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Ghosts

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Chapter 19: Ghosts (Anastasia's POV)

Chairs rumbled around us as the guests stood up, exchanging goodbyes before swarming to the exit, eager to get home. An hour or two had passed, the auction had finally ended, and as expected, we got nothing. No leads, not one. Zip. Nada. 

It was blatantly obvious that we had to strategize more efficiently because showing up to events where hundreds if not thousands of guests were invited, was only making it impossibly harder to narrow down to a list of suspects. 

We had nothing to go off of. We couldn't just expect our intuition to point us to the killer, but so far, that was all we had done. 

Perhaps it was a nobody, someone without access to parties and events like tonight's. Or perhaps it was somebody we all knew and never suspected. There was no certain way to know, and if we continued like this, we would never get anywhere. 

Dante's hand was the first thing I threw off of me as I rose out of my seat and smoothed out my dress, staring down at him. "Have you had enough for tonight?" I asked. 

His touch was pure heat scorching my skin throughout the night. He kept his hand firmly planted on my thigh, with his fingers continuously tracing lazy shapes and patterns on my inner thigh throughout the auction.

I wasn't stupid, I knew what he was doing. It thrilled him to see that he still impacted me. All this was to him was a fucking game. He just wanted a reaction out of me. I wouldn't give it to him, I wouldn't give in. 

But I couldn't help it, goddamn it. I wanted to hate it, I wanted to fucking despise him, and everything he ignited in me, but his touch seemed to have the opposite effect on me. An agonizing ache stirred between my legs every time his fingers inched a little higher between my legs, closer to my core. 

Yet, for some wickedly cruel reason, I didn't throw it off. I threatened to, but my words were blank bullets tonight. No matter how much I wanted to, my body was in full disagreement. The desire to kiss him was forbidden. Absolutely not, I wouldn't allow myself to feel it. But the desire to kill him was certainly hitting me harder than ever. 

Dante Rossi had... fucking ruined my life. He'd ruined my life by not being mine, by walking out of it, by leaving me with this insatiable desire burning within me. 

Rising to his feet, he turned to face me completely but remained silent, his eyes boring into mine. "Never enough of you, it seems," he said, arching a brow at me. 

"Are you flirting with me?" I mused, my lip twitching, threatening to morph into a prideful gleam. 

"Don't let it get to your head, Ms Vitalio. As you said, I've been there. I've done that," he smirked, brushing past me and heading to the exit, pausing briefly to allow me to catch up with him. 

Rolling my eyes, I followed and fell into step beside him. "We need to start again," I said as we trailed out. "Strategize. What we're doing now isn't enough. Our instincts can only take us so far." 

"Our instincts are all we have due to a lack of evidence," he replied, "unfortunately, we're at the killer's mercy." 

"Maybe we jumped to conclusions. We assumed it was a serial killer, but technically, there aren't enough victims yet to give our killer that title." 

"You think he could stop?" Dante asked as we followed the crowd out, heading toward his car. 

"I can only hope," I answered with a soft sigh as he held the passenger door open. 

"We'll look into the motives," he replied, "read a bit more into our victims' enemies, possible motives some of them may have." 

I nodded in agreement, sliding into my seat before he closed the door and got in himself, starting the car. As he continued driving to the office where I could retrieve my car, my thoughts couldn't help but stray to our past. 

Everything came back to me, flooding my senses tonight when he touched me. The ghosts of my past, of our past, were still haunting me, and Dante waltzing back into my life increased the impact by tenfold. 

The longer I stayed around him, the harder it grew to keep restraints on myself. I was afraid if I didn't put some distance between us now, I would lose myself again because it was so fucking easy to get wrapped up in his charms. 

The way he touched me, every brush of his skin against mine, a gentle caress. The way he held my gaze with a fire raging in his eyes. It was overwhelming sometimes. 

"Maybe we should split up for a few days," I said, staring out the window. "Work on our own," I continued, "we'll be able to cover more ground faster that way." 

"It's too dangerous," he said without missing a beat. "It's not a viable option. Not to mention, Marshall would never allow it." 

"Please," I scoffed quietly, "we both know just how easy it is to break Marshall's rules if we want to." 

"Always the rebel, aren't you?" 

"And you're what? The saint?" I turned to him, annoyance surging through me. 

He glanced at me, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "Working with you isn't getting any easier either," he retorted, "but we made a deal with each other and with Marshall when we took on this case; we agreed to work together. I'm a man of my word." 

I eyed him for several minutes, taking in his side profile repeatedly, relearning him again, although I hadn't forgotten a single fragment of him. "What's dangerous is being around you," I mumbled softly, avoiding his gaze just in time. 

If he wanted to challenge my words, he chose not to and simply kept driving. 

Glimpses of all my moments with him were flashing behind my eyes, tormenting me. The temptation to give in tonight was weighing down on me. The urge to admit that I'd missed him... just a little. That I still craved him... only a bit more than I used to. It was all because of what happened earlier in the office and then in the elevator. He'd played with my head. 

"Allow me to ask you something, Mr Rossi," I said after a beat. "Something personal." 

He seemed to contemplate for a minute. "I make no promise to answer, but you may ask," he said. 

