Chapter 12: Playing with Fire
Valentina's POV
Dinner was served in the dining room at exactly six PM.
I'd spent the afternoon in my room, trying not to think about tomorrow night, trying not to imagine the look on Lucia's face when she realized what I'd done. Trying not to hear my father's voice telling me that betrayal of family was the one unforgivable sin.
I'd failed at all three.
When I emerged at five fifty-eight, wearing a simple black dress from the closet, Izzy was waiting in the hallway.
"He doesn't like lateness," she said by way of greeting.
"I'm not late."
"You're cutting it close." She looked me over, nodded once. "That'll do. Come on."
The dining room was smaller than I'd expected, intimate. A table that could seat eight but was set for two. Candles flickering in crystal holders. Wine already poured. It looked like a date.
It looked like a trap.
Dante stood by the window, his back to me, hands in his pockets. He'd changed into dark slacks and a white shirt, sleeves still rolled up. Casual. Comfortable. Like this was normal.
"Sit," he said without turning around.
I sat at the place that had been set, across from where he would presumably sit. The chair was expensive, upholstered in soft leather. The china was delicate, hand-painted. Everything screamed old money and careful taste.
His mother's influence, I remembered.
Dante finally turned, his eyes sweeping over me in that assessing way he had. Not quite approval. Not quite interest. Just taking inventory.
"Better," he said, moving to his seat. "You look less like a corpse."
"Thank you. What a compliment."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost human.
A woman I hadn't seen before entered, older, gray-haired, carrying covered dishes. She set them down without a word, gave Dante a look that was almost maternal, and left.
"Mrs. Zenin," Dante explained, lifting the covers. "Izzy's mother. She's been with me since I came back."
Steam rose from perfectly prepared salmon, roasted vegetables, risotto that smelled like heaven. My stomach growled traitorously. I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
"Eat," Dante commanded, serving himself. "You're no use to me if you faint."
I picked up my fork, took a small bite. It was delicious. I took another.
We ate in silence for several minutes. It should have been awkward. Instead, it felt strangely normal. Like we were just two people sharing a meal, not enemies playing games with each other's lives.
"Tell me about Alessandro Greco," Dante said suddenly.
I looked up, surprised. "Why?"
"Because he's your fiancé. Because he'll be at the meeting tomorrow. Because I need to know how he'll react when he sees you with me." Dante took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving my face. "So tell me. What's he like?"
"Ambitious. Smart. Cold."
"Do you love him?"
"No."
"Does he love you?"
I almost laughed. "Alessandro doesn't love anyone but himself."
"Then why marry you?"
"Because my father wanted him to. Because it would cement his position in the family. Because I'm a valuable asset." I pushed risotto around my plate. "Same reason anyone marries in our world."
"Not everyone." Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me. "My parents married for love. Caused a scandal. Both families opposed it. They did it anyway."
"How did that work out?"
Something dark flashed across his face. "My father's dead. My mother drank herself into an early grave. So not great."
I flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"Don't apologize. You asked a fair question." He refilled both our wine glasses. "Love in our world is dangerous. Makes you vulnerable. Makes you weak. My parents proved that."
"Is that why you'll never..."
"Love someone?" He smiled, and it was sharp enough to cut. "I didn't say never. I said it's dangerous. There's a difference."
The air between us shifted, charged with something I couldn't name. His eyes were intense, focused entirely on me. I felt pinned, studied, like a specimen under glass.
"What about you, Valentina? Ever been in love?"
My throat went dry. "Once."
"What happened?"
"His father died. He blamed my family. He left." The words came out before I could stop them. "And when he came back, he wasn't the same person anymore."
Dante's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Recognition maybe. Or regret.
"Sounds like he made the smart choice," he said quietly. "Love makes you stupid. Makes you trust people you shouldn't. Makes you believe in things that don't exist."
"Like what?"
"Like happy endings." He stood, came around the table. I tensed, but he just picked up the wine bottle, refilled my glass again even though it was still half full. His hand brushed mine, deliberate. "We don't get those in our world, princess. We get survival. Power. Revenge. But not happy endings."
He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough that my heart started racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
"You're trying to scare me," I said.
