CHAPTER 36 — Dante's POV
The Beginning of Something He Can't Name
Dante hadn't planned to stay the night.
He told himself he would just check on Auri, make sure she was okay after meeting Adrian, then leave before things got too complicated.
But the moment she wrapped her arms around him, everything inside him shifted—the sharp anger, the jealousy, the frustration—all melting into something he didn't have a name for. Something warm. Something steady. Something terrifying.
She held onto him like he was something worth holding.
And he didn't want to let go.
He stood still in the middle of her living room, Auri tucked against his chest. Her breath was soft, brushing against his neck, and he realized how fragile she felt in that moment.
How fragile he felt too.
Dante never allowed himself to feel this much. It made him reckless, exposed. Yet with Auri… it didn't feel like weakness. It felt like truth.
"Auri," he murmured, brushing a hand against her back, "you don't know what you do to me."
She looked up, her eyes still glassy from tears. "Then tell me."
He swallowed. The request wasn't complicated, but for him… it felt as difficult as lifting the ocean.
His hand cupped her cheek as he leaned down, resting his forehead lightly against hers.
"You make me want things I don't understand," he whispered. "You make me want to stay."
Her breath hitched, and Dante felt something tight in his chest loosen.
Auri stepped back slightly, her fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt. She searched his eyes—careful, hopeful, unsure.
"Do you want to stay tonight?" she asked.
He did. God, he did.
But he saw the softness in her eyes, the vulnerability she tried to hide, and he knew this wasn't about desire. It wasn't about possession or claiming. It was about comfort. Safety. Closeness. Maybe something more.
Instead of answering, he simply nodded.
Auri smiled—a small, trembling smile—but it felt like sunrise breaking through clouded skies.
"Okay," she whispered.
She guided him to the couch, where they sat close enough for their legs to touch but far enough that the air wasn't charged with tension. Her fingers fidgeted on her lap, and Dante reached out with a sigh, taking her hand gently.
Auri blinked in surprise.
Dante never held hands. Not like this. Not tenderly.
Her fingers curled around his instinctively.
"I'm sorry for shouting earlier," he said quietly. "I lost it. I shouldn't have."
Auri shook her head softly. "I know you were upset."
"It doesn't matter," he insisted. "I shouldn't have yelled. I never… I don't want to be someone you're afraid of."
Her hand tightened in his.
"I wasn't afraid of you," she said. "I was afraid of losing you."
Dante's breath stopped.
He stared at her for a long moment, unable to speak. No one—no one—had ever said something like that to him. People feared him, respected him, admired him from afar, but they didn't worry about losing him.
Because no one had ever held him close enough to lose.
He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss over her knuckles.
"You won't lose me," he whispered. "Not unless you push me away yourself."
Auri's eyes softened. "And what if I fall? What if I fall harder than I should?"
Dante's chest tightened. "Then I'll catch you."
The room went quiet again, filled only with their breaths.
Minutes passed before Auri yawned, exhaustion pulling at her features. Dante smiled faintly.
"You should sleep," he said.
"You're staying," she reminded him softly, like she needed the reassurance.
"I'm staying," he repeated.
She got up, heading to her bedroom. Dante followed a few steps behind, but he stopped when he reached her doorway. Auri turned to him, confused.
"You can come in," she said gently.
He hesitated. "I don't want you to think I'm expecting something."
Her cheeks warmed. "I know. I trust you."
Something in his chest throbbed—surprise, tenderness, maybe guilt for not deserving that trust.
He stepped inside.
Auri curled up under the blanket, leaving a space beside her. Dante lay down carefully, his body stiff at first, unused to sharing a bed. But the moment she inched closer, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, he felt himself melt into the mattress.
This was dangerous.
This closeness.
This warmth.
This peace.
It was nothing like his world. Nothing like who he thought he was.
Yet with Auri, it felt right.
"Dante?" she murmured sleepily.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you… for trying."
He swallowed, staring at the ceiling.
"For you, I'll always try."
Her hand slid across his chest, resting over his heart. And his heart—traitorous, wild, unfamiliar—beat faster beneath her palm.
Auri drifted to sleep within minutes.
But Dante stayed awake long after her breaths turned soft and steady.
Watching her.
Guarding her.
Fighting the realization creeping up on him.
That maybe…
Maybe he was already falling.
Harder than he ever intended.
Here is Chapter 37 — Part 2, continuing directly from Dante's POV as he confronts his growing feelings while watching Auri sleep.
Soft, emotional, intimate — but still safe and within guidelines.
The Realization He Didn't Expect
Auri slept soundly beside him, her breathing soft and steady, her face relaxed in a way he rarely saw when she was awake. Without the tension, the confusion, the way she tried so hard to stay strong… she looked innocent. Peaceful. Beautiful in the kind of way that made something deep in his chest twist.
Dante lay on his side, elbow propped on the pillow, just watching her.
He told himself he wasn't the type to stare.
He wasn't the type to linger.
He definitely wasn't the type to fall asleep beside someone and feel… safe.
But here he was.
Wide awake.
Staring at her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
Her hair was messy, falling across her forehead, so he gently brushed a strand away. Auri shifted slightly but didn't wake, her lips parting the slightest bit as she breathed in.
That tiny movement hit him harder than it should.
He let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand where her fingers were loosely curled around his. He didn't even remember when she grabbed his hand. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was trust.
Too much trust.
And he wasn't sure he deserved it.
The thought made him tense.
Dante Lorenzo Moretti didn't do this.
He didn't stay.
He didn't open up.
He didn't allow anyone close enough to hurt him.
Yet Auri—unintentionally, effortlessly—had slipped past every wall he'd spent years building.
He exhaled heavily, forcing his eyes to close for a moment.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he whispered to the quiet room.
Her fingers twitched around his as if responding.
He looked back at her, a faint, helpless smile forming on his lips. She didn't even know the chaos she created just by existing.
He remembered how she cried earlier.
How small her voice sounded when she asked what they were.
How she trembled when he shouted.
How she softened the moment he apologized.
How she still held him, still trusted him, despite every reason she had not to.
That terrified him more than anything.
Because the more she trusted him…
the more he wanted to be worthy of it.
He watched her lashes flutter as she dreamed, her cheek pressed against the pillow. He wanted to protect that softness. That innocence. That warmth. He wanted to keep her safe—even from him, if he had to.
He sighed again and let himself speak into the silence, words meant for no one except the night.
"I shouldn't want you this much," he admitted quietly. "I shouldn't need you this much."
But he did.
More than he understood.
More than he could hide.
More than he was ready for.
His hand drifted slowly, tracing a line down her arm—not to wake her, not to claim her, but because he couldn't help it. Because touching her grounded him, soothed him, reminded him he was human and not just the cold businessman the world knew.
She moved again, shifting closer, her forehead brushing his shoulder. Dante froze, breath caught in his throat.
God, she fit against him too perfectly.
His chest tightened painfully.
Dangerously.
Beautifully.
He leaned down just enough to whisper near her hair.
"I don't know what this feeling is," he admitted, "but it scares me."
His fingers brushed lightly across her knuckles again. He swallowed hard.
"But I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't say love.
Not yet.
He wasn't ready—he didn't even understand the full weight of what he felt.
But he understood this:
Auri was no longer just someone he wanted
Someone he was drawn to.
Someone he couldn't imagine losing.
He stared at her a long time after that, letting the quiet wrap around them like a blanket.
Eventually, his breathing matched hers, slow and calm. His eyes grew heavy. He didn't fight sleep this time.
He fell asleep holding her hand.
And this time, he wasn't afraid of staying.