"Your tattoo." I faced him, my eyes traveling down to his side, where I knew the ink remained hidden beneath the shirt. I'd seen it several times before, a phrase in Chinese running down his side. I never dared to ask about it, seeing that he despised speaking of his past. 

He never pressured me for answers when my demons haunted me, and he bore witness, and respecting his decision, I returned that. But seeing it again tonight, I couldn't resist, and curiosity got the best of me. 

"What does it mean?" I asked. 

His eyes shifted to mine. "It's a phrase in Chinese." 

"What does it translate to?" 

He breathed out my answer, "There is no scar that never fades." 

I exhaled softly in realization. "Is that meant for..." 

"The scars on my back? Not particularly, no. They were the reason I initially chose that phrase, but I have some scars you've never seen, Ms Vitalio." His own way of reminding himself that time does, in fact, heal people, that those scars would fade someday, in every way that mattered. 

"How come you never told me what it meant?" I questioned. 

His eyes met mine. "You never asked." 

The questions and thoughts of what possibly could have happened to give him such brutal scars had always plagued me. There was a time when I wanted to know everything there was to know about Dante Rossi. Every little thing. His past, the ghosts of which clearly haunted him, his present, which he never seemed to truly live in, and even his future, which he hinted toward on a rare occasion. 

I had demons of my own that I couldn't share with him, no matter how desperately I wanted to. They sculpted a fear within me, a fear that told me he would walk away if he knew who I truly was, if he knew what I did... So I never told him, and in return, I never asked either. It wouldn't be fair to ask for more than I could give him. 

"We're not as different as you'd like to believe," he said. He wasn't wrong. We both were alike in more ways than not. Guarded, stoic, cynical even. A certain... poison seemed to run through both of our veins. A seed of vengeance, perhaps? Or was it purely strong will? Perhaps it was rage... Whatever it was, we both had learned to channel it at work and use it to our advantage. I

 knew what I'd been through, and despite not knowing what Dante must have experienced, I knew that such incidents made us similar in more ways than one. 

Is that why we're possibly drawn to each other? 

Perhaps his demons recognized mine. I knew my demons craved his as wretchedly as I craved him. 

"We're far too alike," I agreed, "maybe that's the problem." I let out a sigh and turned to face the window. 

"I wasn't aware there was a problem between us," he said, drawing my attention back to him. 

"Really?" I deadpanned. "Am I to assume you're this difficult with every other partner you've had?" 

He turned to me. "You're the first and last partner I've had in my career, Ms Vitalio." 

I paused, my brows furrowing in confusion. That couldn't have been right. Dante had been an FBI agent for six years before going rogue and then underground. He had five years' worth of experience on me. How could he never have worked with anyone else before? 

"You've never had another partner?" I echoed in surprise. "Never worked with someone? As a team, together." 

"No," he exhaled, a hint of annoyance tainting his tone. "Yes, I've had a few agents called for backup during investigations, especially when I was going to a location undercover. But I have never worked on a case with someone, together, from start to finish." 

I stared at him. "Except me." 

His eyes met mine. "Except you." 

"Ever wondered why?" I snorted softly. "Maybe that should tell you just how difficult you are for people to work with, Mr Rossi." 

"I've never worked with somebody because I chose not to, Mia Cara." 

My jaw ticked as I clenched my teeth, staring at the road ahead. That nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly, a habit so deeply engraved within him, but it stirred something inside of me and sent a burn down my throat and chest, settling in the pits of my stomach. It was a nickname I truly adored once, but now it was just another thing that haunted me from the past. 

"I've never considered anyone an equal until you came along," he told me, "never trusted someone enough to work with them, to give them a glance into my mind and how I think. I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I thrive on control. I don't like working in an environment with unpredictable variables. I've never had enough confidence in a co-worker before, not enough to make them my partner in crime." 

"Then why me?" 

"Because I taught you what you know," he answered. "You work like me, Ms Vitalio, whether you like it or not. We both tend to focus on extremes, and you balance me out at work, and remind me that there are two sides to every story. You are my equal. There's no doubt about it." 

I'd never doubted my abilities at work, but the fact was that Dante had far more experience than I did. Him being five years older than me had given him that edge, and he set foot in this field far before I did. 

I would never deny that he taught me almost everything I knew today, so to hear him call me his equal... It felt nice to be respected and recognized. 

"Thank you," I found myself saying, "for saying that." 

"It's only the truth," he replied, slowing down to a stop as we entered the parking lot of the office building. 

I watched as he rounded the car and opened my door. I sighed to myself. 

Always such a gentleman, that asshole. 

I ducked out of the car and stared at him as he shut the door, taking a step closer to me. "Although, that doesn't make you any easier to work with," I reminded, plastering a smile onto my face. 

He let out a dry chuckle, poking his cheek with his tongue. 

I was sure Dante had thought me a bitch many, many times. It surprised me that he never said it. 

"Witch," he bit out instead with a smirk dancing on his lips. 

"Devil," I retorted, brushing past him and to my own car. As I opened the door, I paused briefly and spun around to face him. "See you tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," he nodded back at me.

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Chapter 19

I might do a double update tonight since I'm uploading this a lot earlier than usual, but I make no promises

next ch: suspect