I woke with the memory of the late-night kitchen encounter clinging to me like a phantom touch. The exhaustion in Dante's eyes, the unexpected softness in his voice—it was a dangerous combination, one that chipped away at the walls I had so carefully constructed around my heart. When I went downstairs, he was already gone, but a note on my breakfast tray confirmed he was still thinking of me. A single line in his sharp, decisive handwriting: *Stay inside today. -D.* There was no explanation, but the command felt different this time, less like a jailer's order and more like a warning.
My day of solitary confinement was interrupted by the one person who could make the mansion feel less like a prison. Isabella arrived unannounced, her bright smile a stark contrast to the mansion's oppressive quiet.
"I'm kidnapping you," she declared, linking her arm through mine. "We're going shopping. You can't stay cooped up in here forever."
A thrill of excitement, something I hadn't felt in weeks, shot through me. A chance to leave, to breathe air that wasn't recycled through the mansion's vents, to feel like a normal person again. There was just one hurdle.
"I have to ask Dante," I said, the words tasting like ash.
I called his office, expecting a flat denial. Marco answered, his voice as professional as ever. I explained Isabella's plan, and he put me on a brief hold. The seconds ticked by, each one a tiny lifetime. When he came back on the line, I was shocked. "Mr. Russo says yes," Marco relayed. "But his security team will accompany you." It was a small victory, but it felt monumental.
The mall was a dizzying assault on the senses after weeks of quiet isolation. For the first time since the wedding, I felt almost normal. Isabella was easy company, her laughter infectious as we browsed through stores. Two of Dante's guards, dressed in plain clothes, kept a discreet but constant distance.
"You're good for him, you know," Isabella said as we sifted through a rack of sweaters. "He's different since you've been here. I can't explain it, but… he's more present."
I doubted I had any effect on a man as formidable as her brother, but I didn't argue. It was nice to pretend, just for an afternoon.
The illusion of normalcy shattered in an instant. I was in a dressing room, trying on a simple blue sundress. I stepped out to show Isabella, a genuine smile on my face. Her own smile vanished, her face going pale as she stared at something over my shoulder. I turned. A man was standing a few feet away, leaning against a display rack, watching us. He wasn't shopping. He was observing. He had cold, dead eyes and a cruel smirk on his face. One of our guards immediately moved, stepping between us and the man, his hand going to his jacket. The man's smirk widened. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, then turned and walked away, melting into the crowd.
Isabella grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. "We need to leave. Now."
The drive back to the mansion was tense and silent. My heart was pounding. "What just happened back there?" I finally asked, my voice trembling.
Isabella's face was grim. "That man… he works for Victor Conti. My brother's biggest rival."
The name sent a chill down my spine. "Was he following us?"
"He wasn't following," she said, her voice low and serious. "He was sending a message. They wanted you to see them. They wanted you to know that they can get to you."
The first real taste of the danger I was in coated my tongue, bitter and metallic.
When we pulled up to the mansion, Dante was already there, having left his meetings the moment Marco had called him. He strode out of the front door, his face a thunderous mask of fury. He bypassed Isabella and came straight to me, his hands gripping my shoulders as his eyes scanned me for injury. "Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine, we're fine—"
He released me and rounded on the two guards who had followed us out of the car. "How did he get that close?" he snarled, his voice a low, lethal growl. The guards, both huge men, seemed to shrink under his rage, stammering an explanation. Dante cut them off. "Get out of my sight. You're done." He fired them on the spot, his judgment swift and absolute. He then turned his fury on his sister. "You never should have taken her out of this house."
"You approved it!" Isabella shot back, unintimidated.
Dante ignored her, his stormy eyes locking on me. "Inside. Now."
He all but dragged me into his office and slammed the door shut. He began to pace, a caged panther radiating a terrifying energy. But I realized with a jolt that his anger wasn't directed at me.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened today?" he demanded, his voice tight.
"Nothing happened, Dante. We're safe."
"This time!" he roared, whirling to face me. "What about next time?" He stopped himself, raking a hand through his dark hair in a gesture of pure frustration. And in that moment, I saw it clearly. Beneath the fury, he was scared. Terrified.
"Why does this Victor person want to hurt me?" I asked softly.
He looked at me, his expression bleak. "He doesn't want to hurt you," he said, his voice dropping. "He wants to hurt me. And right now, you're my biggest weakness."
The words hung in the air between us. "Then let me go," I whispered. "Annul the marriage. I'll disappear. He'll never find me."
