Dinner was a silent, suffocating affair. The dining room was filled with shadows and the smell of expensive lilies. Leo sat at one end of the long table, Dante at the other.
"I want to call my sister," Leo said, pushing his food around his plate.
"No," Dante replied. "Not until I know I can trust you. You might try to tell her to run. And there is nowhere she can hide from me."
Leo slammed his fork down. "How long is this going to last? When is the debt paid?"
Dante stood up and walked the length of the table. He stopped behind Leo's chair, leaning down so his lips were right against Leo's ear. "The debt is paid when I say it is. Maybe in a year. Maybe in a lifetime."
He placed a hand on Leo's shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly. "You think you're a good person, Leo? You're working for the devil now. Your hands are covered in my blood. Every time you save one of my men, they go out and kill more people. You're one of us now."
The words cut deeper than any knife. Leo realized Dante was right. By saving Marco, he had helped the Mafia. He was an accomplice.
Dante moved his hand to the back of Leo's neck, forcing him to look up. "Stop fighting it. The sooner you accept that you belong to the Moretti family—and to me—the easier this will be. I can make your life a heaven, or I can make it a hell. Which one do you want?"
Leo looked into those dangerous eyes. He felt the terrifying spark of attraction again, the one he hated himself for feeling. He was a prisoner in a gilded cage, and the bars were starting to feel warm.
"I hate you," Leo whispered.
Dante smiled, and this time, it was almost beautiful. "Good. Hate is a very passionate emotion, Leo. It's almost as strong as love."
He leaned down and kissed Leo's forehead before walking out of the room, leaving Leo alone in the dark.