She stood abruptly.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why?”
“Because this is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“What is?”
“You getting involved.”
For the first time that morning, irritation sharpened her voice.
“You think because everyone is afraid of you, Gavin will suddenly become reasonable? You think men like him admit what they did when someone stronger walks into the room? They don’t.
They protect themselves.
They attack.
They make everyone around them pay.”
Dante rose, but remained behind the desk.
“I’m not going to confront him.”
She gave him a disbelieving look.
“You called Luca before sunrise.”
“I said I wasn’t going to confront him.
I didn’t say I was going to ignore this.”
“Dante—”
“You decide what happens next.”
That stopped her.
He pushed the folder away from himself until it rested near the edge of the desk between them.
“Not Gavin.
Not his lawyers.
Not me.
You.”
Mara stared at him.
Dante continued.
“If you tell me to destroy everything Luca found, I destroy it.
If you tell me to lock it away, I lock it away.
If you want counsel to examine the agreement, I’ll arrange it.
If you want nothing done, nothing gets done.”
Her expression tightened.
“Why?”
The question was so quiet he almost missed it.
“Why what?”
“Why do you care?”
Dante looked toward the gray morning beyond the windows.
Their marriage had begun as an arrangement.
Mara needed protection from the instability surrounding her divorce and family finances.
Dante needed a wife whose history did not intersect with his world and whose presence made him appear, at least publicly, less like the dangerous man people believed him to be.
He had told himself the arrangement was practical.
He had told Mara the same.
Neither of them had promised love.
But practicality did not explain why the sound of her whispering Please don’t hit me had lodged beneath his ribs.
“Because you’re my wife,” he said.
Mara’s mouth tightened.
Dante shook his head.
“No.
That’s not enough.”
He corrected himself.
“Because you’re in my house.
Because you trusted me enough to sleep beside me.
Because someone taught you to raise your hand when a man touches your arm too quickly.
And because none of that should be used against you again.”
Mara looked down.
The room grew quiet.
