Chapter 37

When was the last time he had drunk like this?

Since he had already been cutting back on alcohol long before meeting Rhys, it had to have been at least six years ago. As he grew older, the sluggish heaviness that came with getting drunk had become an unwelcome burden. After seeing several of his military colleagues fail to overcome stress and trauma, subsequently spiraling into severe alcoholism, he had become even more guarded around spirits.

Still, he hadn’t avoided alcohol entirely. Sometimes, when Rhys drank wine, Dante would join him with a glass of his own. But even then, it had only been a glass or two with dinner. It had been a very long time since he had consumed this volume.

In the languid, warm haze settling over his brain, Dante counted the empty vessels in front of him. Four pints of beer and two heavy shots of limoncello. He felt as if he should stop drinking now… Rhys might hate it.

No, we broke up. Would Rhys even care whether I come back drunk or not?

During their relationship, Rhys wasn’t the kind of person to complain unless a situation was genuinely dire. But there had been one thing—and only one—that he truly detested: he hated when Dante came home drunk from a venue where Rhys hadn’t been present. It was the singular behavior he had directly, vulnerably asked Dante not to do.

Good grief, Dante thought bitterly, rubbing his alcohol-flushed cheek with the back of his hand. He should have talked about the things he talked about today instead of obsessing over that. What an idiot I am.

“Ta-da. Santino’s special Negroni has arrived.”

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Santino appeared with a cocktail he had mixed himself. Dante offered a faint, tired smile. At first, the man’s clinginess had irritated him, but after nearly two hours of drinking together, Santino didn’t seem like a bad guy. Dante could tolerate him well enough.

And Santino’s hair color wasn’t terrible. Under the bar’s warm yellow lighting, which contrasted sharply with the deepening black of the street outside, his brightened blond hair reminded Dante faintly of Rhys. Of course, Rhys’s hair was ten million times more beautiful, but there was a passing similarity.

It was a decent enough time. Unlike the Italian-Americans he had met back home, the people here possessed a raw warmth that made them feel like immediate neighbors. Mateo and Santino recommended historical sites to visit with all the passion in their hearts. They even agreed that if there was time, they should meet up again tomorrow to tour the city together. Dante wasn’t exactly eager, but he also didn’t want to wander Rome alone without Rhys, so he accepted for now. He had explicitly told them he might change his mind once he woke up, so even if he refused later, Mateo would understand.

After talking at length about tourist traps, Santino and Mateo’s personal matters took over the conversation. Mateo casually mentioned that his heat cycle was coming soon and that he had conveniently found a temporary partner for it. Santino congratulated him before hinting, with a heavy look, that his own rut was near as well. When Santino’s gaze lingered on Dante’s lips at that exact moment, Dante felt as if his wandering thoughts had been caught red-handed. He hurriedly blurted out the first question that came to mind to shatter the tension.

When he asked whether Omegas and Alphas experienced cycles every single month, Mateo launched into an enthusiastic, highly academic explanation. Apparently, the cycle and duration varied wildly from person to person. Some people with underlying hormonal issues could go quite a long time without experiencing one at all. Alpha cycles were generally more regular than Omega cycles, usually arriving once every two months and lasting about three days.

Mateo went on to add that during this time, because they entered a period of intense sexual arousal and their pheromones poured out thickly, some people avoided going out altogether since even medical-grade blockers couldn’t hide them completely. There was a certain consistency in the way he complained that cycles were a natural phenomenon and that the modern invention of blockers had merely created strange, unnatural new social etiquette.

Once every two months… That’s remarkably similar to when Rhys disappears for his high-profile work trips.

Dante thought that unconsciously, then let the thought pass.

As he listened to the two of them chatter, the world outside the window turned completely dark. It was getting fairly late. Had Rhys already gone back to the room? If Dante went in after Rhys had fallen asleep, he might wake him, so he should finish this drink and head out. The thought of returning to the hotel and facing the reality of Rhys made his stomach twist, yet the agonizing possibility of seeing Rhys dressed comfortably for the first time in a long while made his heart tremble. Accepting the glass Santino offered, Dante looked around for their companion.

“Where’s Mateo?”

Over the past two hours, Dante had started speaking to them more casually. In response to his question, Santino clinked his glass and nodded toward a dark corner of the bar.

“Over there.”

Dante followed his gaze and saw Mateo sitting cozily with the man he had been flirting with earlier in the evening. Mateo had twisted his body so their knees locked, and his hand was enthusiastically rubbing the stranger’s thigh. Good for him. Seeing Mateo look as if he hadn’t a single worry in the world, Dante took a slow sip of his cocktail.

Perhaps because of the hour, the pub was in full swing. The ambient noise around them had grown deafening. Santino pressed his shoulder flush against Dante’s, leaning in to whisper directly into his ear. Since both of them were wearing short-sleeved shirts, Dante felt the sudden, shocking heat of bare skin the moment their arms connected.

“Are you having a good time, Dante?”

Why has this guy been sticking to me like glue since earlier? It’s suffocating. Dante subtly shifted away, creating a few inches of distance, and gave a vague nod. “Not bad.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Santino said that, paused briefly, and then pressed himself right back against Dante’s side, effortlessly closing the small safety distance Dante had just created. Slowly, deliberately, he slid a heavy arm around Dante’s lower back with a sticky, unmistakable familiarity. Dante, who had been drinking his cocktail in a dull haze, froze instantly at the unfamiliar sensation against his spine.

Wait. What is this disgusting feeling? Is he holding my waist right now? With that thick, hairy arm?

“I… heard something,” Santino whispered, bringing his lips closer until they practically brushed Dante’s ear. “Mateo told me the person Dante dated before was a man, too. Tall and handsome like an Alpha, apparently. So, how about trying a real Alpha? I like you very much.”

