Chapter 3 - The Kiss in the Rain
The music faded, but neither of them moved.
Before the announcement could be made, Marco appeared at Dante’s elbow, leaning in to whisper urgently into his ear. Dante’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening instantly.
“Excuse me for five minutes, Emma,” Dante said softly, kissing her forehead. “Marco will stay right beside you.”
He disappeared down a side corridor with three of his top lieutenants. Emma stood near the edge of the ballroom, holding a glass of mineral water, her mind whirling from the intensity of Dante’s words.
“Miss Reynolds,” a polite voice said.
Emma turned. A young waiter holding a silver tray stepped toward her. “Mr. Moretti asked if you would join him in the private terrace room on the third floor. He said it’s quieter there.”
Emma looked at Marco, who frowned slightly. “Did Dante send you?” Marco asked the waiter.
“Yes, sir. He said to tell Miss Reynolds that the 'cannoli was worth it.'”
The phrase—the private joke from their first meeting—instantly dissolved Emma’s suspicion. She smiled faintly. “I’ll be right back, Marco.”
“I’m coming with you,” Marco insisted.
“Mr. Moretti said just the lady, sir,” the waiter added quickly. “He’s clearing the floor for a private moment.”
Marco hesitated, torn between his strict orders to protect her and his duty to respect his boss’s privacy. “I’ll stand outside the elevator on the third floor,” Marco compromised.
They took the elevator up to the quiet, dimly lit third floor. The hallway was carpeted in deep crimson, lined with historic oil paintings. The waiter pointed down a short corridor toward a set of double glass doors that led out onto a covered balcony overlooking Lake Michigan.
“Through there, ma’am.”
Emma walked down the quiet hallway, pushing the glass doors open.
The night air was freezing, misted with a light rain blowing off the lake. The city lights flickered through the gloom.
“Dante?” she called out, stepping onto the wet stone terrace.
The doors behind her clicked shut.
Emma turned around quickly—and realized with a sickening lurch in her stomach that the balcony was empty. There was no Dante.
She lunged for the door handle, but it was locked from the inside.
Through the glass, two heavy-set men in dark raincoats stepped out from the shadows of the hallway. One of them held a brass key; the other was Sal.
Sal walked up to the glass door, a victorious, cruel smile stretching across his face. He tapped on the glass with a thick gold ring.
“Comfortable, sweetheart?” Sal called through the gap in the door. “Dante’s going to be very busy downstairs for the next twenty minutes while your mother gets a little visit from my boys in Pilsen.”
Emma’s blood turned to liquid ice. “What?! No! Leave my mother out of this!”
She slammed her fists against the reinforced glass, but Sal merely laughed, turning his back and walking away, leaving her trapped in the freezing rain on the high balcony.
Terror—raw, suffocating terror—consumed her. Not for herself, but for her frail mother sleeping alone in their apartment.
She looked over the balcony edge. It was a three-story drop to a lower tiled roof—suicide to jump. She grabbed a heavy iron patio chair and slammed it against the glass door with all her strength. The iron clanged loudly, but the safety glass only cracked slightly.
Again.
She swung the chair again, tears mixing with the rain streaming down her face. “Dante!” she screamed into the wind. “Dante!”
On the third swing, the glass shattered in a cascade of sharp crystals.
Emma scrambled through the broken frame, ignoring the sharp glass that cut her hand and scraped her blue silk dress. She stumbled out into the hallway, running barefoot—having kicked off her heels on the terrace—toward the elevators.
As the elevator doors opened, Dante stepped out.
His jacket was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his knuckles bruised. When he saw Emma—drenched, bleeding from a cut on her hand, her dress ruined, her eyes wild with panic—a sound left his chest that didn't sound human.
“Emma!”
He crossed the distance in two strides, catching her as her legs gave out.
“My mother!” Emma sobbed against his chest, grabbing his wet shirt collar. “Dante, please! Sal sent men to my mother’s house! Please save her!”
Dante’s entire body went rigid as iron.
He pulled a radio from his belt and barked a single command: “Code Red. Pilsen address. Kill everyone who isn't Mrs. Reynolds. Move!”
He turned back to Emma, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. He didn't ask questions. He didn't waste time. He carried her down the service stairs directly to his personal armored SUV waiting in the alley.
Ten minutes later, the SUV was tearing through the streets of Chicago at ninety miles an hour, ran through red lights, flanked by four dark sedans with sirens wailing.
Inside the back seat, Dante held Emma tightly against his chest, wrapping his heavy cashmere coat around her shivering body. He used a clean silk handkerchief to press gently against the small cut on her hand, his expression a terrifying mask of absolute, murderous fury.
“She’s going to be okay, Emma,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “My team was already stationed two blocks from your mother’s house as a precaution. Sal’s men won't even reach her porch.”
Emma leaned her head against his neck, weeping softly as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving her hollow and exhausted. “Why is this happening? Why is there so much hate in your world?”
“Because men like Sal think power is taken through fear,” Dante whispered into her hair. “They don't understand that true power is protecting what you love.”
His phone chimed. Dante answered it, listened for three seconds, and said, “Good. Secure the perimeter.”
He looked down at Emma. “Your mother is safe. Sal’s men were intercepted before they stepped off the curb. My team has brought her to a secure safehouse in Gold Coast.”
Emma let out a long, shuddering breath, her forehead resting against his jaw. “Thank you. Thank you, Dante.”
The SUV pulled to a stop beneath the private, covered courtyard of his high-rise building.
Rain poured down outside, drumming a heavy rhythm against the armored glass.
Dante didn't open the door. He sat in the dim interior, holding her close, his heart pounding against her cheek.
“Look at me, Emma,” he commanded softly.
She lifted her head. Her hair was damp, her makeup ruined by tears, her hand bandaged, but to Dante, she looked like the most breathtaking thing in existence.
“I brought terror to your life,” Dante said, his dark eyes filled with a raw, agonizing guilt. “I almost got your mother killed. If you tell me to walk away right now... if you tell me to leave you alone forever... I will give you five million dollars, secure your mother’s health care for life, and you will never see my face again.”
Emma stared at him. She saw the monster the city feared. But beneath it, she saw the boy who had grown up in a world of violence, the man who had stayed up three nights worrying about her, the leader who fought to keep his people clean.
“You asked me a question at dinner,” Emma whispered, her hand rising to cup his rough cheek.
“What question?”
“You said you weren't asking for my soul,” she said, her voice steadying. “What if I want to give it to you?”
Dante froze.
“I told you three nights ago that I’ve never been kissed,” Emma continued, her eyes locked onto his lips. “Do you remember what you said?”
Dante’s breath hitched. “I said... then we take it easy.”
“Don't take it easy, Dante,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
Dante broke.
He gathered her face in both of his massive hands, pulled her to him, and pressed his lips against hers.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was a collision of fire and rain, of years of loneliness shattering against absolute devotion. It was a promise signed in blood and sealed in silk. He kissed her like a dying man taking his first breath of oxygen, his tongue tracing her lips, his fingers tangling in her wet hair as she let out a soft sigh and melted completely into his embrace.
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Outside, the Chicago storm raged, cold and unforgiving.
Inside the dark leather seat, surrounded by the smell of rain and expensive cologne, Emma Reynolds surrendered to the mafia boss who owned the city—and realized she had never been safer in her life.
