The Emperor (Dark Verse 3)

Amara looked at her first client in the new city, a giant dark-haired man – and she meant giant, even bigger than Dante, who was the largest man she knew – and tried to keep her facial expression serene. Because this guy wasn’t just a giant, he was a scarred, one-eyed giant. And he had a real eye patch over his right eye. She’d never seen anyone with an eye patch.

She suddenly had flashbacks to the bodice rippers she used to read in her teenage years, of sexy, dashing pirates and damsels in distresses. He was definitely sexy, in a rough, dangerous way that as a woman Amara could appreciate.

She opened her door wider, pasted a polite smile on her face, and welcomed him into the office.

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place, Mr. Villanova,” she sat down on her comfortable armchair, the view outside the window lush, tropical green.

The man took a seat across her in the matching cream armchair, watching her with one eye such a light hazel it almost looked golden. She had never seen anyone with that shade of eye color either. His other eye, the one with the eye patch, had a wicked-looking scar going under it, from the side of his skull to the edge of his lip, pulling it down in a permanent half frown.

“Call me Alpha,” he spoke smoothly, his voice rough.

Amara felt her eyebrows go up at his name. Well, she’d never known an Alpha either. Seemed like this city was going to be a lot of firsts for her.

“Alpha,” Amara corrected herself. “I’m Dr. Mara Rossi. What can I do for you?”

“May I call you Mara?” he asked, looking around her medium-sized office. After selling her apartment in Shadow Port and grabbing Lulu, Amara had packed up her stuff and asked her half-sister Nerea to arrange a fake passport for her under a fake name that was close enough that she’d still recognize it, just so she could travel to a location unknown. She had ended up traveling down south to the tropical big city of Los Fortis, a place she’d researched well before for any connections to Tenebrae or the Outfit. There were none.

She needed to put her old life behind, everything except her mother, whom she still called every other day through a burner phone, swearing her to secrecy. Her mother, she knew, would keep her secret this time. And though a huge part of Amara wanted to call Vin or Tristan or Morana, she knew a clean break was for the best. Especially from Dante. They were through.

“Of course,” Amara replied to the man, focusing on him. After getting her degree and serving her clinical hours under the supervision of the University counselor, Amara had been a practicing licensed therapist for six months. And she hadn’t even advertised after moving to Los Fortis, so getting the call from this man to schedule an appointment had been a surprise.

“I’m not here for therapy, Mara,” the man told her, and suddenly, Amara felt her palms begin to sweat. His size and form, which she had appreciated a second ago, became more threatening.

She stayed calm, practicing her counting. “Then, why are you here?”

He leaned back in the chair, observing her, before speaking quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Amara swallowed but stayed silent, her heart pounding.

“I want to know who you are,” he put his hand on his chin. “You see, this is my city. I keep a very close eye on anyone who comes or goes from certain high profile locations such as Shadow Port. And this building is mine. I had your documents checked and they’re fake. A very good fake, but fake nonetheless. So, who are you, and why are you in my city?”

Amara felt her breath whoosh out of her slightly. Getting up on her feet, Amara walked on her heels to the desk in the room and took out a file from the drawer. Walking back to the man, she slowly handed it to him so he could see her degrees for himself.

“I’m not here to cause you any trouble, Alpha,” she told him, her voice raspy. “I am a licensed therapist. My name is Amara. And I’m in your city to set down roots. I like the moderate climate and the nearness to the forest. It… it reminds me of home.”

She watched him hand the file back to her without looking. “I can’t read.”

Amara felt herself flush. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, taking the file back.

He shook his head. “I’m good at reading people though. In my line of work, you have to be. Shadow Port doesn’t have any forests. Where’s your home?”   

Amara cursed herself for that slip. She hesitated, but seeing his one eye considering her, she answered truthfully. “Tenebrae City.”

He nodded. “You’re a far way from home, Amara. Any particular reason?”

She took in a deep breath, walking to the window, looking out at the city line and the forest beyond it, so similar to Tenebrae except on the other side of the hemisphere. 

“I’m pregnant.”

The man stayed silent on the chair for a long minute. “And the father?”

She simply shook her head. How could she explain? The years of knowing him, loving him, being loved by him, only for him to walk in one day, fuck her without a condom, and fake his death with no warning to her. She had had an alert set on her phone for his name, so if anything about him hit the internet, she got a notification. She remembered getting the notification, sitting with Lulu on her lap as she watched a movie, remembered opening her phone, remembered seeing the headline.

