Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  “Neither do I.” He moves around the island to stand directly opposite me. “Let me know if it happens again. He’s added a bug that should be able to track the location of the caller. Are you going to eat that?” he adds, pointing to my sandwich.

  I push the plate his way. “Be my guest.” I’ve lost my appetite. I hate stalkers. Well, mostly I do. My last one abducted me, made me fall in love with him and is currently eating my food.

  He leans across the counter and takes a bite. “I have a proposal for you,” he says, chewing slowly.

  “It’s too late for that,” I grin, flashing his diamond in his face.

  The ghost of a smirk loosens the hard line of his mouth and he takes another bite. “You make a good sandwich, wife.”

  “You can't call me that yet,” I say, smiling sweetly at him. “It’s not official. No paperwork. No title.”

  “Is that a threat or blackmail? Because two can play at that game, mi alma, and you’ll know that I’ll win.”

  I don't like the sound of that. He’s acting like we never had that fight earlier. A tranquil Dante is a dangerous thing.

  I watch him slowly demolish the rest of the sandwich in silence. I’ve seen him rip men apart with the same deliberation and attention to detail. This man does nothing by halves.

  “I’ll let you come to Amsterdam with us on two conditions,” he declares suddenly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as I hold my breath. “One.” He holds up his index finger. “You do as I say at all times. No backchat. No defiance. You sit where I tell you to sit, you suck my dick when I tell–”

  “I’m not your bloody pet, Dante!” I interrupt angrily, rising to my feet.

  His gorgeous, cruel mouth is a full-on smirk now. “But you’re such a pretty sight when you're on all fours.”

  I shove my empty plate across the counter at him and he catches it right before it hits his arm. “You keep going like this, my angel, and I won't have any glasses or crockery left.”

  “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

  “Perhaps I see it as verbal foreplay? I don’t like easy kills or easy women.”

  “Well, it’s all the foreplay you're getting today so enjoy it while it lasts.”

  He tips his head back and laughs and I try not to melt into a puddle on his kitchen floor. He shows this emotion so rarely. I want to savor it. Put it in a box. Mark it as ‘best sound ever’ and open it as frequently as I can.

  “I’m doing this to keep you safe.” His laughter dies as quickly as it came. “I never want to walk into a room and see you getting fucked-up by some cunt Russian again.”

  I sit back down on the kitchen stool. “Me, neither.”

  “At least we’re in agreement on something.”

  “Okay, I’ll behave. What’s the second condition?”

  “Marry me.”

  What?

  “Are you crazy?” I splutter. “Newsflash, Santiago, I already said yes!”

  “You're right, it’s not official. Not yet. We do it tonight. Here, on my island. It’s all arranged. The priest arrived ten minutes ago. Your dress is waiting upstairs.”

  Oh my God, he’s serious. I shake my head at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. “No way, Dante. No freaking way! You don’t get to rush me on this to fit with some messed-up schedule of yours. I’m not ready. I need time. We need to get Anna back safely first. Please, don’t do this.” I’m shaking. I’m a wreck. I’m way past the point of anger. Tears start streaming in broken rivulets down my face.

  “Those are my conditions,” he says mildly, unmoved by the weeping woman in front of him. I watch him pick up the plate and place it carefully in the sink. “The service starts at seven pm sharp. Joseph will pick you up twenty minutes beforehand. There’s a small chapel on the North side of the island. I know it’s your prerogative on this occasion but it’s in your best interests, and those of your friend, if you keep to this timeframe and skip the tardiness.”

  “Are you saying you won't help Anna if I don’t marry you?” I whisper, brushing away my tears with one hand. I can't believe he’s forcing my hand like this. Does he not care about my wishes? He’s just reminded me of what a total, unrepentant bastard he can be.

  “Seven pm, Eve.” He doesn't reassure me about Anna. He has no intention of it.

  I hear his car door slam outside, followed by the roar of an engine.

  The storm cloud turned into a cyclone.

