Chapter 29: Dante

Dante's POV

I watched Valentina sleep beside me, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath.

Last night had been fucking incredible.

The moment we'd closed the bedroom door behind us, I'd slammed her against the wall, unable to contain the hunger that had been building between us for weeks. I tore her blouse open and roughly palmed her breasts, how she arched into my touch, demanding more.

"Dante," she'd whispered my name like a prayer as I dropped to my knees in front of her, yanking her skirt up around her waist. I'd ripped her delicate underwear aside and buried my face between her thighs, tasting her sweetness while she clutched my hair, grinding against my mouth until she came apart for the first time that night.

But that had just been the beginning.

I remembered the tight, slick heat of her body as I'd thrust into her, how she'd cried out and dug her nails into my back hard enough to draw blood.

"Harder," she'd begged, wrapping her legs around my waist. "Fuck me harder."

And I had. For hours. Against the headboard. On the floor. Bent over the dresser with her arms pinned behind her back. By the time we'd finally collapsed in exhaustion, we'd christened nearly every surface in the room, and Valentina had come so many times she was trembling.

Now, looking at her sleeping form, I felt a possessive pride seeing the evidence of our passion marking her body. Part of me wanted to wake her up and take her again, to remind her who she belonged to now.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Valentina didn't belong to anyone. Especially not her stepbrother. This thing between us—this explosive, forbidden chemistry—was a complication neither of us needed.

I carefully disentangled myself from the sheets and got dressed quietly. I took a few minutes to clean up the room, erasing all evidence of what we'd done.

As I looked at Valentina one last time before leaving, I couldn't help wondering if this had been a mistake. Not because it hadn't been mind-blowing—it had been the best sex of my life—but because I didn't know if I could keep my feelings compartmentalized anymore. And in our world, feelings got people killed.

The Devil's Forge was bustling when I arrived, the familiar cacophony of motorcycle engines, clinking glasses, and raucous laughter providing a welcome distraction from thoughts of Valentina's legs wrapped around my waist, her lips parted in ecstasy, her voice crying out my name. The bar served as both headquarters for my motorcycle club and a sanctuary from the tangled web of family politics I'd returned to.

My uncle Matteo was in his usual corner booth, nursing a whiskey neat. Unlike my father Lorenzo, Matteo had always been straight with me. No games, no hidden agendas—just brutal honesty, which I'd come to value in a world built on lies.

"Dante," he nodded as I slid into the booth across from him. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."

"I need to talk to you about Sheila," I said, keeping my voice low despite the ambient noise.

His expression shifted subtly—most wouldn't have noticed, but I'd been trained to catch the minutest changes in body language. "Val's friend? What about her?"

"And I've seen how you look at her—like you've seen a ghost."

Matteo sighed heavily, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before downing it in one swift motion. He gestured to the bartender for another before turning back to me.

"She looks like someone I used to know," he admitted, his weathered face momentarily softening with what could only be described as regret. "Like Gloria."

"Gloria?"

"My first love." He gave a bitter laugh. "The one that got away, as they say."

The bartender delivered his drink, and Matteo waited until we were alone again before continuing.

"Gloria Russo. We were young, stupid in love. I was going to propose, had the ring and everything." His knuckles whitened around his glass. "Then her father intervened. Old man Russo didn't want his daughter marrying into our family."

"Russo?" The name hit me like a physical blow. "As in Vincent Russo?"

Matteo nodded grimly. "The very same. Your father's biggest rival."

The implications were staggering. Vincent Russo controlled the entire west side operation—guns, drugs, protection rackets. Our families had been locked in a cold war for decades, occasional violent flare-ups serving as reminders of the tenuous peace.

"Gloria married Vincent's brother instead," Matteo continued. "Not by choice, from what I heard. Had a daughter soon after."

"Sheila," I breathed, the pieces starting to click into place.

"Gloria died under... mysterious circumstances shortly after giving birth." Matteo's expression hardened. "Official report said postpartum complications, but those of us who knew Vincent's methods had our suspicions."

"And the daughter?"

"Disappeared. Rumor was she'd been sent to an orphanage, but no one knew for sure. I tried to find her, felt I owed it to Gloria, but..." He trailed off, then fixed me with an intense stare. "And now, twenty years later, here she is—Sheila, who remembers nothing except being raised by some grandmother at an orphanage, conveniently befriending your stepsister."

"You think it's a setup," I stated, the tactical part of my brain already assessing potential threats.

"I think someone knows exactly who Sheila is and is using her proximity to Valentina." Matteo leaned closer. "Think about it—what better way to get close to our operation than through an innocent who has no idea she's being manipulated?"

The danger to Valentina was immediate and clear. If Russo was behind this, he wouldn't hesitate to use Sheila—and by extension, Valentina—as leverage against my father's organization. Against me.

"I need to warn Val," I said, already rising from the booth.

Matteo grabbed my wrist, his grip still surprisingly strong for a man his age. "Carefully, Dante. If Sheila truly doesn't know her origin, telling her could put her in more danger. And if Valentina starts acting differently around her..."

I nodded, understanding his unspoken warning. "I'll keep it close for now, but I need to keep a closer eye on Val."

"I'll help you dig deeper into Sheila's background," Matteo offered. "There might be something in the orphanage records that could confirm our suspicions."

"Thanks." I paused, then added, "Why are you telling me all this? Why not go to my father?"

Matteo's expression darkened. "Because your father already has enough blood on his hands. And because I trust you to handle this with... discretion."

"I need to find Val," I said, checking my phone. No messages, no calls. Unease crept up my spine.

"Go," Matteo nodded. "And Dante? Be careful who you trust in this. Even family."

Especially family, I thought as I headed for the door.

It took me three calls and a favor from Jax, who had connections with a cell phone company, to track Valentina's location. The high-end restaurant on the east side wasn't her usual scene, which only heightened my concern.

I parked my Harley a block away, the engine's growl quieting to a purr before cutting off completely. The restaurant was exactly the kind of place my father would approve of—tasteful, expensive, discreet. Perfect for clandestine meetings.

I didn't bother with the maître d', scanning the dim interior until I spotted her. Valentina was seated in a corner booth, her face illuminated by candlelight, looking more beautiful and more troubled than I'd ever seen her.

Then I saw who she was with.

Leon. Her ex-boyfriend.

she must have forgotten how she was calling my name last night, begging me to enter her. I think I need to remind her, my dear sister.