I woke late, the morning sun streaming through a gap in the heavy curtains, painting a stripe of gold across the room. For a moment, I was disoriented, my body humming with a strange, unfamiliar energy. Then it all came rushing back—the fear, the fight, the blood, and the kiss. My fingers drifted to my lips, which still felt swollen and sensitive from the desperate, hungry way he had claimed them. A flock of butterflies took flight in my stomach. *What happens now?*
Nervous and uncertain, I got ready for the day, changing my outfit three times before settling on a simple pair of jeans and a soft sweater. I felt like a teenager getting ready for a first date, not a woman contractually married to a mafia boss. When I finally ventured downstairs, the house was quiet except for the low hum of a vacuum cleaner. A maid smiled as I entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Mrs. Russo. Mr. Russo is in the dining room."
My heart skipped a beat. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the formal dining room. He was at the head of the long table, a newspaper in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing his strong, corded forearms and the fresh white bandage on his bicep. He looked up as I entered, and our eyes met across the vast expanse of polished wood. The air crackled with a loaded silence.
To my surprise, he stood up, a classic gentlemanly gesture I had never seen from him before. "Good morning," he said, his voice a little rough, as if he hadn't used it yet.
"Morning," I replied, my own voice softer than I intended. I sat down several chairs away from him, unsure of the new protocol. "How's your arm?"
He glanced at the bandage. "Better. Thanks to you." A beat of silence passed. "Did you sleep?"
"Eventually," I admitted. "You?"
"Some."
A maid appeared and silently placed a plate of fruit and pastries in front of me. We were both hyper-aware of each other, the space between us charged with the memory of last night. It wasn't uncomfortable, just… new.
He broke the silence first, putting his newspaper down and giving me his full attention. "About last night—"
I tensed, my heart sinking. "If you're going to say it was a mistake—"
"I was going to say," he interrupted, a small, genuine smile touching his lips, "that I should have done it sooner."
My eyes snapped to his. The smile was a rare, dazzling thing, and I couldn't help but smile back, a real, unforced smile. The tension in the room eased, replaced by a shy, hopeful warmth.
"I have meetings for most of the day," he said, picking up his coffee cup, "but I'll be home for dinner." He paused, and I could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Would you… like to eat together? Not in here. Maybe in my study?"
He was asking, not ordering. It was a subtle shift, but it meant everything. "I'd like that," I said softly.
He nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Good." He took a sip of his coffee. "There's something I want to show you later, as well."
My curiosity was piqued. "What is it?"
"It's a surprise," he said, that small smile returning. "You'll see tonight."
Just then, Marco entered the room. "Boss, they're ready for you."
Dante stood, his gaze lingering on me. He hesitated for a moment, a rare instance of indecision for a man who was always in control. Then he leaned down, and before I could react, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. It was casual, natural, and breathtakingly intimate. "I'll see you tonight," he murmured, and then he was gone. I sat there, stunned, my fingers drifting to the spot where his lips had been. As Marco followed him out, he gave me a knowing look that made my cheeks burn.
The mansion felt different today. It no longer felt like a prison, but simply a large, quiet house. I spent the afternoon in the library, a book open in my lap, but I couldn't focus. My mind kept replaying the kiss, the look in his eyes, the startling gentleness of his touch. *Is this real? Can a relationship built on a foundation of debt and lies ever actually work?* The doubts crept in, a cold counterpoint to the warmth in my chest. He was still a dangerous man. He was still a criminal. But he was also the man who had faced down his enemies to protect my niece.
Isabella found me in the garden, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're glowing," she declared. "Don't even try to deny it. What happened?"
I blushed. "Nothing."
"Liar," she laughed. "Did my brother finally stop being an idiot and make a move?"
"Maybe," I conceded, unable to hide my smile.
She squealed with delight. "Finally! I've been waiting for this. He's so much lighter around you, Ella. Happier."
"I'm scared, Bella," I admitted, the fear a real and present thing. "This is all so… complicated."
She took my hand, her expression turning serious. "Love always is. But he's worth it. I promise. Under all that ice and anger, he has the biggest heart you'll ever find."
As evening approached, my nerves returned. I changed my dress three times before settling on a simple navy blue one that was pretty without trying too hard. I left my hair down and wore only a touch of makeup. Looking at my reflection, I wondered who I was becoming. I wasn't the kindergarten teacher from a few weeks ago, nor was I just the contract wife. I was someone new, someone standing on the precipice of a life I had never imagined.
I knocked on his study door at seven o'clock. "Come in," his voice called out.
