Dante's Honor-Bound Husband (17 page)

Unable to help herself, she fell back a step, thoroughly intimidated. “I'm sorry. I thought you were my cousin.” She glanced over her shoulder, searching for Constantine, before offering her hand with a hesitant smile. “I don't suppose you have any Dante relatives in your background? You could pass for one of my family without any problem at all. The resemblance is really quite amazing.”

He didn't speak for a long moment. Then in a voice as
deep and black as his appearance, he asked, “Who are you?”

Her hand dropped slowly to her side. “I'm Gianna Dante. Constantine Romano is my fiancé,” she explained stiffly.

His eyes narrowed in open displeasure. To her extreme relief, she felt the reassuring pressure of Constantine's hands on her shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

Moretti hesitated, then shook his head. “I'm satisfied with what I've seen here. Send the contract,” he said, his gaze never shifting from Gianna. And with that, he turned and left, flowing from the building like black fog.

“What the hell was that about?” Constantine demanded.

“I think I remember where I heard the name Moretti before,” Gianna murmured, stricken. “That's the name of the woman my uncle Dominic had an affair with. The woman he was leaving Aunt Laura for. Oh, Constantine. I think maybe Uncle Dominic did more than have an affair with her. A lot more.”

C
onstantine stared after Gabe Moretti in disbelief. “You think he's a Dante? Seriously?”

“I don't know.” Gianna gnawed on her lower lip. “You saw him. Don't you think he could have passed for Sev's twin brother?”

“Don't jump to any rash conclusions,” Constantine warned. “You're far too good at that.”

She swiveled to face him, planting her hands on her shapely hips. “Tell me you're not going to rub that in my face for the rest of our lives.”

The time had come to deal with her impulsiveness once and for all. He approached and went toe-to-toe with her. “I won't rub it in your face, if you promise not to act rashly.”

She smiled sweetly. “I assume that means you want prior approval on every decision I make. How deliciously caveman of you.” She swept her hand downward to indicate
her pantsuit. “Would you care to approve my clothes, for instance? My shoes? What about my hair?”

“That's not what I mean and you damn well know it,” he growled. “Even Luc acknowledged that I should have been informed of what you had planned for today. You admitted that the only reason you didn't was that you knew I would object. So don't act as though I'm coming on like some sort of Neanderthal.” He leaned in. “Imagine if the situation had been reversed and I'd been the one in that house. If Juice and your brothers had kept our plan from you. Admit it. You would have been furious.”

For an instant, he thought she'd argue the point. Then she blew out a sigh and nodded. “No, you're right. I should have told you, just as I would have expected you to tell me.”

A smile built across his face. It was times like this that she blew him away. Her fairness. The frank way she admitted her mistakes. They were just a few of the qualities he adored about her. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“Yeah, well. I'm still sort of new at this whole team thing we have going,” she admitted.

“As am I.” He cupped a hand around the back of her neck and drew her up for a slow kiss. “Look on the bright side. D'Angelo is in jail and unlikely to get out anytime soon. I was just awarded a huge contract. And you may have a new cousin.”

She grimaced. “I'm not sure there's a bright side to your last point.”

“Time will tell.” He released her. “Now that we're a team, how do you suggest we handle the possibility?”

“I don't know,” she admitted.

“Should you tell Primo?”

“Tell him that his son may have fathered a child out of wedlock?” She shuddered. “Scary thought.”

“Do you want to think about it for a while?”

Her eyebrows shot skyward. “What? Not act impulsively for once? Me?”

He smothered a smile. “I know it'll be a challenge.”

“In this case, not so much.” She frowned unhappily. “To be honest, I would like to think about it for a while.”

Constantine glanced again at the exit Gabe Moretti had taken. “I have a feeling you won't be the only one.”

 

The next several weeks passed with lightning speed. Gianna should have been blissfully happy, but a single shadow continued to hang over her. Not once in all the time she'd been with Constantine had he said those vital three words she'd shared with him the night they'd made love for the first time:
I love you.
He wanted her. No question there. The Inferno burned and connected them in ways that suggested love and a lifelong commitment. But real love? Natural love? Non-Inferno influenced love?

She just couldn't be certain.

How much of his desire and commitment to marry her were based on The Inferno and feeling honor-bound to marry her because they'd made love? And how much of it was based on true feeling? It was definitely a conversation they needed to have before the wedding.