Heir to the Maroni empire dead in an explosion.

She remembered the cry that had left her mouth, her eyes unable to believe the news. She remembered calling Morana with shaking fingers. She remembered that he had faked his brother’s death in a fire too. The truth had dawned upon her and it had been cruel. Dante hadn’t told her, not even given her a hint, nothing to prepare her.

And she had been carrying their child already. Although it had been too soon for a test confirmation, Amara had known. Her breasts had become sensitive and she had missed her period, and Amara never missed her periods. They came like clockwork. And Lulu had started poking her nose into her stomach. She had known that day they had made a baby.

And that had changed everything.

“Well,” Alpha stood from the armchair, breaking her out of his thoughts. “In that case, Amara, you’re welcome here at Los Fortis. You and your child will be safe here.”

He pushed a hand into his jeans pocket and brought out a card, putting it on her table. “This is my contact. You have any trouble, or anyone gives you shit, you call me.”

Amara looked down at the card, a plain black piece of paper with silver embossing, and stared at him, touched by his kindness. “Thank you,” she croaked out, emotional that someone had cared enough.

Alpha nodded, walking to the door. “Is the father alive?”

Amara laughed at the irony of the question. Not knowing how to answer, since he was dead to the world at the moment, she simply told him her truth. “He and I, we are doomed to bleed from a wound that will never heal.”

The large man considered her for a long moment. “You have strength, Amara. I can see that. And the strong don’t have bleeding wounds; they have scars that heal.”

Yeah, she shared that with him apparently.

Giving her a sharp nod, his dark hair falling on his face, his black eye patch stark against his scar, Alpha walked out, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.

Amara pat down her stomach, shaking her head.

“Your Daddy is a bastard,” she told the baby, chuckling at herself. “But we still love him, don’t we?”

Yeah, she was doomed, alright.

Los Fortis was an incredible city. Built in the 50s with a rubber and mineral industry boom, it was located close enough to the Amazon to have an incredible view of endless green vistas right outside the city limits. With a population of over five million people, the city was a hub for everything. Most importantly, though crime existed, she couldn’t find any visible links to the underworld and that was a relief.

Her child was her priority now.

Amara had rented the office five minutes away from where she’d bought a tiny house but big enough for two people, with a beautiful garden that she was excited to get into. While gardening had never been something she’d allowed herself to explore, it had always fascinated her – the art of growing and nurturing life.

Her neighborhood was one of the reasons the property had been on the pricey end – it was the safest area in the entire city. There were rows of houses like hers, with families and the elderly, and it was a gated community with guards and cameras. She liked that. She wanted that extra blanket of security.

She walked to her house, a cute little thing painted a bright yellow on the outside and white on the inside, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, the silk scarf around her neck fluttering in the wind. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body from the mild humidity, and she looked around at the other houses, nodding at one of her neighbors who had been super friendly to her when she moved it a few weeks ago.

The balls of her feet aching from the short walk in her two-inch heels, the skin around the scars on her feet tingling, Amara unlocked her door and opened it.

“Lulu,” she called out, dropping her keys on the side table and kicking her heels to the side, locking the door behind her. “I’m home.”

A flash of cream fur dashed at her, twining around her legs, and Amara bent to pick her up in her arms.

Lulu’s big green eyes watched her as she let out an enthusiastic ‘meow’.

Amara smiled. “I’m happy to see you too. Did you miss me, huh?” she asked, walking towards the kitchen.

‘Meow’ she got in response. Her heart softened.

Lulu had been Amara’s one true companion through all her years in exile, and Amara was grateful for her, especially because she was an incredibly affectionate cat. Of course, she had her moments where she swished her tail and walked off to do whatever cats did, but she loved being around Amara. Her therapist in Shadow Port had told her how much pets could help with anxiety and she believed that. She’d lost the count of how many times she’d been on the verge of an attack when Lulu had just jumped on her and started her purring, the vibration from her warm, furry body enough to bring her back to the moment.

It had been Lulu who had sensed Amara’s pregnancy before she had looked for signs, Lulu who had butted her head against her stomach and started licking at it when she’d never done it before.

Squeezing her fur baby, she let her go and got herself a glass of water, pulling out her old-school burner phone from her loose pant pocket. While she usually disliked wearing pants, loose pants had become her work uniform over the years. They helped her dissociate enough from herself that she could focus on her clients.

Dialing her mother’s number, she put the phone to her ear, heard it ring five times before her mother picked it up.