I opened the door, and my breath caught. The room was lit by candles, and a small table for two had been set up by the window, overlooking the glittering city lights. It was intimate and thoughtful and so unlike the Dante I thought I knew.
"You did this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"I wanted privacy," he said, pulling out my chair for me. He said the next word carefully, as if testing the feel of it on his tongue. "And… romance."
The conversation flowed more easily than it ever had before. We talked about books and music, about our favorite foods and silly childhood memories. He was opening up, the walls around him slowly beginning to crumble. He told me more about his mother, how she had loved to read poetry aloud. "You remind me of her sometimes," he said, his voice soft. "Your kindness."
It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing he had ever said to me.
After dinner, he refilled my wine glass, his expression turning serious. "Ella, I need to know something."
"What?"
"Do you regret it? Signing the contract. Marrying me."
I considered the question honestly. "I regretted it every single day," I said, meeting his gaze. "Until I didn't anymore."
He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "When did it change?"
"In little moments," I confessed. "When you defended me from Sofia. When you let me see Mia, even though you knew it was dangerous. When you came back last night, covered in blood but alive." My voice dropped to a whisper. "When you kissed me like I was worth killing for."
His grip on my hand tightened. "You are," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're worth everything."
He stood and pulled me to my feet. "Come on. Time for your surprise." He led me to a door I'd never seen open before and unlocked it, revealing a narrow staircase.
"Where are we going?"
"The rooftop," he said. "It's my private space. I come up here when I need to think. To breathe." He led me out onto a stunning rooftop terrace, a hidden garden oasis with a panoramic view of the entire city. "I wanted to share it with you."
"Why?" I breathed, mesmerized by the view.
He turned me to face him. "Because I don't want any more secrets between us, Ella." His expression was grim. "I need to tell you something. About your brother."
I tensed. "What about him?"
"He wasn't just in debt to me," Dante said, his voice low. "He worked for me. He was a low-level courier. He got greedy, stole from a shipment, and then tried to sell information to Victor." My stomach dropped. "I didn't kill him, Ella. But I would have. Victor's men got to him first. The overdose was staged to look like an accident."
I stepped back, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. "You knew," I whispered. "This whole time, you knew."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would have hated me even more than you already did," he said, his honesty brutal. "And I needed you to marry me."
"So you lied to me. You used me."
"In the beginning, yes," he admitted, stepping closer. "But not anymore. Now, I just want you."
I was torn between a fresh wave of anger at his deception and a reluctant understanding of his motives. "My brother was a traitor," I said, the words tasting like poison.
"He made bad choices," Dante agreed. "But he loved his daughter. The debt was his way of trying to ensure she'd be taken care of."
Tears filled my eyes. "I should hate you for this."
"You should," he agreed, his voice quiet.
"But I don't," I whispered. "I can't. What does that say about me?"
He cupped my face, his thumbs gently wiping away my tears. "It says you're stronger than you think. It says you see past the monster."
"You're not a monster," I said, my voice thick. "You're just… broken. Like me."
He rested his forehead against mine. "Then maybe we can fix each other."
This time, I initiated the kiss. I rose on my toes, my hands on his chest, and pulled his mouth down to mine. It was slower than the night before, less desperate and more meaningful, a kiss of acceptance and forgiveness. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him as the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of color around us.
"Stay with me tonight," he murmured against my lips. It wasn't a demand. It was an invitation.
"In your room?"
"Just to sleep," he said, his voice vulnerable. "I just… I don't want to be alone."
"Okay," I whispered.
Back in his room, he gave me one of his t-shirts to sleep in. It was soft and smelled like him, and it was so big on me it fell to my mid-thighs. When I came out of the bathroom, he was already in bed. He stared at me, his eyes dark with a desire he was clearly struggling to control. "You're beautiful," he rasped.
I slipped into bed beside him, my body tense. He pulled me against him, my back fitting perfectly against his chest, and draped his injured arm gently over my waist. I slowly relaxed into his warmth, feeling safer than I had in my entire life.
"Dante?" I murmured, already drifting off.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you for telling me the truth."
His arm tightened around me. "Thank you for staying."
I fell asleep in the arms of the man who had lied to me, the man who had killed for me. Just before I drifted off completely, I heard him whisper against my hair, so softly he must have thought I was already asleep. "I love you."
A small smile touched my lips in the darkness. I didn't say it back, not yet. But I felt it growing inside me, a stubborn, beautiful flower pushing its way through the rubble of my life. The devil was holding me like I was something precious. And maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love with him too.