But as the days and weeks passed, Gianna couldn't figure out a way to discuss the problem with him. Or perhaps she couldn't find the right words because, despite facing all of her other fears, she couldn't bring herself to face this one. She couldn't bear the idea of his admitting to her that he didn't love her, that it was all due to The Inferno.

If that's what he believed, she'd be forced to cancel their wedding, something her entire family—not to mention Constantine—would oppose. Oppose? She laughed without humor. She knew her family. And though they were the
most loving and generous people she'd ever known, they wouldn't hesitate to drag her to the altar and find a priest who'd marry them regardless of whether or not she said “I do.” Considering she and Constantine had experienced The Inferno, they wouldn't give her any other choice. If they knew the two of them had slept together… Well, forget it. The wedding would happen faster than the sizzle of The Inferno.

And still the days passed.

The night before the wedding, Primo threw a party in their honor. “I think it was to keep us from stealing away your fiancé and debauching him,” Rafe informed Gianna with a wink.

She laughed. “No bachelor's party?”

“We might try to sneak him off into a corner and debauch him there. Maybe Primo won't notice.”

“Doubtful. Primo notices everything and knows everything.”

Though there was one thing he didn't know. She hadn't told him about Gabe Moretti, yet. Both she and Constantine had made some subtle inquiries after their return from Seattle. At least, she hoped they'd been subtle. Eventually, they'd discovered that Gabe Moretti was indeed the son of Cara Moretti. And though that fact alone didn't prove Dominic Dante was his father, the family resemblance suggested that possibility. Possibility? Probability. After discussing it with Constantine a final time, she'd decided to turn the entire matter over to her grandfather.

She found him where she often did, in the kitchen. He'd chased off all his helpers and she knew better than to offer her assistance. In this family, the kitchen was her grandfather's domain. “So,
chiacchierona.
Are you nervous about tomorrow?” he asked, his trademark cigar clamped between his teeth.

She hesitated, driven to answer honestly. “A little.”

Her grandfather sampled his sauce, eyeing her over the steaming ladle. “And what part makes you a little nervous?”

“Constantine and I haven't known each other very long.”

Primo lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Eh. You have the next sixty years to get to know each other. You have The Inferno, which means your marriage will be passionate, happy and successful. That is all that matters, yes?”

She stared down at the kitchen table and traced one of the gouges her cousin Marco had carved in it years ago. A love scratch, her grandmother had claimed. A nick alongside so many other nicks, all of which helped imbue a piece of furniture with the richness and history of the family who owned it. Gianna smiled sadly. Maybe she wouldn't be as nervous of tomorrow's events if she believed that The Inferno was forever, that someday she and Constantine would have a kitchen table that spoke of generations worth of love and use.

She glanced up, on the verge of telling her grandfather about what she'd learned on her thirteenth birthday. But when she looked into those ancient golden eyes, eyes filled with love and understanding and an absolute certainty in the world as he knew it, she couldn't bring herself to disillusion him.

“Constantine and I met someone in Seattle,” she said instead. “I didn't know if I should tell you about it. But I think I better.”

Primo turned the flame beneath his sauce to a simmer and snagged a pair of bottles of homemade beer out of the cavernous refrigerator. Popping the tops with practiced ease,
he set one in front of her. He took the seat beside her and tapped his bottle against hers.
“Cin cin.”

They both drank. “This man…” She didn't see any easy way to tell him. “He looked just like Sev. And you.”

Primo closed his eyes. “His name?”

“Gabe Moretti. He wasn't pleased to meet me.” She waited for her grandfather to gather himself before continuing. “Who is he? How is he related to us?”

“I believe he is your Uncle Dominic's son.”

It confirmed her suspicions. “With the woman he was leaving Aunt Laura for?”

“This is not an appropriate conversation on the eve of your wedding,” Primo said gently. “We will talk of it another time. Thank you for telling me.”

She recognized Primo's expression. She wouldn't get any more information out of him. “I'm planning on holding you to that. If Constantine's going to do business with the man, chances are we'll meet again—sooner rather than later. I'd rather not be in the dark when we do.”

Primo inclined his head. “You will not mention this to anyone else.
Mi hai capito,
Gianna Marie?”

She made a face. “Yes, I understand. In fact, I had a feeling you were going to say that.” She stood. “I'll let Constantine know.”