"I'm trying to be honest." His hand moved to my shoulder, fingers trailing along my collarbone. Light. Teasing. "Tomorrow night, everyone will think we're lovers. They'll assume you're warming my bed, that I've claimed you in every way that matters. We need to make that believable."
"I thought we weren't... I thought you hadn't decided when..."
"When I'd collect?" His smile was wicked. "I haven't. But that doesn't mean we can't practice."
My breath caught. "Practice what?"
"This." His hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, thumb brushing along my jaw. "Looking like you want me. Like you chose this. Like being mine isn't punishment, it's privilege."
"I'm not that good of an actress."
"Then it's a good thing I am." He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "Tell me to stop."
I should have. Should have pushed him away, reminded him of the terms, demanded he keep his distance until he decided to invoke that particular clause of our arrangement.
Instead, I whispered, "No."
His laugh was low, dark, satisfied. "That's what I thought."
His mouth moved to my neck, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin there. Not rough. Not demanding. Just... teasing. Testing. Seeing how I'd react.
I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.
"Responsive," he murmured against my skin. "Good. That'll make this easier."
"Make what easier?"
"Convincing them that you're mine." His teeth grazed my pulse point, and I couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped. "That you came to me willingly. That you beg for my touch."
"I don't beg."
"Not yet." He pulled back, his eyes dark and heated. "But you will, Valentina. Eventually, you'll beg me for things you didn't even know you wanted."
My face flushed hot. "You're very confident."
"I'm very experienced." His hand was still on my neck, thumb stroking gently. "And you're very inexperienced, aren't you?"
I didn't answer. Didn't need to. He could read it on my face.
"Perfect." His smile was predatory. "I'll enjoy teaching you exactly how this works."
"This wasn't part of our deal."
"This is exactly our deal. You're mine. That means I touch you when I want, how I want, where I want. You agreed to that." He released me suddenly, stepped back. "But not tonight. Tonight, you just need to get used to the idea."
I felt cold where his hand had been. Bereft. It was infuriating.
"Get used to what idea?"
"That I own you now. Your body. Your loyalty. Your future." He moved back to his seat, picked up his wine glass like nothing had happened. "Tomorrow night, when Alessandro sees you with me, when your uncle realizes what you've done, when your entire family understands that you've chosen me over them, there's no going back. You need to be ready for that."
"I am ready."
"Are you?" He tilted his head, studying me. "Ready to watch your brother's face when he realizes his sister is sleeping with the enemy? Ready to see Lucia's disappointment? Ready to become everything your father warned you about?"
Each word was a knife, precise and brutal.
"Yes," I said, even though my hands were shaking. "I'm ready."
"Prove it."
"How?"
He stood again, held out his hand. "Dance with me."
I stared at him. "What?"
"You heard me. Stand up. Take my hand. Dance with me."
"There's no music."
He pulled out his phone, tapped something. Soft classical music filled the room, something slow and intimate. He pocketed the phone and extended his hand again.
"Scared?" The challenge in his voice was clear.
I stood, placed my hand in his.
He pulled me close, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. We swayed slowly to the music, our bodies almost touching, heat building in the space between us.
"Tomorrow, you'll dance with me like this," he murmured. "In front of everyone. And you'll look at me like I'm not your enemy. Like I'm your choice. Your desire. Your future."
"I know how to act."
"This isn't acting." His hand tightened on my waist, pulling me flush against him. "This is survival. This is you choosing me every second, in every way, until it becomes truth."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we both die." His lips brushed my temple. "But at least we'll die together."
We danced in silence, the music wrapping around us, his body warm and solid against mine. It felt dangerous. It felt forbidden.
It felt like coming home.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"I know." His hand moved up my back, fingers tracing my spine. "I hate you too."
"Do you?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly I almost didn't hear it, "I'm not sure anymore."
The song ended. We stood there, still pressed together, neither willing to move first.
Finally, Dante stepped back, his expression shuttered again. "Go to bed, Valentina. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"What about you?"
"I have work to do." He moved toward the door, paused without looking back. "The connecting door between our rooms. Don't lock it."
My heart raced. "Why not?"
"Because I want to know I can get to you if I need to." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable. "And because part of you wants me to come through it."
He left before I could deny it.
I stood alone in the dining room, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me, my heart racing, my mind spinning.
He was right. I did want him to come through that door.
God help me, I wanted it more than I should.