While Dante sat petrified, unable to comprehend the horrifying breach of boundaries happening to him, Santino pushed closer. The other man’s alcohol-laced breath washed over Dante’s ear. The infuriating sensation made him want to shove his entire head underwater and scrub it clean.

Dante snapped violently back to reality. Santino’s face up close was a disaster.

Compared to Rhys, those eye sockets were far too small, the bridge of his nose was too low, and his rough, uneven skin made Dante’s stomach twist with acute revulsion.

If their builds had been similar, perhaps Dante might have overlooked the audacity. But Santino’s hands were smaller than Rhys’s, his neck was shorter, and even comparing the thickness and shape of his vulgar brows to Rhys’s elegant ones felt like a profound insult to his ex. Dante had noticed it earlier, but the man’s upper and lower body proportions were thoroughly mediocre, and his lips looked like swollen sausages.

Mateo, you little shit… You were trying to set me up with this mangled lump of dough? After witnessing Rhys’s astonishing beauty with your own eyes, you honestly thought I would like a face like this?

Dante felt as if his aesthetic sense had been personally, violently insulted.

“Santino,” Dante said, his voice dropping an octave. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested in Alphas.”

He wasn’t sorry in the slightest, but since Santino was Mateo’s friend, he attempted to reject him politely for the time being. Santino, however, failed to read the lethal drop in the room’s temperature and kept babbling.

“That’s because you haven’t tried a real Alpha yet. I guarantee I can give you one hell of a night. Alphas have a sex drive on an entirely different level. I can keep it up all day… The guy you used to date couldn’t do that for you, right? I can tell just by looking. It’s just a feeling, but somehow, Dante seems like the one who gets fucked. I’ll fuck you so good. You won’t even know what hit you.”

Santino’s whispers turned explicitly, crudely crude. The alcohol-induced warmth in Dante’s body instantly went sub-zero. Had this asshole gone completely insane from drinking? And why had he suddenly switched to informal speech? When Rhys spoke casually to him, it sent a thrill straight down his spine, but hearing Santino do it made him feel utterly filthy. Especially because the words themselves were garbage.

And what part of his large, imposing frame made this man think he looked like the type to be submissive? Anyone with eyes could see Dante was exclusively the one on top.

Every single syllable grated on his nerves. Even if Santino had looked like a supermodel, the disrespect would have pissed him off. Hearing that kind of vulgar sexual talk from a face that ugly was intolerable.

“Hey,” Dante said, turning his head slowly to look Santino dead in the eyes. “Did you not understand me when I said I don’t want to sleep with you? Take your hand off my waist while I’m still asking nicely.”

Dante rejected him outright, giving him one final chance. If Santino still failed to comprehend, Dante would have no choice but to shove him through a wall and leave.

When Dante openly stated his refusal, Santino stiffened. His practiced, charming smile faltered, and he muttered in a prickly, defensive voice, “Backing out now? It isn’t attractive when someone your age plays hard to get. You came out alone to mess around and hang out with kids like us, didn’t you? Otherwise, what reason would you have to sit here this late?”

Perhaps deciding he needed to change tactics and assert dominance, Santino suddenly lunged forward, pulling Dante into a forced embrace and burying his lips into the nape of Dante’s neck.

At that exact microsecond, Dante caught a faint, unfamiliar scent rolling off the man. It didn’t belong to the bar. It was a chemical, biological smell that his very instincts violently rejected. In that instant, a wave of dizziness and violent nausea surged so fiercely he could barely breathe, and a sudden, unnatural heat flared through his veins.

While Dante faltered under the sudden, overpowering symptoms, the Alpha dragged his tongue wetly up the right side of Dante’s neck. He mouthed at the sensitive area around the slant of muscle and bit Dante’s earlobe as if about to force a kiss, the damp sensation spreading across Dante’s skin in a wave of pure revulsion. His vision spun and his limbs felt heavy, but raw rage overrode the sickness.

Dante reached out and grabbed Santino firmly by the collar.

He barely stopped himself from driving a fist through the man’s jaw. Ha, fuck. I almost came all the way overseas just to assault a civilian. He endured the insult solely because of his status as an active serviceman, but in his heart, he wanted to rip that tongue clean out of the man’s mouth.

“I’m pretty sure I said no. Didn’t I?” Dante snarled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. “Answer me, kid.”

The hand gripping Santino’s shirt collar tightened like a vice. The fabric pulled taut, twisting around the man’s throat and cutting off his air supply. Santino threw his head back, gagging violently. His face flushed a dangerous crimson as he tried desperately to pry Dante’s fingers loose, but he could not shake free from a grip forged by military training—a grip far stronger than any ordinary civilian could ever muster. The primal fear of suffocation finally penetrated his skull, and Santino nodded frantically.

“The second I let go, you disappear,” Dante hissed. “I’ll give you three seconds. Go.”

Dante shoved him backward by the collar and released him. Santino’s chair skidded loudly across the floorboards, and he tumbled backward onto the ground. Bracing both hands against the floor, he coughed violently, hacking for air, before looking up at Dante with an expression of genuine, self-righteous outrage.

“You’re insane!” Santino shouted, his voice cracking. “Mateo said you liked me!”

Apparently, Dante would need to interrogate Mateo properly about whatever absolute nonsense he had been spouting. But first, he had to deal with the bastard in front of him.

“Three seconds are up,” Dante said coldly.

Without even counting aloud, Dante rose from the booth and walked toward him with a lethal, unblinking glare. Santino let out a high-pitched scream, scrambled frantically to his feet like a crab, and fled deeper into the back of the bar.