The rest of the night was everything she could have asked, the evening filled with joy, fun, laughter and, most important of all, the warmth of family unity. She wasn't the least surprised when the Dantes gathered in Primo's garden after dinner and began relating old, favorite stories. While her grandparents took turns telling Constantine about their first Inferno meeting—perpetuating the falsehood of The Inferno—Gianna slipped away from the light and crowd and retreated into the shadows.

Tomorrow she'd be a married woman. Would she be one of the lucky ones, like her own parents and grandparents? Or would she and Constantine end up like Uncle Dominic and Aunt Laura?

“Are you okay?” Constantine came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

She melted against him with a sigh of happiness. “I'm fine.”

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

“You're the tenth person tonight who's asked me that.”

“Probably why you're nervous.”

She laughed. “That must be it.” She turned in his arms and allowed her fingers to drift deep into the thick waves of his hair. “There can't possibly be any other reason.”

“No, there can't.” His absolute certainty humbled her. “You know I want you more than any other woman I've known.”

Not quite a declaration of love. But close. Maybe in time he'd say the words. Maybe in time he'd mean them. Before she could reply, she heard Rafe just behind them, laughing at something Luc said.

He approached, slapping Constantine on the back. “Ready for tomorrow or do you have cold feet? My car's out front. They'd never catch us if you want to make a break for it.”

Constantine's brow furrowed briefly as he mulled over “make a break for it.” He must have reasoned through the idiom because he laughed. “No breaking necessary. Gianna is the only woman I want. The only woman I'll ever want.”

Rafe chuckled. “She'll definitely be the only one. The Inferno will see to that.”

Constantine's bleak gaze shifted to Gianna, making her want to weep. “So I understand,” he murmured. “Let us hope the reverse is also true.”

 

The day of Gianna's wedding dawned sunny and temper ate. The morning passed in a dreamy haze. Someone came and fixed her hair, then magically vanished. Same with her makeup. While her bridesmaids—a few college friends, along with her sisters and cousins-in-law—hovered and fluttered, laughing and teasing, Nonna and her mother kept her from floating away. Or maybe it was Rafe's words that kept her grounded, slipping into her dream day like a dark, threatening cloud.

She'll definitely be the only one. The Inferno will see to that.

The gown she'd chosen was molded antique lace with a keyhole back and chapel train. The finishing touch was a fabulous Dante fire diamond tiara that kept her lace veil anchored firmly in place. The trip to the wedding chapel took no time at all, or so it seemed to Gianna. One minute she stood in her parents' home, the next she entered the church. The women were all ushered into the bride's room to await the start of the ceremony. She'd been told that Constantine and his groomsmen had already arrived and were relaxing in a nearby room. She could vaguely hear the sound of masculine voices drifting down the hall.

“Are you okay?” Ariana asked in concern. She and Lazz had flown in for the special occasion with their baby, Amata.

Gianna managed a quick smile. “Of course. No worries.” Well, except for one.

She'll definitely be the only one. The Inferno will see to that.

It wasn't fair, she realized. As much as she loved Constantine, it wasn't fair to keep him trapped against his will. To force him into a marriage. Not if he didn't really love her. She didn't want an Inferno love. Not one forced on the man
she married. She wanted him to love her for herself. Because he had chosen. Because he had made the decision she was the only one for him.

She shot to her feet in a panic. “I need to see Constantine.”

For a split second the women all froze, silence gripping the room. Then everyone started talking at once. She couldn't make out a word they said. Nor did it matter. She headed for the door.

Her mother intercepted her, but Gianna shook her head. “Don't, Mamma. I wouldn't ask if it weren't important.”

“It is bad luck,” Elia protested. “You must wait until after you exchange your vows. Look, your babbo is here. The ceremony is about to begin. It's time for me to take my seat in the church.”

Gianna shook her head. “This won't wait. I have to talk to Constantine now. Before the wedding.”

Elia turned to her husband. “Alessandro,” she called, a hint of desperation slipping into her voice. “Come speak to your daughter.”

Before he could, Gianna escaped the bride's room. Her mother followed, the rest of the women on her heels. Gianna found Constantine's room without any difficulty. The door stood open. Masculine laughter erupted from inside, the sound dying the instant they caught sight of her standing in the doorway.