Waking up in Dante's arms was becoming a dangerously beautiful routine. On the third morning, I woke first, a rare occurrence. The early morning light filtered into the room, painting his sleeping face in soft shades of grey and gold. His guard was completely down, the hard lines of his jaw relaxed, his expression peaceful. I lay there, memorizing the man he was in these quiet moments, the one no one else ever got to see. He stirred, his arm tightening around me, and his eyes fluttered open, catching me staring.
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. "Enjoying the view?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
I blushed. "Maybe."
In one fluid motion, he pulled me on top of him, my surprised squeal turning into a laugh as I landed on his solid chest. His hands settled on my waist, his touch warm even through the thin cotton of my pajamas. The ease between us was new, a playful energy that I was quickly becoming addicted to.
"We could stay in bed all day," he said, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on my hips.
"You have meetings," I reminded him, my voice a little breathless.
He groaned. "I'll cancel them."
"You can't just cancel everything."
"I'm the boss," he said, his eyes darkening with a familiar intensity. "I can do whatever I want." He rolled us over so that he was hovering above me, his powerful body caging mine. He lowered his head until our faces were inches apart. "And right now," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting across my lips, "I want you."
The heat in his words stole the air from my lungs. "Dante…"
He searched my eyes, his gaze intense. "Tell me to stop, Ella."
I couldn't. A desperate, aching want coiled low in my stomach. But fear was there too, a cold counterpoint to the fire he was igniting. "I… I don't know if I'm ready for this," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper.
The change in him was immediate. The raw desire in his eyes was instantly banked, replaced by a look of understanding. He rolled off me without a word, sitting up and running a hand through his hair in a gesture of clear frustration, but he wasn't angry. He was respecting my boundary.
"Then we don't," he said, his voice a little rough. "It's okay."
I sat up too, a wave of guilt washing over me. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," he said, turning to look at me. "We move at your pace. Always."
The moment of vulnerability left an awkward tension hanging in the air between us. We got ready for the day in a stilted silence, each giving the other space. At breakfast, he told me about a dinner meeting with business associates. "I'd like you to come," he said. It was an invitation, not an order.
"Of course," I said.
"It might run late," he warned. "Boring business talk."
I managed a small smile. "I'll survive."
"You always do," he said, his eyes holding mine for a long moment.
I spent the day feeling restless, my mind replaying our morning encounter. I needed to talk to someone. Isabella arrived that afternoon, taking one look at my face and knowing something was wrong. We sat in the garden, and I hesitantly told her what had happened.
"Things with Dante are… progressing," I started.
Her grin was immediate. "Progressing how?"
I blushed. "We almost… but I stopped it."
"Why?" she asked, her tone gentle. "You're clearly in love with him."
"I'm scared, Bella," I admitted. "What if this gets more real, and then he gets hurt? Or I do? Or… or the year ends and…" The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. "I don't want the year to end."
"Then tell him that," she said simply. "The contract doesn't matter anymore. Can't you see it? My brother is completely gone for you, Ella. He smiles now. Real smiles. All because of you. Don't let fear stop you from being happy."
Her words echoed in my mind as I got ready for dinner that evening. I chose a sophisticated black dress, something that made me feel powerful. When Dante walked into the bedroom to change, he stopped dead, his eyes raking over me. "You look stunning," he breathed. He came up behind me, his lips pressing a warm kiss to my bare shoulder. "Maybe we should skip dinner."
I turned in his arms, a playful smile on my lips. "You said it was important."
"Nothing," he murmured, his hands sliding to my waist, "is more important than you." His lips trailed down my neck, and I closed my eyes, melting into the sensation. With a will I didn't know I possessed, I gently pushed him away.
"We'll be late," I teased.
He groaned, a sound of pure, theatrical frustration. "You enjoy torturing me, don't you?"
"Immensely," I laughed. "Now get dressed."
The dinner was in a private room at an opulent restaurant. The air was thick with the scent of money and the tension of unspoken rivalries. I played the part of the perfect, adoring wife, listening as the conversation swirled around territory disputes and lucrative deals. I felt one of the associates, an older man named Antonio, staring at me throughout the meal, his gaze making my skin crawl. Dante noticed, his hand coming to rest possessively on my thigh under the table.
"Your wife is quite beautiful, Dante," Antonio said, his voice slick with insinuation. "Young, too. How did you ever convince such a lovely thing to marry an old dog like you?" He was implying I was a gold digger, a trophy.