“Hi, Ma,” she spoke softly on the phone, her heart aching to meet her again. She didn’t know how, but someday, she’d get her mother to Los Fortis and take care of her.

“Mumu,” her mother’s voice came through the line, the smile in her voice filling Amara with warmth. “How are you? Have you settled in?”

“Yes, Ma,” Amara said, opening a can of tuna and putting it in Lulu’s bowl. “The house is set, and it’s so nice here. I can’t wait for you to come.”

“Me too,” her mother sighed. “It’s too soon right now. In a few months, it’ll be more natural.”

Amara agreed.

“Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“No, I will this week,” Amara sat down on the dining table chair. The kitchen didn’t have an island but it was spacious and opened into the back garden, which she loved. Continuing the conversation, she told her mother, “I have an appointment with a therapist Dr. Neiman referred for me on Wednesday. And I meet the gynecologist on Friday.”

“Good, good,” her mother said, the sound of pots coming from behind her. “Dante is alive.”

Big surprise there.

“I told you your precious boy was too smart to die,” Amara had told her mother that countless times. “He played everyone.”

“Yes,” her mother’s voice lowered. “Mr. Maroni is dead though.”

That stopped Amara.

“Really dead?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“Really dead,” her mother confirmed. “Dante is getting things organized for his takeover.”

He was taking over.

He was finally fucking taking over.

Lorenzo Maroni was dead. 

Amara smiled, pride filling her at the man she loved, knowing his years of work and strategy had brought him to the top. He finally had the reigns to the kingdom.

“Shouldn’t you tell him, Mumu?” her mother asked her, as she always did, hoping Amara would simply tell Dante she was expecting their baby, and they would live happily ever after.

‘I can’t be with you, for your safety, until my father is dead’.

Things were more complicated than that. She loved Dante but his lack of a warning to her had cut her deep. Through the years, she’d always felt they were a team. He’d confided secrets in her – about his mother and his father’s possible kidnapping and marital rape of her, about his brother and where he’d hidden him and how it hurt not being able to see him, about Tristan and his hatred for Morana coming from his murder of his father, about what he was doing. Though Amara had never been directly involved in the things he did over the years, she had been in the loop – he had come to her when troubled, shared things about the people in their world, asked for her advice in situations that had him conflicted. She had always been a part of his quest.

It had led her to believe they could play everyone else but they couldn’t play each other. Almost seven years she spent keeping them in the shadows, waiting months for minutes with him, living her life in the meantime, not for him to go die without giving her any warning. No, she deserved better than that. Love be damned, she deserved better than that. She had trusted him with her life and her heart, and though she still trusted him with her life, her heart was hurting.

He was an asshole, and she probably would have forgiven him once he apologized, had she not been pregnant. The prospect of becoming a mother had every protective instinct inside her raring to the surface. Her child, their child, deserved a father who wasn’t a guest. More importantly, he or she deserved not to be born in that world without protection. Just being Dante Maroni’s child would put the baby in danger. No. She’d raise her baby with all the love her mother had raised her with, and all the protection she could provide in their anonymity.

“There’s no point, Ma,” she told her mother. “I have been his secret for so long, he maybe forgot what bringing me to light would do. Especially now, with him taking over, he’ll need to marry someone with power, who can stabilize the Outfit. Bringing me into the picture will only make him look weak. And I can’t be his secret anymore, Ma. And I won’t let my child be. So, it’s better if he never knows about it.”

“I understand, baby. I did the same for you. But Dante is different. I still think you should tell him, Amara,” her mother tried to convince her, using her given name to sound firm. Amara knew the tactic well. “He loves you. And with Mr. Maroni gone, he could give you and my grandchild what you need.”

Amara was tempted, so, so tempted. 

“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” her mother beseeched her. “He… he’s changed since he’s come back, Mumu. He’s darker. I can’t explain it. I’m worried about him.”

Her heart started to pound, her hand gripping the phone tight as the need to find him, comfort him, let him share his demons with her, washed over her. She tamped it down.

“I promise I’ll consider it,” Amara told her mother. They chat for a few minutes about other things, before Amara cut the call and stared at Lulu eating.

“You think I should tell him too, don’t you?”

Lulu looked at her, then kept eating.

“Of course you do. You love him, you little traitor.”

Nom nom nom.

“But he really behaved like a dick, you know.”

Cronch.

“You and I and the baby are going to be happy here, Lulu.”

A doubtful look.

