The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (19 page)

His brow twitches with a subtle rage. “It’s crossed my mind.”

“So — what are we supposed to do?”

Dante shrugs with frustration. “Whatever we want to do, Lilah. We have new, untraceable identities. Passports, money. Get your tattoo removed and start a new life. Fox Fitzpatrick is a fucking prick but he left us that.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” Elijah says, “there’s a principle involved here, Dante. That used to mean something to you.”

“It still does.” He pauses and looks over at me. “But the risk isn’t worth it anymore.”

I look at the table, hiding from their judgmental eyes, knowing that they must blame me for his sudden change in personality. My cheeks turn red. I’m officially
that
woman — the one that seduced the lead singer and broke up the band.

“Dante…”
Lilah says with a heavy sigh. “I’m so proud of you.”

I pull my eyes up to find both of them grinning across the table at me. “What?” I ask, my voice quivering.

Lilah pushes out of her chair and rushes around the table to throw her arms around Dante’s thick shoulders. “That was
beautiful
,” she chuckles.

Elijah’s chair drags out and he runs around the other side to add his own hug to their embrace.

“Ahh, jeez…” Dante lowers his head, slinking away from them. “Does this mean you two are staying?”

“Oh, hell no,” Elijah answers him.

“No,
we’re
going to Denver today,” Lilah says as they stand up tall. “We’re just happy you’re not.”

I laugh with awkward confusion, drawing their eyes towards me.

Elijah pats my shoulder. “I’ll get you another dose, Lucy,” he says, walking around to find his medkit.

Lilah lowers behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, being careful not to jerk me about too much. “It’s about time there was another woman around here. These guys can be such a pain in my ass…”

“Please leave her alone,” Dante snides playfully.

“It’s okay…” I laugh again. I look around me, overwhelmed with fresh emotions — ones I’ve ever felt before. My own family fell apart a long time ago and I never had siblings to help bear that weight. The Harts may be a family of killers but they’ve accepted me as their own. In the end, maybe it’s better to have a killer’s protection than a saint’s approval.

Elijah zips open his case and withdrawals a new needle to inject me with. “This is the last of it,” he says to me. “So you’ll have to manage the pain yourself from here on out the old-fashioned way.”

“I can handle it,” I say, completely forgetting about my fear of needles.

He looks at Dante.
“Don’t
let her walk on it — at least for the first few weeks. Then you guys can play it by ear.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Dante answers.

“I know you will.” Elijah shoots him a wink before leaning over to concentrate on my knee.

Lilah slides her laptop away into her bag. “We hate to run, but we have daylight to burn and a hacker to track down. I’ll keep you updated.”

Dante nods and stands to hug his sister goodbye. “Good luck.”

“I always need it.”

“And
be careful
.”

“I never am,” she jokes, planting a kiss on his cheek. She pulls away from him and Elijah stands up to take her place.

I look down, realizing that Elijah’s already injected me with those magic hands of his. Warmth glides through my leg, tingling my nerves until they go numb.

“Take care of my big brother, Lucy,” Lilah tells me. “He can be quite the nuisance...”

“I’ve noticed.”

Dante glares down at me, his eyes full of amusement and love.

Love.

Oh, my god.

It sinks in slowly, curling around my heart like a snake’s endless tail.

Dante Hart loves me. He said as much at this very table, dancing around the words, but the intention is obvious.

I look into his eyes, deep and blue as the ocean, and it’s clearer than ever how much I love him back.

I’m in love with a killer.

***

It’s interesting to test how much pain the human body can take.

If I were a gambler like my father was, I’d be willing to bet that everyone tries to test themselves from time-to-time. Be it by pushing a needle point against the flesh of your fingertip or putting a touch too much pressure on a twisted ankle just to know what it feels like.

Limits are meant to be pushed. Human will is meant to be tested. Boundaries are meant to be crossed. It’s how we grow and learn and change. It’s how we know how far we can go before we snap.