  He’s full on pouring now.

  9

  Eve

  I hate the dress he’s picked out for me. No I don’t. I secretly love it. What I hate is everything it represents. Forced collusion. Blackmail. Betrayal… I don't even know why I’m so surprised.

  I trail a finger across the delicate white silk bodice and resist the urge to rip it off the hanger and chuck it across the room. I know I’m being dramatic – maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones again? – but his cruelty has warped something special into ugliness and resentment. How dare he dangle my best friend’s life over my head and then expect me to marry him willingly?

  My mind is spiralling. I sit down on the edge of the bed and rub soothing circles into my temples. That feeling of displacement is worse than ever but I think I’m finally seeing it for what it is. Ever since we met, Dante has been driving our relationship so damn hard that the rest of me is struggling to catch up. Love. Marriage. Babies. What’s next, a retirement plan?

  This isn't how I expected my wedding day to go. Nothing about this is what I wanted, it’s all about Dante. I had given up on the idea of my father ever walking me down the aisle but I figured Mom would have a small part to play. And Anna… I never even got the chance to tell her I was engaged. There’s so much other shit overshadowing us as well. We’re in the middle of a war and the whole world is a battlefield.

  I have an hour until Show Time. I drag myself into the bathroom and set to work on my face. As I smudge primer into my cheeks, I consider what Joseph said earlier, about how much Dante needed this. Am I making too much of a big deal? Is it really betrayal? Our marriage was inevitable after all.

  I hear the wheels on the drive as I’m zipping up my dress. High neckline, low back, elegant as hell… My heels are four-inch stilettos made of matching white silk. I couldn’t look anymore virginal if I tried, but these four walls tell a different story. I also look like a million dollars, which is probably close to how much he spent on this outfit.

  There are heavy footsteps in the hallway outside and a brief rap on the door.

  “You ready?”

  “No.”

  Joseph pushes the door open anyway and leans against the frame. He’s wearing charcoal suit pants and a white shirt but he hasn't bothered to take his sunglasses off so I can’t read his reaction to my appearance. Not that I could anyway. Joseph’s resting face is as neutral as Switzerland.

  “Beautiful,” he states eventually.

  “Livid, more like.”

  “Smart,” he adds pointedly, sliding his glasses down his nose a fraction to fix me with his unflinching gaze.

  “Bullied,” I retort, turning away.

  “I suggest you go with it. You might find you enjoy it.”

  “You marry him then.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Blondes are more my thing.”

  “And they’re my incentive.”

  “A good incentive. One of the best.”

  I catch his eye in the mirror. Was he just implying…?”

  “Are you done?” he asks, glancing down at his wristwatch.

  “Nearly.” I steal a final dash of lipstick and pout my approval. “I wish she was here,” I mutter, chucking a metaphoric rock into the air.

  “She will be, soon enough.” Wow, a direct hit. “She arrived in Amsterdam an hour ago. She’s been sighted and identified. By the time you’re married, we’ll know exactly where she’s being held. Petrov and his team are already in situ. Assuming you uphold your side of Dante’s bargain, we’ll be on our way by nightfall.”r />
  “Did he instruct you to tell me this?”

  The quirk of his mouth confirms my suspicions. “It was a sweetener to get you in the car. An early wedding present, if you will. It’s not too late to give him one of those yourself.”

  “Not today,” I say firmly. “I’m not telling him about the baby until I’m on that plane.”

  He tuts out his disapproval. “What have I told you before about playing games with Dante Santiago?”

  “He made up these rules.”

  “Then stop trying to cheat them,” he murmurs, checking his watch again.

  “Do you remember your own wedding?” I ask him, slipping into my shoes.

  He stiffens but doesn't answer.

  There will be no more revelations from him today.

  Joseph pulls out of the estate and turns left, onto a road I’ve never ventured down before. Is this a sign, I wonder? There’s so much of this island that’s still a mystery to me, much like its owner.

