Chapter Seventeen

Viola scrambled off his lap, her eyes wide in shock as if he’d said something truly frightening. Her mouth gaped open as she took a few steps back, her arm stretched out as if trying to push him away. Was she?

“Viola,” he ground out while jerking up his trousers and rising from his chair.

“No, please. I don’t believe—you can’t—”

“Dante, there you are.” At the voice, Dante swiveled on his heels and saw his friend Lorenzo enter the room. When Lorenzo’s gaze fell on him and then on Viola, he bowed briefly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Dante could see him inhale and knew that by now he would have picked up the scent of sex in the air. It still hung heavy in the room. When Lorenzo’s eyes flickered in interest, Dante shot him a warning glare. The lascivious suggestion that had clearly been on his friend’s lips, died instantly.

At least one disaster was averted, because having his friend suggest they share Viola for an hour of unadulterated fun was not going to happen. Yes, he and Lorenzo had shared plenty of women—and in every conceivable way possible—yet there was no way in hell he’d allow another man to put his paws on Viola. Not even his best friend.

Dante cleared his throat. Lorenzo’s interruption couldn’t have come at a worse time. Hell, he’d proposed to Viola, something he thought he’d never do until the words had actually spilled from his lips. And by the looks of it, she didn’t believe he was serious. But he was.

“Lorenzo, I see you can still smooth talk your way around my servants to allow you in even when I’m occupied with more important things.”

Lorenzo approached with a smile. “If I didn’t, I would rarely see you. Where have you been the entire week? Nobody’s seen you.”

Dante glanced back at Viola, who stood at the fireplace, her expression blank. He raked a long look over her. “I was occupied with more important things.” He paused and locked eyes with her. “Much more important things.”

The air prickled with tension between them. Severing the contact with her, he turned his head back to his friend, whose face was colored with surprise.

“May I introduce Signorina Costa to you? Viola, this is my friend Lorenzo.”

“Charmed,” Lorenzo answered and bowed in Viola’s direction.

“Signore,” she acknowledged him politely.

“Now that you’ve assured yourself that I’m well, I’d like to—”

Lorenzo held up his hand. “As much as I respect your privacy, you’ll have to hear me out first. Something is brewing in the city.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Brewing?” For once he wasn’t interested in getting involved in anything that might be going on outside of his own four walls.

“Nico came to me an hour ago. Apparently you pissed off some man who’s now screaming bloody murder. Something about you stealing his woman.” Lorenzo looked past him toward Viola. “Not that I can really blame him.”

Dante didn’t have to be a mind reader to know who might be having it in for him. “I’m assuming you’re referring to a man named Salvatore.”

He heard Viola’s indrawn breath behind him.

“The very same.”

“He’s no threat to me.”

“And to her?”

Dante sucked in a breath. “Viola is under my protection. She will not leave this house without me.”

He heard her gasp behind him and turned. Her eyes were wide, but it wasn’t shock anymore. It was disbelief. “I’m still your prisoner? I thought ...”

“You’re holding her captive?” Lorenzo asked before Dante could soothe Viola’s concerns.

“Stay out of this, Lorenzo. And besides, it’s not true.”

“How could you?” Her voice was low, breathless. Unshed tears rimmed her eyes as she stormed past him toward the door.

He didn’t try to stop her, but he would not drop the subject. “You’ve not given me an answer yet, Viola, and I will have that answer. We’ll talk when Lorenzo has left.”

She didn’t acknowledge his words and swept out of the room. He listened as she stomped up the stairs before he turned back to his friend.

“An answer to what?”

“Since when have you turned into a nosy washerwoman?”

“Since you began acting all weird,” Lorenzo retorted.

“I don’t act weird.”

“Sure you do. And I suspect the chit has something to do with it. Since when do you give a damn about what some whore thinks?”

Faster than the blink of an eye, Dante snatched Lorenzo by his collar and bared his fangs. “She’s not a whore! She’s the woman I’m going to marry!”

The stunned expression on Lorenzo’s face almost made up for the rude interruption, almost, but not quite. Dante dropped his hold.

“You? First your brother, now you. What the fuck is in the blood you guys are drinking? Because I’m sure going to avoid that source like the plague. Are you all going insane?”

“I assure you, I’m feeling quite well. Now if you would excuse me so I can talk to Viola and get her answer.”

“You mean, she hasn’t accepted you?”

“Yet,” Dante corrected tightly. Yet. Because there couldn’t possibly be any reason why she wouldn’t want him. They’d spent an incredible week together, giving each other unspeakable pleasure. Why would she not continue that under the protection of being married to him? Why would she not want the security that marriage would grant her?

Sure, the fact that he was a vampire was one strike against him, but she didn’t even know about that. Obviously it couldn’t be the reason for her objection.

“Well, good luck to you. However, I’d like to bring your attention back to that Salvatore fellow. My suggestion is to nip the situation in the bud and take care of any threat before it escalates.”

Dante ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “What are you suggesting?”

***

Viola stuffed her dress into the satchel and pulled the drawstring tight. She didn’t know what Dante had done with her pistol, but it didn’t matter. She would procure a new one shortly. All that mattered now was getting out of his house and away from him.

He wanted to marry her. How could he do that to her? How could he dangle this dream in front of her when she could never fulfill it, when she knew that she would be dead in a few short weeks? She couldn’t even blame him. After all, she’d kept her headaches secret from him, making sure he never had any reason to believe she wasn’t well.

Marry me. The words echoed in her mind, caressing her heart. They lifted her onto a cloud of temporary happiness only to make her crash land seconds later. He hadn’t said that he loved her, but it had been in his eyes. Despite the fact that his climax had gripped him only moments earlier, she’d recognized that his offer of marriage had been genuine. It hadn’t been merely the aftereffect of his lust-drugged state. His eyes had opened, and she’d looked into his soul.

A sob tore from her chest.

No, she couldn’t allow herself to wallow in those dreams of what could be if only she was healthy, if only she wasn’t dying. It would only lead to more pain—both for him and for her. If she left him now, at least she wouldn’t break his heart. He’d be angry and disappointed, but his love for her couldn’t yet be deep enough to damage his heart. But if she allowed him to marry her, he would see her waste away over the next few weeks.

She didn’t want to hurt him like that. He’d done too much for her. She wouldn’t repay him by inflicting pain on him.

His explanation to his friend Lorenzo that she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house on her own had only given her ammunition to push him away. It would make it easier to leave. He wouldn’t pursue her if she insulted him by insisting he was imprisoning her. His pride would be hurt, his ego bruised, because he believed—rightly so—that she was staying of her own free will by now.

Dante might have imprisoned her the first night, and maybe even the second, but after that, the choice to stay had been hers. They had never spoken of it, but she’d never heard him utter another word to the servants or his brother or sister-in-law that she wasn’t allowed to leave.

Viola regretted that everything had to end so soon. She threw a last look at the bed they’d shared for a week, and her body instantly remembered the pleasure he’d given her, the tenderness he’d showered her with. Even now, her womb clenched with desperate need for his touch. For a last kiss. But she couldn’t risk it. If she allowed him even one last kiss, one last embrace, she’d never leave him.

The tears in her eyes stung, but she cried them silently. No sound came from her lips when she walked down the stairs, her slippers in her hands so as not to make any noise. When she reached the landing, she stopped and listened. Dante and Lorenzo were still in the parlor. The door was ajar, and she could only hear their muffled voices.

As quiet as a church mouse, she reached the heavy oak entrance door and put her hand onto the handle. Viola held her breath while she pressed it down.