I woke slowly, cocooned in a warmth that felt both foreign and deeply familiar. Dante's arm was a heavy, possessive weight around my waist, his face buried in my hair, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm against my back. I lay perfectly still, not wanting to break the spell, savoring the unprecedented moment of peace. This was the first time I had ever seen him completely relaxed, the hard lines of his face softened in sleep, the ruthless mafia boss momentarily replaced by just… a man. My eyes traced the sharp angle of his jaw, the faint scar on his eyebrow, the dark stubble dusting his chin. I had the strongest urge to reach out and touch him, but I resisted, content to simply watch him.
I must have shifted slightly, because his arm tightened reflexively, pulling me closer against his solid frame. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough and thick with sleep.
"Morning," I whispered back. "Did you sleep well?"
A low rumble vibrated through his chest. "Better than I have in years." He nuzzled his face deeper into my hair. "Stay. Just five more minutes."
A smile spread across my face. "Okay." We lay there in a comfortable, easy silence, an intimacy that was profound without being sexual. It was perfect.
Reality, however, had other plans. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, a harsh, unwelcome intrusion. Dante groaned, a sound of pure annoyance, before reaching over to grab it. I watched as his expression hardened, the softness of sleep instantly replaced by the sharp focus of the boss. Business mode: activated.
"I need to deal with something," he said, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair.
I sat up too, pulling the sheet up to my chin. "Is everything okay?"
"A shipment issue at the port," he said, already swinging his legs out of bed. "Nothing major, but it needs my attention." He headed for the en-suite bathroom, and a moment later, I heard the shower start. I considered leaving, scurrying back to the safety of my own room and my own separate life. But that didn't feel right anymore. This felt right. I sat on the edge of his bed and waited, taking the time to really see his room for the first time. It was masculine and dark, but impeccably neat. On his dresser were photos—one of him and Isabella as children, another of his beautiful mother. On his nightstand, next to a heavy crystal lamp, were books on philosophy and military strategy. Piece by piece, the puzzle of the real Dante Russo was coming together.
He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, a white towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water glistening on his muscular chest and shoulders. He saw me still sitting on his bed and a small, pleased smile touched his lips. "I thought you might have run off."
"Did you want me to?" I asked, my voice a little breathless.
"No," he said, walking to his closet. I watched, mesmerized, as he got dressed. It was such a simple, domestic act, yet it felt more intimate than anything we had shared so far. He pulled on a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, the transformation from the man who held me in his sleep to the formidable Don Russo happening before my eyes. But as he knotted his tie, he caught my eye in the mirror and gave me a quick, conspiratorial wink. A new, playful energy sparked between us.
Downstairs, our arrival in the dining room together caused a minor stir among the staff. I saw Marco do a subtle double-take when he noticed me, still wearing Dante's t-shirt from the night before under a borrowed robe. We sat down to eat, but Dante was distracted, his thumb scrolling through messages on his phone.
"What's the shipment issue?" I asked, breaking the silence.
He looked up, considering me for a moment before answering. "A customs hold-up. One of the officials is getting greedy. I'll probably have to go down there and pay him off."
The casual admission of bribery, spoken as if he were discussing the weather, was a stark reminder of the world he lived in. I tried to process it, to fit it into the new image I was forming of him.
He must have seen the conflict on my face. "Does it bother you?" he asked, his gaze sharp.
I was honest. "Yes. But I'm trying to understand."
He put his phone down, giving me his full attention. "I won't apologize for what I do, Ella. It's who I am. It's how I keep this family, this organization, safe." He paused. "But I will try to keep you separate from the worst of it."
"I don't want to be kept in the dark," I said, surprising myself with my own conviction. "Not anymore. I don't want to be separate."
He looked surprised. "You want to know about my business?"
"I want to know *you*," I clarified. "All of you. The good, the bad, and the parts that scare me."
He studied my face, his expression unreadable. "Alright," he said finally. "But be careful what you wish for. Some things… they might change how you see me."
"I'm willing to risk it," I said, and I meant it.
He had to go to the warehouse at the port to deal with the shipment. He stood, ready to leave, then he looked at me. "Come with me."
I blinked. "What?"
"You said you want to know my world," he said, a challenge in his eyes. "Come and see it."
A thrill of fear and excitement shot through me. This was another line, a much bigger one, waiting to be crossed. But he was right. I wanted to understand. "Okay," I said. "Let me change first."
"You have five minutes."
I rushed to my room, my heart pounding. I threw on a pair of jeans and a simple sweater, my hands shaking slightly. When I got back downstairs, Dante and Marco were waiting, both of them looking surprised that I had actually agreed to come.
In the back of the SUV, Dante took my hand, his grip firm and grounding. "If at any point this feels dangerous, you stay in the car," he commanded. "Understood?"