Adaptation is the mark of a survivor.

I stand at the top of the shadow-covered stairs with one crutch nestled beneath my right arm, pretending to be a working limb while the real one hangs there with enough life inside to keep it from grazing the floor.

It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve touched a stairwell. It’s not something you think about until it’s taken away from you; basic mobility, sense of balance, ease of movement. I can’t even get in and out of the bathtub on my own — although, Dante doesn’t mind at all assisting me with that chore.

That doesn’t stop me from apologizing each time. He brushes it off when I say it. He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them without saying a word. I wish I could say I don’t feel guilty for it, but I do.

I already feel it in my legs. Atrophy. Muscles grow weaker each day. Ligaments shrink. It’s a slow, but steady, fall from grace but I can stop it if I try.

Push limits. Test my will. Cross boundaries.

I lean into the crutch on my right side and grip the banister to my left.

Come on, Lucy Vaughn. Show some strength.

I step silently, easing down onto my good leg while pumping enough juice into the other to hold it up. There’s the slightest bit of pain, perfectly manageable in every way. There are twelve steps to the bottom. I can easily handle that pain eleven more times.

I take another step, flexing my arm as the crutch digs sharply into my armpit. There’s more pain there, but again, perfectly within my limits.

Three more steps and my strength wavers.

I pause, filling my lungs with air as I put all of my weight into my left leg. It shakes beneath me, threatening to knock me off balance and send me toppling to the bottom — right back to square fucking one.

“Lucy—”

“Stop.”
I hold up my hand, halting Dante at the bottom of the stairs. He stands there, appearing as if from nowhere, no doubt drawn here by the sound of each painful breath.

“What are you doing?”

Moonlight shines through the windows, illuminating his scarred body and perfect face, along with that snake staring up at me with black eyes from his bare chest. “I can do this,” I say.

He wants to argue with me — or even charge up the stairs, throw me over his shoulder, and force me back into bed upstairs — but he pauses with curiosity dancing behind his eyes. He knows better than anybody how stubborn I can be and even if he did drag me back to bed, I’d only get up again. He stays at the bottom, ready to pounce on the worst case scenario as I continue down.

Each step is slower and more painful than the last. I lie to myself, shouting inside that I’m still within my limits. I’m still in this to win in. The boundary is a mile away. My threshold for pain hasn’t even begun to—

The crutch slips from my grasp two steps away from the bottom.

Dante lurches forward, easily taking my weight with both hands, holding me up beneath my shoulders. The crutch clatters on the stairs, sliding the rest of the way before settling at the bottom.

“There…” I breathe. “See? I told you I could do it.”

He sighs with annoyance but looks back at me with pride. “Come on…” He scoops me up and I embrace the much-needed break, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carries me with him back into the kitchen.

I look at the table as he sets me down to find small, metal pieces scattered about on top. He travels back to the hall to grab the crutch and hands it to me when he returns. “What are you doing down here?” I ask him.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Again? What, I’m not exhausting enough for you, Mr. Hart?” I tease.

“Oh, no,” he grins. “You are
very
exhausting, Ms. Vaughn. My insomnia is related to something else entirely.”

I eye the parts scattered on the table. “And your solution is…
what
exactly?”

“Cleaning my gun.” He takes a piece in hand — a thin metal tube slightly larger than a toothpick — along with a white cloth, splotched black with grease.

I blink and the metallic pieces assemble together in my head. “Ah, I see.” I snatch a tiny spring off the table and squeeze it between my fingertips once before Dante takes it away and sets it back down where I got it. “There are so many springs…” I note.

“Yes, there are.”

“Do they all have different names?”

“Yes, they do.”

I point to the one he took from me. “What’s that one called?”

“The trigger spring.”

I shift to the next one, this one several inches long but just as narrow. “And this one?”

“The firing pin spring,” he answers.

“That one?” I point to another small one, only a centimeter or two larger than the first one.

