unless something was wrong.
Santo's eyes dropped to the phone, then back to mine. His expression shifted from playful curiosity to a cold, sharpened intensity. "Who is Little Bird, Dante? I don't remember that being in your file."
I reached for the phone, my mind scrambling for a lie that wouldn't get me killed, while the realization sank in: the slow burn was officially starting to catch fire, and I was the one about to get burned.
.....
The phone continued to vibrate, the light pulsing like a heartbeat against the dark leather of the interior. LITTLE BIRD the nickname felt like a neon sign pointing straight to my real life.My thumb hovered over the screen. If I ignored it, she'd call again, and Santo's suspicion would turn into a death sentence. If I answered, one "Hey, sister" would blow my cover to pieces.
"An informant," I said, my voice dropping an octave into that jagged, cold tone I used for the underworld. "She's jumpy. If I don't pick up, she'll vanish."
Santo didn't look convinced. He leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes fixed on the flashing screen. "Then by all means, Dante. Let's hear what she has to say. Put it on speaker."
My blood turned to ice. It wasn't a request.
I swiped to answer, but I didn't hit the speaker button. Instead, I pressed the phone to my ear and slammed my foot on the brake, hard. The SUV lurched, tires screeching against the asphalt as I pulled onto the shoulder of the dark road. The sudden jolt threw Santo forward, distracting him for the split second I needed.
"I told you not to call this line unless the drop was compromised," I barked into the phone, my voice terrifyingly sharp.
There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, my sister's small, trembling voice came through: "Dante? Why are you shouting? I just... I can't find my inhaler and I'm scared."
My heart shattered. I wanted to drop the act, to tell her exactly where it was in the side pocket of her backpack but Santo was inches away, his head tilted, listening to the muffled cadence of the voice.
"I don't care about the excuses," I snapped, my jaw aching from the tension of being a monster to the only person I loved. "Go to the secondary location. Look in the black bag. Stay there until I check in. Do not call me again."
I hung up before she could sob. I could feel the ghost of her tears through the digital connection, and it made me want to burn this whole city down. I tossed the phone back into the cup holder and gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. "Jumpy," I muttered, staring straight through the windshield. "Like I said."
The silence in the car was suffocating. I waited for Santo to pull his gun. I waited for him to call me a liar. Instead, I felt his hand move.
He didn't grab his weapon. He reached out and placed his palm over my white-knuckled hand on the steering wheel. His skin was warm, his touch unexpectedly grounding.
"You're shaking, Dante," he whispered.
"Adrenaline," I spat.
"No." Santo shifted closer, his presence overwhelming the small space. He didn't pull his hand away; instead, he threaded his fingers through mine, forcing my grip to loosen. "That wasn't the voice of a man talking to an informant. That was the voice of a man trying to hide his heart."
He leaned in, his dark hair brushing my temple. I could feel the steady thrum of his pulse where our hands met. He was oblivious to the agency, oblivious to the fact that I was a mole but in this moment, he was seeing through the enforcer to the man underneath.
"Who is she?" he asked, his voice low and dangerously soft. "The girl who makes the 'Ghost' lose his composure?"
I looked at him then, and for the first time, the slow burn wasn't just a metaphor. It was a physical ache in my chest. I was supposed to be the predator, but as he looked at me with a mixture of possessiveness and genuine intrigue, I realized I was the one caught in the web.
"Nobody," I whispered, our faces so close I could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
"Liar," Santo breathed, and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. "But I think I'll enjoy finding out the truth."
He pulled back, releasing my hand, but the heat remained. "Drive. The docks won't wait, and neither will I."
I put the car in gear, my mind a war zone. I had to find a way to check on my sister, and I had to do it while being hunted by the very man who was currently resting his hand back on his knee, watching me with a look that said he already owned me.