Page 30 of His Bride

“I’m back,” I unnecessarily announce, plastering a small smile.

His eyes narrow, searching my face. What does he see? I feel stripped bare, but I don’t look away.

“How was your lunch?” Dante asks, muting the TV. His tone is casual, but I sense the undercurrent of curiosity.

I take a steadying breath. “It was… nice. Thank you for letting me go.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you think I’d keep you prisoner, cara?”

The pet name gives me butterfly. “No, I just… I appreciate it.”

Dante stands, moving towards me with predatory grace. “And what did you ladies discuss?”

I swallow hard. “Just catching up. My mother asked how I was settling in.”

“And how did you answer?” His eyes bore into mine.

“I told her the truth,” I say, lifting my chin. “That you’ve been kind to me.”

Something flashes in Dante’s eyes - surprise? Satisfaction? He reaches out, his fingers tracing my jaw. “And have I been, Adriana? Kind?”

My breath catches.

“Yes,” I answer.

He leans in, his lips touching my ear. “Good. Because I intend to be very… kind… to you right now.”

Before I can react, his mouth claims mine. The kiss is hungry, possessive. I should resist, but my body betrays me. I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt.

Dante growls, deepening the kiss. There’s a desperation in it that matches the chaos in my own heart. I’m drowning in sensation, in the taste of him, in the heat of his body against mine.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I stare up at him, dazed and conflicted. This man is dangerous, a criminal. But he’s also my husband. And right now, looking into his eyes, I see something that terrifies me more than his reputation ever could.

I see a glimmer of vulnerability. Of need.

And I realize, with a jolt of fear and exhilaration, that I’m not the only one caught in the web of emotions.

Chapter Eleven

Adriana

I slip the red silk over my skin, the fabric soft against my body. The dress hugs my curves, its simplicity a deliberate choice.

Dante’s invitation this morning still echoes in my mind - his voice low and intimate as he leaned in close before leaving for work. “Be ready at eight, cara. I’m taking you out tonight.”

The mirror reflects a woman I almost don’t recognize - elegant, poised, a far cry from the webtoon artist hunched over her drawing table. I take a steadying breath, willing my speeding heart to slow. This is just dinner with my husband. So why does it feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den?

I step out of the bedroom, my heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the floor. Dante stands in the foyer, cutting an imposing figure in his tailored suit. His eyes darken as they rake over me, hunger and possessiveness warring in their depths.

“Bellissima,” he says, voice like rough velvet. “You look exquisite.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks. “Thank you,” I manage, taking in the sight of him. Despite everything, my traitorous body responds to his presence - the broad shoulders, the strong jaw, the predatory grace with which he moves. At thirty-nine, he’s more handsome than men a decade younger.

Dante extends his hand, and I place mine in his larger one. His thumb traces idle patterns on my skin, sending shivers up my arm. “Shall we, cara?” he asks, leading me towards the door.

While we walk, I can’t help but marvel at how my perception of him has shifted. The man I first met on our engagement night - cold, calculating, terrifying - has become someone I find myself drawn to more with each passing day. It’s a realization that both excites and unsettles me.

“You seem deep in thought,” Dante observes, his keen gaze missing nothing.

---