I glance at Noah’s door that stands open, trepidation sinking like a stone in my stomach. “Where’s Noah?”
Reino raises his hands. “Before you get stressed out, Noah is safe. He’s in the kitchen with Dante.”
“Kitchen?” I look around as if one will magically appear in the suite. “What kitchen?”
“The hotel kitchen.” The man with the beard who always dresses like a biker folds his hands in front of him. “Dante asked me to get you some breakfast. What would you like?”
“Wait.” I look between them, my anxiety rising. “What is Dante doing in the kitchen with my son?”
“Breakfast,” they say in unison.
“Take me to them.” My spine snaps into a rigid line. “Now.”
“Sure.” The man with the beard motions toward the door. “After you.”
I glance at the closed door of Jazz’s room.
Reino follows my gaze. “She’s not awake yet.” He phrases his words like a request and not a command. “Let her sleep. She’s been through a lot.” When I don’t move, he adds, “The boss will have my head on a platter if I touch her.”
I search Reino’s face. His expression is sincere. In a different life, I might’ve liked him. He’s not as intense as Dante, which makes the atmosphere around him a lot less charged and therefore not as exhausting. Yet the simple fact that he followed us and snitched on me will always hamper any friendliness I could’ve felt toward him.
His loyalty lies with Dante. He’ll always choose Dante over anyone else. I know how he operates. Men like him surrounded me my whole life. For that reason, I believe him. He won’t disobey Dante’s orders, not even if someone points a gun in his face, and Dante won’t risk my so-called cooperation by hurting my friend.
Once I’ve concluded that Jazz is better off catching up with much-needed sleep than being hauled to the kitchen in her pajamas, I leave quickly with the bearded guy.
He calls up the elevator and lets me go ahead of him before punching the button for the ground floor. We stand facing each other, him looking slightly to my left and me taking in his rugged features while trying to get a read on him.
He’s quieter and more serious than Reino. He only speaks when necessary. Like Reino, he would’ve sworn fealty to Dante, and only a knife or a bullet will stop him from doing his job.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
The sleeveless jacket he wears over a wifebeater stretches over his chest when he crosses his arms. “Ulysses.”
“How long have you been working for Dante?”
He still doesn’t meet my gaze. “Just over five years.”
“How did you meet?”
His reply is polite. “You don’t want to talk to me, Miss Teszner.”
I tap my foot as I glance at the floor numbers lighting up on the panel. Why must the elevator be so slow? “Why’s that?”
“Dante won’t like it.”
I shut my mouth, because what he’s really saying is that Dante will punish him for speaking to me even if I initiated the conversation.
We ride the rest of the way down in silence. He goes ahead of me when we get out on the ground level, scouring the surroundings with his hand on the gun in his holster under his jacket.
We follow a narrow hallway from a service door. A clanking of pots and pans comes from behind the swing doors at the end of it. My heart beats harder with every step I take. Dante told me he won’t take Noah away from me, and I don’t think he will. I’ve seen how attentive he is with Noah. I do believe Dante has his son’s best interests at heart.
Dante once told me he had good parents and that they were close. I never met them because they’d passed away before Dante first came to work for my father. They’d had Dante and his brother late in their lives, much older than my parents had been when I was born. Dante mentioned how important his mother had been to him. So he’ll know better than anyone what it will to do Noah if he separates us. In this regard, at least, I don’t think I have reason to worry. That doesn’t mean I like it when Noah isn’t in my sight.
Ulysses holds one of the doors open for me. When I step through it, I stop dead at the sight that greets me.
Dante stands behind one of the industrial stoves, dressed in dark pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, flipping pancakes. His tall, imposing figure dominates the large space. He stands out not only because he’s the only person wearing black among the staff in their white uniforms but also because he emits a lethal authority that demands complete obedience and total respect.
Noah sits on a high stool at the stainless steel counter with a big bowl in front of him, his face scrunched up in concentration as he clutches the bowl with one arm to his chest while stirring the content with a wooden spoon. He’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes, which he put on in a hurry because the T-shirt is inside out. His curls are unbrushed and messy. Although Dante’s hair has a similar look, his is styled to look messy. Once again, the similarity between them hits me like a bullet in the heart.