He licks his smiling lips.
“That
is the extractor depressor plunger screw.”

“You just made that one up!” I accuse.

“I really didn’t,” he chuckles, setting the cloth down on the table.

I point to another. “And what’s—”

“Lucy…” He folds his hands in front of him and stares at me beneath the harsh kitchen lamp. “What are you doing?”

I pull my hand away. “Learning.”

“Why?” he asks, accusation crossing his eyes.

I swallow to wet my dry throat. “Because I can’t sleep either and I’m pretty sure the reason why I can’t is the same reason why you can’t, too.”

Dante flexes his jaw. “I don’t know about that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Lucy—”

“Dante, I can’t close my eyes without seeing
his
.” I refuse to blink. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t want to see him suffer as much as I do.”

“Of course, I do,” he says. “But I left that life behind when I brought you out here.”

“Then teach
me
.”

He sits back and the light above us casts shadows over his eyes beneath his hanging forehead. “Lucy, you don’t want to be like me. You don’t want to do what I’ve done.”

“I want to take my life back.” I inhale to calm my shaking body. “I want to make sure I never feel this weak ever again.”

“I’ll take care of you, Lucy. I can protect you.”

“It’s not just about
me
,” I whisper. “It’s about everyone else. Who knows what he’s done to other people or what he will do if we don’t stop him. I want to make sure he
never
makes anyone feel the way I do right now.”

“I get it, Lucy. I do, but…” He sighs. “You kill him, another fool takes his place. You kill
him
and another one steps up. You can’t stop this from happening to someone else.”

“I don’t care about the next guy.
He
killed my father.
He
took my leg.”

“Lucy, this isn’t you and I don’t want it to be.”

“What am I supposed to be?” I ask. “Everything I was before is gone. I’ll never dance again—”

“You don’t know that—”

“But if I don’t, then what?” My shoulders twitch. “What do I do?
Teach?
Give lessons to small children — watch as they surpass me faster every year? I won’t do that, Dante.
It’s too fucking hard—”

“You think killing a man is
easy
?” he asks, leaning forward.

“You’re telling me it’s
not
? Tell that to Spencer.”

“It was either him or you,” he says. “Would you rather I had chosen differently?”

“No,” I answer, shaking my head once. “But I saw it in your eyes, Dante. You killed him without a second thought.”

“I did that for you.”

“If you can do that, then you can do this. Help me end him and we’ll move on.”

He shifts closer to me, lowering his voice to a firm growl. “What you’re asking… it’s not
right
.”

“I don’t care about right and wrong, Dante.”

“You will.”

“How can you — of all people — sit there and lecture me about morality?”

“I’m not.”

“Then help me.”

“It’s not right…
for you
.”

I breathe through the frustration clogging my body. “I’ve spent my entire life doing what was right for me.” I plant my fingers on the table between us. “
This
is where it took me. It led me to you for a reason, Dante.”

“Not for this, Lucy,” he whispers.

“I’m doing this with or without you.” I pause, forcing my tears away, preparing to say the words out loud to make them true. “He took
everything
from me. I want to kill him, Dante… and I want you to teach me how.”

“His family owns the entire city,” he points out. “You can be damn sure they all know who I am by now. We can’t touch him.”

“Marty Zappia is just a man,” I say. “Every man has a weakness.”

Dante looks down again, hiding the darkness bleeding into his blue eyes. “You’re sure about this?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“There’s no going back, Lucy,” he whispers. “You open that door, it doesn’t close again.”

I hold my eyes steady. “I’m sure.”

Dante takes a breath, filling his lungs to the very top and holding it there for several moments before forcing it out. “Okay…” he says, reaching out for the disassembled gun grip in front of him. “This is a Glock. 9mm. I’m going to put it back together. I’ll take it apart again and then you’ll do the same, so watch closely.”

I nod, leaning over to get a better view while my heart pounds in my chest.