His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "No." The word was fierce, immediate, absolute. He strode across the room until he was standing directly in front of me. "You are safer here. With me."
"Or I'm in more danger than I've ever been in my life, because of you!"
"I won't let anyone hurt you," he vowed, his voice dropping to an intense, possessive growl. "I protect what's mine."
There it was again. *Mine*. The word wrapped around my heart, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.
"I'm not yours," I managed to say, my voice shaky. "This is a contract. It's fake, remember?"
He stepped closer, invading my personal space until all I could smell was his cologne and the scent of pure, masculine power. "Is it?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "You feel nothing, Ella? When I'm near you? When I touch you?"
His hand came up, slow and deliberate, and hovered just inches from my face, the heat from his palm warming my skin. I was frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I wanted to say no, to deny the electric current that sizzled between us, but the lie wouldn't form.
"Dante…" I breathed his name, and his eyes darkened, the sound of it on my lips seeming to affect him physically.
A sharp knock on the office door shattered the spell. "Boss, we have a situation." It was Marco.
Dante flinched as if struck. He stepped back, the moment broken, his jaw clenched so tight I was afraid his teeth would crack. "I'll be right there," he called out. He turned back to me, his expression shuttered and cold once more. "Go to your room. Stay there until I come for you." I wanted to argue, but the look on his face stopped me. This was deadly serious. I turned and left without another word.
The mansion went into lockdown. I saw more guards than I had ever seen before, their faces grim as they took up positions. Hours passed. I was a prisoner in my luxurious room, pacing and watching from the window as black cars arrived, disgorging serious-looking men who disappeared inside.
It was after nine o'clock when he finally came. He knocked once before entering, looking utterly exhausted. His jacket was gone, his tie was loosened, and a dark five-o'clock shadow dusted his jaw. He looked less like a mafia boss and more like a man carrying the weight of the world.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough with fatigue.
"What's happening?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over and sat on the edge of my bed, an act of such unusual intimacy it stole my breath. "Victor made a move today. Using you to send a message." He finally looked at me, his eyes weary. "It's been handled."
I sat beside him, the mattress dipping with my weight. "Handled how?"
His gaze held mine. "You don't want to know."
We sat in silence, a fragile truce between us. "Why did you marry me?" I asked quietly, the question I'd been afraid to voice. "The real reason."
He looked surprised, then thoughtful. A long moment passed. "I told you," he said finally. "It was a business decision."
"That's not all of it," I pressed, sensing there was more.
He studied my face, his expression unreadable. "No," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "It's not." The admission was huge, a crack in the fortress.
He reached out, his movements slow, and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It was the first time he had ever touched me with simple, unadulterated tenderness. His fingers lingered on my cheek, and without thinking, I leaned into his touch.
"Ella…" he murmured, his voice thick. He leaned closer, his gaze fixed on my mouth. I knew I should pull away, run for the safety of the other side of the room. I didn't move. My eyes fluttered closed as his face came nearer, his warm breath ghosting across my lips.
Then, abruptly, he stopped. He pulled back as if he'd been burned, standing and running a hand through his hair. "This is a mistake."
I was left breathless and confused. "What?"
"You're here because of a contract, because you had no other choice," he said, turning away from me. "I won't take advantage of that."
It was the last thing I expected. A flicker of nobility from the man I thought was a monster. I stood, my legs unsteady. "What if I—"
"Don't," he cut me off, his voice sharp. "Don't finish that sentence, Ella." He looked at me then, and I saw a flash of raw pain in his eyes. "You don't know what you're saying." He walked to the door, his shoulders tense. He stopped with his hand on the knob, his back still to me.
"Lock this door after I leave," he ordered. "And Ella? You're not leaving this house again until Victor Conti is dealt with. Permanently."
He left, closing the door softly behind him. I stood alone in the center of the room, my fingers pressed to my lips where his kiss should have been. My entire body was shaking.
Later, I went to the window and saw him outside, pacing on the terrace. He was on the phone, a cigarette—the first I'd ever seen him smoke—glowing in his hand. He looked agitated, angry, and utterly alone. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up, his eyes finding mine across the manicured lawn. The world seemed to stop, the moment suspended in the cool night air. He held my gaze for a long, charged second before dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his heel. Then he turned and went back inside.
He had walked away to protect me from himself. But as I stood there, watching the empty spot where he had been, I wondered who was going to protect me from myself. Who would protect me from wanting the man I was supposed to fear? From craving another almost-kiss? I was falling, and there was no one there to catch me. Except, perhaps, the devil himself.