“Don’t give me that face. I’m not entirely mad at him. This is for the best.”

Lulu ignored her.

Amara sighed and started preparing her dinner.

He settled between her legs. God, she loved when he did that. She writhed against him, feeling his shoulders spread her thighs open, his mouth descending on her mound.

He spread soft kisses on her waxed skin, his scruff rasping against her sensitive flesh.

Wait, why did he have a scruff?

“I’m so fucking pissed at you, dirty girl,” he growled, still kissing her mound, not going where she needed his lips.

Why was he pissed at her? She was the one angry at him.

“This pussy knows me even in sleep, doesn’t she, baby?”

Oh yeah. She was getting so wet, anticipating the pleasure she knew he would bring her. She flexed her hips, trying to get him to hurry. Ah, she missed him, missed his touch, missed that dirty-talking mouth. And she loved this dream.  

A finger swiped through her folds and she felt her hips come off the bed. It felt so real.

“You’re coming home with me, baby,” he told her. She’d love that. She missed the compound, the woods, the hills, the people. It had been so long since she’d seen it. She wanted to go home.

“Wake up, Amara,” he commanded her.

No, if she woke up she’d lose him. She didn’t want to wake up, not just yet.

His tongue licked at her folds once. God, it felt so good. Too good.

Amara blinked her eyes open, staring up the ceiling fan moving at full speed, aware of the wind caressing her hardened, exposed nipples, feeling wet between her naked thighs. It took her a second to process everything – the black silk baby doll she’d worn to bed thrown to the side, Lulu napping on the floor near the door, the room dark with the street light from outside filtering her window, and a very angry, gloriously shirtless, slightly bearded Dante Maroni between her legs.

What the hell?

Heart racing, she suddenly grappled with the sheets and tried to scatter backward, only to be stopped by his strong grip around her thighs.

“What are you- oh shit,” her words ended on a moan as he pulled her forward, pushing her thighs back, and dove in.

Amara gripped his hair with one hand, the other going to the sheets beside her, her breath coming out too fast as his tongue pushed into her. Dear gods of cunnilingus had blessed this man with a mouth he knew how to use so good. 

She bit her lip, pulling his head closer, mindless as she felt a wave of pleasure crest inside her.

“Yes,” she panted. “God, Dante, please.”

He built her up higher and higher, his thumb stroking her clit slowly, oh so slowly, bringing her right to the edge before suddenly, he stopped.

“I swear to god, D-”

His hand suddenly came over her mouth, quieting her, and he shook his head once. Heart pounding, Amara watched with wide eyes as he stayed still over her, his head tilted to the side, a vein in his neck throbbing as he listened.

Amara couldn’t hear anything but she looked to the door, to see Lulu was perked up too, her ears twitching.

A clock ticked in the house. A dog barked somewhere outside. Critters spoke in their nightly ritual. But they were all usual sounds, nothing to alert both the feline and the man.

Lulu padded out the door to investigate and Dante moved off her, putting his fingers to his lips to warn her to stay silent, throwing his blue shirt towards her. Amara nodded, quickly buttoning up the shirt, glad for Dante’s height once again because it fell almost to her knees, and grabbed her discarded panties, pulling them on.

She saw Dante bend down to scoop up his jacket, pulling out a gun.

Lulu meowed from outside. Dante went to the door, his form quiet as he waited, almost unmoving, alert. Amara watched, the silence suffocating, a knot of anxiety tightening in her gut. She pressed her palm to her stomach, willing her heartbeat to calm down, to keep breathing normally. This was not the time to panic.

Swallowing, she tiptoed to the side of the bed, taking out the taser she kept in her drawer, feeling better about arming herself. Though she could have had a gun, Amara didn’t like them. She didn’t like death, as necessary as it was in their world, and she didn’t want to take a life. But it was probably something she should think about, arming herself, now that she was more vulnerable.

Her eyes traced her man, the two tattoos on his back flexing as he moved. It had always fascinated her, those tattoos of his – a giant black dragon taking up the entire left side of his spine, its tail curled and head turned back, watching as a flock of ravens emerged from its wings and flew away diagonally to the right. Knowing him and his artistry, Amara knew it had some significance to him, but he’d never told her.

She saw as he went out into the dark living room, heard a gunshot, heard a scuffle and masculine grunts. Blood rushing in her ears, Amara tried to keep her breathing contained and her arm ready for anyone who came through the door.

They came through the window, and before she could make a sound, everything blacked out.