"Understood."
We drove to the industrial warehouse district, a gritty, rough part of the city I had never seen before. This was his world, a world of graffiti-covered brick and suspicious-looking men who loitered on street corners. When our car pulled up to a massive, nondescript warehouse, the men standing guard outside immediately straightened, their eyes following our approach. Dante got out and extended a hand to me. I took it, and as I stepped out of the car, I felt every eye on me, a mixture of surprise and raw curiosity. Dante's hand settled on the small of my back, a possessive, protective gesture. "Stay with me."
Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of crates and boxes. A nervous-looking customs official was waiting for us. He practically bowed when he saw Dante. "Mr. Russo, there seems to have been a misunderstanding with the paperwork—"
Dante cut him off, his voice cold. "How much?" The official named a price, and Dante nodded to Marco, who handled the discreet exchange of a thick envelope. It was that simple. That corrupt. I watched it all, fascinated and appalled, trying to reconcile the cold, commanding man who controlled everything with a mere glance with the man who had held me so tenderly just hours before.
The situation took a sharp turn when one of the crates was opened for a final inspection. Inside, nestled among legitimate electronics, were illegal firearms. My stomach dropped.
"This wasn't on the manifest," the customs official stammered, his face pale.
Dante's jaw clenched. "Someone's trying to set me up." He looked at Marco. "Find out who added this crate to my shipment."
"Victor?" Marco guessed.
"Possibly. Get it out of here. Now."
Suddenly, the wail of sirens cut through the air, growing closer. Police. Someone had tipped them off.
"It's a trap," Dante snarled, grabbing my arm. "We need to leave. Now."
Chaos erupted. Men scrambled to hide the evidence as Dante pulled me toward a back exit, with Marco covering our retreat. My heart hammered against my ribs as we ran through a maze of dark corridors. "Stay close to me," Dante ordered, his hand gripping mine tightly. We burst out a back door just as police cars were flooding the front entrance. A different car was waiting for us, engine running. We sped away, leaving the chaos behind.
In the car, I was shaking with adrenaline. "What just happened?"
"Victor set a trap," Dante explained, his voice a low growl. "He planted the guns and called the cops, trying to get me arrested."
"Will they find anything?"
"No. We have protocols for this. The warehouse will be clean by the time they get a warrant."
The reality of it hit me. "This is your life," I whispered. "Constant danger."
He looked at me, his face grim. "Yes. And now, it's your life, too."
Back at the mansion, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving me shaken. "I shouldn't have brought you," Dante said, his voice filled with self-recrimination. "I'm sorry."
"No," I said, surprising myself. "I'm not. I needed to see it. To understand." I looked at him, really looked at him. "You live with this every single day."
In his study, with the door closed, I paced the floor. "Victor won't stop, will he?"
"No," Dante said. "Not until one of us is dead."
"Then end it," I said, my voice fierce. "Really end it."
"I'm working on it," he said, his tone tight. "But these things take strategy. Time."
He approached me, cupping my face in his hands. "What do you want, Ella?"
"I want normal," I confessed. "I want to have dinner with you, to wake up next to you, without wondering if you're going to be arrested or shot."
"That life… it might not be possible for me."
"Then make it possible," I challenged. "For us."
"You'd stay?" he asked, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability. "Even after today? After seeing what my life really is?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me tightly. "Move into my room," he said, his voice a rough murmur against my hair. "Permanently. I don't want you in the other wing anymore. I want you with me. Every night. Every morning."
My breath caught. "The contract said separate rooms."
"Fuck the contract," he growled. "I want my wife in my bed." He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with a heat that had nothing to do with anger. "Just to sleep. For now. Unless you want more."
My life was short and dangerous. Why waste another moment on pretense? "Okay," I whispered. "I'll move in."
A flash of triumph lit his eyes before he crushed his mouth to mine. That evening, with the help of the staff, I moved my life into his. My clothes in his closet, my books on his nightstand, my photos on his dresser. Our lives, literally blending into one.
That night, as we lay in his bed—our bed—he pulled me close, my back pressed against his chest. "This feels right," he murmured.
"Yeah," I agreed, relaxing into his embrace. "It does."
"Ella?" he said after a moment. "Thank you. For staying. After today."
I turned in his arms to face him. "Where else would I go?" I whispered, my hand coming up to rest on his heart. "You're my home now."
I had watched him bribe officials and narrowly escape arrest. I had seen the guns and the corruption that surrounded him like a second skin. I should have run. Instead, I had moved into his bedroom. Because somewhere between the fear and the adrenaline, I realized I wasn't just falling for him anymore. I was choosing him. Danger and all. And that was the most terrifying, most exhilarating feeling of all.