Dante's voice went dangerously cold. "Careful, Antonio."
The man laughed it off, but the insult hung in the air. On the ride home, I was quiet.
"What he said back there—" Dante started.
"It's fine," I cut him off.
"No, it's not. He was disrespectful."
"He wasn't wrong, was he?" I challenged, the insecurity Antonio had sparked bubbling to the surface. "I did marry you for money, in a way."
"That's not why you're still here," he said, his voice firm.
"Isn't it?" I pushed, needing to hear him deny it.
Back in the safety of our bedroom, the tension boiled over. "Sometimes I don't know what this is," I said, pacing the floor. "Are we just playing house? Or is any of this real?"
"What do you think, Ella?" he asked, his frustration evident.
"I think you say pretty things, but at the end of the day, you're still the man who bought me."
His face hardened. "Is that what you think this is? That I bought you?"
"Didn't you?"
He lost his control then, a rare and terrifying sight. "I gave you a choice! I have given you everything—protection, honesty, my home. What more do you want from me?"
"I want to know if you would choose me without the contract!" I cried, tears welling in my eyes. "If the year ends, would you still want me here?"
The silence was heavy, loaded. His anger seemed to melt away, replaced by a look of pained understanding. "Is that what this is about?" He closed the distance between us, his hands coming up to cup my face. "Convenient? You think you're convenient?" He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Ella, you are the most inconvenient thing that has ever happened to me. You make me want things I know I can't have—a normal life, peace. You make me question every decision I've ever made. You're not convenient. You're dangerous. Because you make me weak."
"That's not an answer," I whispered.
"The year could end tomorrow, and I would still want you here," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I would tear up that contract right now if you asked me to. This stopped being about business weeks ago."
My own tears were falling now. "I'm falling in love with you," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "And I don't know if you feel the same, or if I'm just…"
He pulled me to him, his mouth finding mine in a desperate, searching kiss. He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to our bed and laid me down gently. He hovered over me, his eyes dark and intense. "Ella. Are you sure?"
This was it. The final line. I looked up at him, at the man, not the monster. My husband. "I'm sure," I breathed.
He leaned down. "We can stop at any time—"
I reached up and pulled his head down to mine. "Dante. Stop talking."
The world fell away as we finally, completely, came together. It was a collision of passion and emotion, a desperate, soulful connection that transcended the physical. Every barrier between us was shattered, every line crossed and erased.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his hand stroking my hair. The silence was comfortable, complete.
"I love you," he said, his voice clear and certain in the quiet room.
I lifted my head, my heart soaring. "I love you too," I whispered, and the relief that washed over his face was breathtaking.
"Say it again," he murmured.
I smiled. "I love you."
He pulled me tighter, his fear of loss a palpable thing. "I never thought I'd have this," he said, his voice thick. "Someone who sees all of me… and stays."
"I'm not going anywhere," I promised. "I promise."
Just as we were drifting into a peaceful, sated sleep, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it. It buzzed again, insistent. With a reluctant sigh, he reached for it. I watched as his expression changed, the softness vanishing, replaced by a cold fury.
"Fuck," he breathed.
I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. "What's wrong?"
"Victor made a move," he said, his voice grim. "He hit one of my clubs. Three of my men are dead." My stomach dropped. "It happened two hours ago. During our dinner." He was already out of bed, pulling on his clothes. "I have to go. Handle this."
"Now?" I asked, my voice trembling. "It's two in the morning. It could be a trap."
"It probably is," he said, not stopping.
I scrambled out of bed and grabbed his arm. "Then don't go. Please."
He turned, his face softening as he looked at me. He pulled me to him and kissed me, a hard, desperate kiss. "They won't kill me," he promised. At the door, he looked back at me, standing in the middle of the room wearing only his shirt, my hair a mess, my lips swollen from his kisses. "Lock the door after I leave," he said. "I'll be back before you wake up."
"You better be."
"I promise," he said, his eyes filled with a love that mirrored my own. "I have something to come back to now."
And then he was gone. I stood alone in our bedroom—our bedroom, truly, for the first time—and felt the ghost of his touch everywhere. We had crossed every line tonight. I had given him my body, my heart, and my soul. And then I had watched him walk back into the war. I'd promised I wasn't going anywhere. But what if he didn't come back? What if tonight was all we would ever have?