did check with Lucia. My best friend,’ she added. ‘Lu says it’s still the same.’
‘So why didn’t you go dancing with her?’
‘Because she’s six and a half months pregnant and she’ll have been tucked up in bed for—’ she checked her watch ‘—about the last two hours.’
He held the door open for her, paid for their admission, and his heart sank as he heard the music. It really wasn’t to his taste, but he’d promised to take her dancing so he’d just have to put up with it. He was relieved to discover that she’d been right about one thing; most of the people there were over twenty-five, so he didn’t feel completely out of place.
‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Still water, please.’ His surprise must have shown on his face, because she smiled. ‘We’re dancing. I don’t want to get dehydrated.’
‘OK.’ He ordered their drinks.
When she led him onto the dance floor, he could see admiring glances from the men round them, and the envy on their faces when she made it very clear that she was with him.
This really wasn’t something he did. Ever. Even in his teens, Dante had been too busy working and trying to better himself to go clubbing. When he’d bought his first business, most of his time and energy had gone into building up the business a bit more and a bit more still. Sure, he’d dated and gone to the odd party, but he’d kept all his relationships casual and ended them before things got too emotionally involved.
Right at that moment, he felt completely out of his depth.
He wished he’d paid more attention during his teens. He had no idea how you behaved in a club.
Carenza seemed to know. She was smiling, waving her arms about and clearly having a good time. Half the people on the dance floor were doing the same moves that she was; clearly this was a song they all knew and there were set movements to it. He didn’t have a clue what they were. And he felt completely out of place here.
‘Come on, get with the beat,’ she teased. ‘I thought all Italian men had a good sense of rhythm?’
‘Not this one.’ He grimaced. ‘Can we go?’
‘We’ve only just got here, Dante.’ She stroked his face. ‘I know I said we’d leave if you really hated it, but you haven’t given it a chance. Just relax. Go with the flow.’ She drew him closer. ‘Follow my lead.’
Now that was definitely something he wasn’t used to doing, following someone else’s lead. But he watched what she did, copied the moves. And, to his surprise, he found himself enjoying it. The dancing itself he could take or leave, but he loved seeing the sheer joy and exuberance on her face.
So this was what made her tick. What made her shine.
A nagging little voice in his head pointed out that he wanted to make her shine like this, too. That he knew just how to do it.
He rested his hands on her hips and fitted his movements to hers; her smile grew just that little bit wider, and finally he found himself relaxing.
But then there was a cold feeling at the base of his spine. Automatically he turned round to see what was going on. A man by the bar was shouting at his partner; Dante couldn’t hear the words over the volume of the music, but there was an ugly look on the man’s face. An ugly look he’d seen too many times on his father’s face—just before he raised his hand to strike Dante’s mother. Dante’s antennae had become so finely tuned throughout those years that he could spot a situation like this right at the earliest stages.
He glanced round, but couldn’t see any bouncers anywhere.
Hell, hell, hell. He couldn’t just stand by and let this happen.
He leaned forward so his mouth was by Carenza’s ear. ‘There’s a problem—can you go to the door and ask one of the bouncers to come to the bar?’
She looked worried. ‘But, Dante—’
‘Just go, Caz,’ he said, knowing that he sounded abrupt but also knowing that there wasn’t time to argue; he needed to stop this happening.
He reached the couple just as the man raised his hand to hit the woman. ‘Is there a problem here?’
The other man looked at him, curled his lip and swore. ‘Keep your nose out. This is none of your business.’
His voice was slurred; he’d clearly been drinking, and the situation pressed every single one of Dante’s buttons. He’d been there too many times in the past, and if he could stop someone else being there, he damned well would. ‘Correction. It’s my business when a coward starts hitting a woman,’ Dante said. ‘Leave her alone.’
The man stared at the woman and then at Dante. His expression grew even uglier. ‘Are you one of her fancy men?’
‘I’ve never seen your partner before in my life, but that’s not the point. Hitting is wrong.’
The man swore again. ‘She deserves it.’
‘Nobody deserves to be hit. Violence doesn’t solve anything.’
‘Want to make something of it, then?’ The man took a clumsy swing at Dante.
Ha. He’d learned to block blows years and years ago. In a matter of seconds, Dante had twisted the man’s arm behind his back and pinned him against the bar. It would be oh, so easy to twist that arm a little harder, feel it crack, so the man couldn’t use it to hit her again. It wouldn’t be the first time Dante had done it.
But he felt the anger simmering through him and made a conscious effort to hold it in check—and to hold the man immobile rather than hurt. ‘That really wasn’t your best idea,’ Dante said coolly.
A burly man materialised beside him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The guy’s drunk, and was about to hit this woman.’ Dante nodded at the woman who was cowering by the bar. ‘I think he might need a little time to cool down a bit. Police custody, maybe.’
The bouncer nodded. ‘I’ll deal with it. Thanks for stepping in.’
‘No problem.’ Dante stood to one side to let the bouncer deal with the drunk. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked the woman.
She was shaking. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘But he can’t go to jail.’ She shuddered. ‘Tomorrow …’
‘Look, you don’t have to put up with being treated like that.’ He took a business card from his pocket and scribbled the number of the refuge on the back. ‘Ring this number. Someone will help you. Have you got kids?’
She nodded.
‘They’ll help the kids, too.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He doesn’t mean to be like that. It’s just the drink talking. He’s always sorry the next morning.’
‘And then you tell everyone you walked into a door?’ Dante asked, remembering his mother’s explanations.