  I smooth my dress down over my lap and stare out of the window from the backseat of the jeep. My hands are trembling again so I clench them into tight fists. It’s giving me a sense of control when I clearly have none. A year ago I’d never done anything wild and reckless. Now I’m five minutes away from marrying a master criminal, a killer. A man whose moral compass is so screwed up, even he can't read the points anymore.

  Everything about Dante screams sin but when we touch, sparks happen. It’s the kind of dark magic you read about. I crave him. I’d die for him. Twice we’ve been forced apart, and each time has pushed me to the brink of my sanity.

  He’s sitting alone on the steps of the chapel waiting for me. Black pants and shoes. Black shirt. No tie. Dark hair slicked back. The stone cherubs carved into the ornate portico above his head seem to be weeping with disapproval at his very presence near a House of God.

  The chapel itself takes me by surprise. It’s quaint and English-looking, with some kind of green vine prettying-up the front of the building above the doorway. I can see the outline of his army barracks, the helicopters and the tanks – his weapons of death – all lined up like metal soldiers in the background. This place is an intruder. A glitch. It shouldn't be here on this island. It’s a small bastion of light in amongst the darkness, but I suppose that’s what I am to him too. An anomaly he gravitates to when the rest of the world keeps failing him.

  The car stops and he rises to his feet to greet me. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and when he opens the door, blocking out the sunlight and my last viable escape route, I feel like I’m about to choke.

  He drapes one arm over the crook of the open door and offers me his hand. “Do you hate me?”

  “Yes.” I still take his hand, though.

  “Good.” He guides me out of the jeep and pulls me into his arms. “I find animosity is a solid basis for any lasting relationship.”

  His steady heartbeat is a soothing pacesetter for mine. I drink him in for a few seconds and then I’m laughing so hard that I can't catch my breath. My reaction disperses the last molecules of tension between us. I feel good suddenly. This feels right.

  “I can't believe we’re doing this.” I gasp and clutch at my sides.

  “I can't believe you’re surprised,” he says narrowing his eyes at me. “Come. The priest is waiting.” He ushers me up the steps, one hand planted firmly to my lower back as if I might bolt at any moment.

  “Are you paying him by the hour?”

  “No, but I want this done and dusted quickly so I can get home and fuck my wife.”

  “You can't say words like fuck in places like this,” I hiss at him as we cross the threshold together. Musty and dank, the chapel smells of long-forgotten promises and neglect.

  “Will I go to hell? I have a hunch my ticket’s already been booked.”

  I hate how he thinks there’s no redemption for him. That he’s undeserving and always will be, no matter how many human trafficking rings he destroys or how many women he rescues.

  “Don’t joke.” I brush his hand away from my back as we reach the aisle. A dozen or so wooden pews are laid out on either side of us, fanning out like the fletching of an arrow. “Stop. I need to know something before we go through with all this.”

  He turns to look at me. “The combination to my safe? Where I’ve hidden all the bodies?”

  Is he nervous? His relentless sarcasm tells me that, for once, he’s not as cool as he outwardly appears.

  “Why did you kill her, Dante?” I say quietly.

  His face shuts down immediately. “This isn't the time or the place.” He jerks his head at a squat, gray-haired gentleman clutching a red leather bible, who is waiting patiently for us next to the altar. “We’ll talk later.”

  “I can excuse the murderers, the abusers…but the innocents?” My eyes search his face for answers that I know will haunt me. “Make me understand. You have my forgiveness already. I will marry you today, regardless. But I want to know the worst of it, so that we can walk out of this chapel later and start anew.”

  “I promised you atonement in Miami, not a confessional,” he says coldly.

  “It’s eating you up inside.”

  “You don't know fuck about what’s inside of me, Eve.” He takes my arm and drags me into a dark corner and then pushes me up against the wall and squeezes my chin between his fingers. This is Dante in his scary-as-hell mode but I’m not afraid of him anymore.

