Chapter 4 - The Safehouse on Lake Shore
The limousine sped north along Lake Shore Drive through a blinding curtain of mid-November sleet. Inside the darkened passenger cabin, the heat was blasted to maximum, but my teeth refused to stop chattering.
Dante sat beside me, having discarded his ruined tuxedo jacket. He had wrapped me in a heavy cashmere blanket, and he was currently using a first-aid kit from the console to pull microscopic shards of glass from the palms of my hands with surgical tweezers.
""Stop wincing,"" he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle as he dabbed antiseptic across my left thumb. ""You barely broke the skin.""
""You carried me through the lobby of the Drake Hotel like a sack of potatoes,"" I said, staring at the floor partition, my face burning with embarrassment. ""The Mayor of Chicago was standing near the coat check. He saw my underwear.""
Dante didn't look up from his work. ""The Mayor of Chicago was looking at the gun Vincent was holding to Whitaker’s spine. He wasn't looking at your lingerie. And if he had been, I would have had his municipal budget frozen by tomorrow morning.""
""You're insane,"" I whispered.
""I am pragmatic,"" he replied, applying a sterile adhesive strip across my palm. He held my hand for a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of my knuckles. ""You saw Whitaker reaching for the revolver, didn't you?""
I swallowed hard, looking out the tinted window at the dark, churning waves of Lake Michigan crashing against the concrete breakwater. ""I saw his sleeve move. He had that look in his eyes... like the repo men who used to come to my mom’s apartment when the radiation treatments fell behind on billing. Desperate. Cornered.""
Dante went quiet. He closed the first-aid kit with a sharp snap and set it aside.
""Whitaker was working for Bianke for over six months,"" Dante said, his voice dropping into that dark, dangerous register. ""He was funneling our shipping manifests to the South Side syndicate. The crate bomb was meant to eliminate me so Bianke could take control of the harbor docks without resistance. If you hadn't knocked that table over, Whitaker’s first bullet would have caught me in the throat.""
""I didn't mean to knock the table over,"" I confessed, my voice trembling. ""I tripped, Mr. Costa. I trip over air. I trip over painted lines on crosswalks. It wasn't an operative maneuver; it was chronic, genetic clumsiness.""
Dante leaned closer, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light of the passing streetlamps. His dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with an intensity that made the breath catch in my windpipe.
""I don't care why you fell, Amelia,"" he said, his face inches from mine. ""I care that you fell in front of me. In my world, loyalty doesn't come from loyalty oaths or blood contracts. It comes from instinct. You threw yourself into the line of fire.""
""I threw myself into champagne!""
""Same difference,"" he murmured.
The limousine slowed to a stop, turning into the underground subterranean ramp of a private high-rise penthouse overlooking the lake. The heavy steel security gate rolled down behind us with a loud, mechanical thud, sealing us off from the city.
""We aren't going to the office,"" I noted, looking out at the rows of black armored SUVs and armed guards in tactical gear.
""The office is compromised until Vincent finishes Whitaker’s debriefing,"" Dante said, stepping out of the car and extending his hand to help me down. ""Tonight, you stay with me.""
May you like
""At your apartment?""
Dante’s lips curved into that rare, devastating smirk that made my knees feel weaker than any five-inch heel ever could. ""It has no rugs, Amelia. You’ll be remarkably safe.""
