Page 70 of Ivory Crown
“Don’t push your luck,” Dante said. His words were hollow, his attention momentarily snagged by his ringing phone.
“Excuse me,” he muttered before slipping out of the room, his parting glance sharp enough to slice through the tension he left behind.
“Seems like there’s never a dull moment with you Morettis,” I quipped, hoping my light tone would encourage Marco to keep talking.
“Tell me about it,” Marco sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “You get used to it, though. Or at least, you pretend to.”
I nodded, pretending to sympathize while mentally marking every word, every slip he made. Information was currency, and right now, I was bankrupt. But not for long. Not if I played my cards right.
“Must be hard, always looking over your shoulder,” I prodded gently, my eyes scanning the room for anything that might serve as an advantage. Marco’s guard was down, and it was time to dig deeper.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, his eyes half-closed. “There are things you see... stuff you can’t unsee.”
“Like?” My question hung in the air, bait for him to spill secrets that could be my lifeline out of this gilded cage.
“Ah, Jade,” he chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “You’re too good for this world. Too pure.” He coughed then, a rattling sound that spoke of lingering pain.
I reached out, my touch light on his arm. “You can tell me, Marco. Sometimes sharing eases the burden.”
He smiled at that, a pained grimace really. “Maybe another time,” he said, but the seed was planted. Next time, he might just open up. I just needed to make sure Dante took me to the hospital again to visit him.
A beep from the hallway heralded Dante’s return. I straightened up, schooling my features into an expression of concerned innocence.
“Everything okay?” I asked as Dante reentered, his usual composure replaced by something more raw, more urgent.
“Fine, just fine,” he replied, though his voice betrayed the lie. Dante was a skilled liar, but I was beginning to learn his tells.
“Dad?”
“Yeah,” Dante said.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Marco said.
Dante chewed on his lower lip. “Yeah, it’s just…” he fell quiet when he looked at me. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Marco glanced at the digital clock above his bed.
“Time for you two to make a move, isn’t it?” Marco’s words cut into the silence, his laid-back demeanor doing nothing to soften their sharp edge. He lounged against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, a smirk dancing on his lips as though he delighted in breaking the tranquility.
A brief tightening of Dante’s jaw was all that betrayed his irritation. “Indeed, we’re expected at Giordano’s,” he responded tersely.
“Good,” Marco approved with a nod. “Disappear before mom and dad arrive. I don’t want them stumbling upon you here—not with everything else going on.”
“Got it.” Dante’s response was brisk but laced with an undercurrent of appreciation for the heads-up. No further explanation was needed; I knew that any involvement with his parents right now would be far from ideal.
“I’ll return shortly,” he reassured me, but it was unclear whether this was meant to soothe or serve as a warning. His gaze shifted back to Marco, probing, assessing. “The police—have they shown up?”
As someone who spent her time in labs rather than dealing with bullet wounds and law enforcement visits, I blinked in bewilderment. Noticing my confusion, Dante clarified: “It’s standard procedure after a gunshot wound.”
“Oh yeah, they dropped by,” Marco chimed in smoothly. “Gave their statement and everything else. No need for concern.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes—a clear hint that the police had been dealt with using methods as murky as the family business itself.
Relief passed over Dante’s face like a fleeting shadow; subtle yet unmistakable. He nodded at Marco’s assurance—their shared understanding built from years of relying on each other’s unspoken language.
“Let’s go, Jade.” His voice softened considerably from its earlier hardness—an unexpected gentleness that caught me off guard. His hand reached for mine, our fingers weaving together in a way that was both possessive and electrifying. It was a promise, a declaration—one I wasn’t sure I fully grasped yet. “We’ll be back later. Look after yourself, okay?”
“Yeah,” Marco said. “I promise I’ll try not to get shot at again.”
Marco laughed, but Dante’s grip on my hand only got tighter.