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Then, maybe one day, when she grew up and looked beautiful, she could ask Mr. Maroni’s son to give her one. He was very handsome. Maybe, he’d be nice and kiss her, after she became pretty enough to match his handsomeness.
Yes, she decided. He would be her first kiss.
“You ever try to leash me, I’ll fucking strangle you with it.”
“You just look at him like he’s Zia’s best batch of cookies and you’ve been hungry for a month. Like he’s fresh out of the oven and you’re waiting for him to cool before eating.”
“You’re not going to walk through life, Amara,” he uttered roughly, each word a vow that cemented itself in her heart. “You’ll dance through it. And I’ll fucking remove anyone who tries to break your rhythm. I promise you.”
‘Fate is always weaving its threads, Dante. We just don’t see them until our eyes open.’
“You’re the beat to my heart, Amara,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing his forehead to hers, and something that had been wilted inside Amara unfurled, opening, soaking, blooming in the emotion she could see in his eyes. She was the beat to his heart and he was the beat to hers, both of them pulsing together. Maybe, they were both the same beats. Maybe, theirs was the same heart.
“He always had a bit of my heart, but I’m not that girl anymore. My heart isn’t the same anymore. This new heart, it doesn’t just love him, Ma. It beats for him.”
“It works with you stopping me when you need to, and me stopping. Or you telling me to keep going, and me going on. Simple as that.”
“We’re not a love story. We’re a tragedy in the making. There’s no happy ending for us. I feel that you have a better future ahead of you, and you should take it.”
Dante didn’t know when he fell in love with Amara. He just did.
“That ‘common little whore’ is going to be the mother of my children one day, father,” Dante smiled at the man. “Your grandchildren. The future Maronis.”
In his world of gunshots and screams, her voice was a gentle prayer, evidence that there was life after the endless noise.
And that day, Dante would smoke a fucking cigarette as he watched him bleed, and he would come home to fuck the woman he loved.
“You’re in my blood, beating in my fucking heart. The only way you go is when the heart stops.”
“One day, I’m going to put my ring on that finger, Amara,” he grit out, pushing up another inch into her. “One day, I’m going to put my babies inside you. Just wait for me, baby. Please wait for me.”
“I’m not a hypocrite, baby,” he brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m not asking you to do anything I won’t be doing myself. Nobody touches me either, just you.
“In sickness in health, in life in death, in murder in mayhem, isn’t that how it goes?”
“Give me your dreams and your nightmares, your pleasure and your pain, your fantasies and your fears. Give me everything. Be my queen outside, and my filthy girl inside,” he hammered his hips into hers, his words coming out rough, gritty, raw. “And make me fucking yours, so everyone who looks at my ring knows I have you finally. Say yes, Amara.”
“Communication and shit are important in relationships.” Dante looked at him in surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with Tristan?”