  “This is another poor basis for a relationship, wouldn't you agree?”

  “Pandora’s Box, mi alma,” he says silkily, using my endearment as a weapon against me. “Love the version you know. Not the one who lurks unseen.”

  “I love all of you. Every broken piece and fragment. Nothing you say will ever change that.”

  There’s a pause. “I stopped feeling.” He lets go of my chin and takes a step back, eyes burning bright. Feverishly. “But you’re like a power surge, my angel. You walked into my life and everything switched back on. Now I’m left dealing with the fall-out of thirty-eight years of bad living and immorality.”

  “Dante–”

  “I don't regret killing her as much as I should. As much as you’d like me to feel. Why? Because every life I’ve taken has led me one step closer to you.”

  “That’s not a justification,” I whisper.

  “It’s the only one I’m offering.”

  “And your daughter?”

  “She has all my guilt, whatever she can find of it. I tried to get her out of this life and failed. I was off killing in the name of someone else’s war when I should have been fighting hers. After that, there was no point fighting the inevitable.”

  There it is, the outline of his vulnerability through his walls of dispassion. I want to reach in and drag it, kicking and screaming, into the light.

  “I don't believe you, Dante. I don’t believe you feel no regret for what you did to her mother.”

  “Believe what you fucking like.” He shrugs and plunges his hands in his pockets. “I’m done with this conversation.”

  I’m tempted to tell him about our baby. To offer up another power surge that might tip him over the edge and banish his darkness forever.

  “What?” he barks, snapping the fragile thread of my thoughts.

  I blink at him in shock.

  “You’re staring at me. Can we get married? I’ve bared my soul and the priest is getting antsy.”

  “Oh, so now you’re asking my permission?”

  He smirks.

  I smile.

  “Move.”

  “I love you.”

  “I made you.”

  “Tell me you love me back,” I beg.

  He leans over and presses his lips to my ear. “You look so fucking beautiful in that white dress, my angel, I want to bend you over that altar and charge the priest a million bucks just to watch.”

  My gasp of shock turns to moans as he captures my mouth with his own and drives his tongue between my teeth.

  �
�Aren't you supposed to get married first before fucking her mouth?” drawls a voice behind us.

  “I don't do conformity, Grayson,” murmurs Dante, breaking away from me. “You know that. I’d stick around if I were you… Things are about to get interesting.”

  10

  Dante

  We leave the chapel in silence. No pealing bells, no screaming flower girls or distant relatives throwing confetti in our faces, just the sound of her high heels on the stone steps and my inner roar of satisfaction.

  I stole her.

  I claimed her.

  I married her.

  “Two hours,” I tell Joseph as I climb into the backseat after Eve, throwing down a gauntlet to myself. How many times can I make my new wife come between now and then? How many times can I pour my heart and soul into her body?

  She looks flawless in her dress. Perfect. Angelic. So damn beautiful it makes my head hurt. I neglected to tell her that before the ceremony but I’ll make up for it later.

  I chose to wear black for a reason. I make no secret of the fact that I relish our contradictions, and this was my last chance to show her what a devil I really am. If not the clothes, then what I spoke of inside the chapel was proof enough. But she never flinched. She accepted and forgave. Again. How much more can I throw at this woman before she falters?

  She looks thoughtful now. Pensive. She’s staring out of the window, her right hand buried deep in mine. Is she choking on her disappointment already? I’m sure I’ll warrant it at some point during this marriage. Fidelity is a given, I’ll never want any other woman, and the surety of this is burned into my skin already. But transparency? Obedience? Not so clear cut. Fuck it. We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure out the kinks.

  Joseph starts the engine. Chin up. Head high. She’s taking it all in her stride; bringing me to my knees with her dignity again. It took courage to ask me what she did in there. It took even more to fire three rounds into my brother when it mattered the most.

  I’ve had enough of the distance. I need her close. I need to feel her body heat melting into mine. I tighten my grip and yank her back to me with a violent jerk.