Page 20 of Ivory Obsession

I finally typed back, my response as non-committal as I could muster. The moment I hit send, my stomach twisted with a mix of guilt and trepidation. Ellie’s words echoed in my mind, casting a long shadow over the warmth that once flooded me at his messages.

I left the restaurant with haste, my ponytail swinging as I darted through the throngs of New York’s nightlife. Once home, the silence of my apartment was a stark contrast to the earlier bustle. I needed answers. My fingers itched for my laptop like they did for a pipette when a hypothesis formed in the lab.

I sat down, powered on the device, and let my scientific curiosity drive me into the depths of the internet as I sipped from the foam cup with the lukewarm espresso I’d grabbed before leaving the restaurant.

“Moretti family Little Italy ties” I typed, each keystroke a deliberate probe into the darkness. As the search engine populated results, my heart raced. I leaned forward, glasses perched on the bridge of my nose, peering at the screen.

The shrill ring of my phone sliced through the quiet like a bullet from the dark. I jerked back, nearly knocking over the coffee. It was Dante. I hesitated, staring at the screen as it lit up the dim room.

“Hey, Jade, just wanted to hear your voice,” he said when I finally answered, his words smooth and warm like a shot of whiskey on a cold night. But I couldn’t shake off the chill that settled in my bones. I held the phone slightly away from my ear, my fingers trembling.

“Hi, Dante,” I replied, faking a calm I didn’t feel.

“Everything okay?” he probed gently.

“Yeah, just tired,” I lied, curling up on the edge of my bed, feeling the weight of my day’s discoveries pressing down on me.

“Get some rest then. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he suggested, but there was something in the way he said it—a hidden question, as if he sensed my tension. “Are we still on for Monday? My lawyer is eager to get started.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

“Okay. I’ll call tomorrow to confirm.”

“Sure,” I said before ending the call. The room plunged back into silence, leaving me alone with the echoes of our conversation and the hum of New York outside my window.

As darkness wrapped around me, I lay down, pulling the covers up to my chin, my body heavy with exhaustion. But sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, images of Dante flickered through my mind—his charming smile, the intensity in his eyes, the allure of danger that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

“Could Ellie be right?” I murmured to the empty room, voicing the fear I’d been pushing away. Ellie’s warnings about Dante’s world—the violence, the power struggles, the ruthlessness—had seemed so far away until now.

I tossed again, my blue tank top twisting with each turn. My thoughts spiraled, tangling with doubts and the remnants of the safety I once felt with him. The cool fabric of my dark denim jeans offered no comfort as I shifted restlessly, trying to find some semblance of peace.

I had to get dressed for bed, but I knew sleep would be just out of reach for most of the night.

I was right. I’d barely slept.

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, I made my decision. With a sigh, I sat up and reached for my phone on the bedside table. My fingers felt numb as I typed out a text to Dante, a simple message that felt like the heaviest thing I’d ever written:

Need some time to think. Talk soon?

I stared at the words, my heart pounding in my chest. It was one thing to feel them, another to send them into the world where they couldn’t be taken back. My finger hovered over the send button, hesitating. Was I ready for whatever his response would be? With a breath that felt more like surrender than resolution, I pressed down.

The day stretched out before me, endless and unforgiving. I spent it in solitude, my apartment a silent witness to the emotional turmoil swirling within me. I curled up on the couch, knees drawn to my chest, and let my mind wander through the labyrinth of my feelings for Dante.

But…there were no feelings for Dante.

There couldn’t be.

We were just fucking, and we might become business partners…and it didn’t have to become anything else. Right?

Chapter Nine: Dante

The door to the restaurant swung open with a familiar creak, and I stepped inside with Marco on my heels. Little Italy’s heart pulsed through this joint—a place where everyone knew your name or at least pretended to if they valued their skin. The scent of garlic and tomatoes wrapped around me like a worn leather jacket as we slipped into a booth tucked away in the back.

“Look at this, Dante. Nona’s special is still on the menu,” Marco said, flipping open the laminated card. But his light tone didn’t match the tightness in his eyes—a look I knew spelled trouble.

I leaned back against the worn leather, my white shirt stretching across my shoulders. “Spill it, Marco.”

He put down the menu, his black shirt blending with the shadows. “Dante, we’ve got issues. The Carusos are pushing into legit businesses faster than we anticipated,” he muttered, shooting a glance over his shoulder before locking eyes with me.

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