Page 64 of Ivory Crown

“He’s right, Enzo,” my mom’s voice cut from across the room. “You need to look after yourself.”

She was still angry with my father, but she was worried about him. She was always worried about him.

The tension in the room spiked, and I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “I can handle things, Dad,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s why you trained me, isn’t it?”

His gaze hardened, even as his shoulders sagged further. “If you could handle things, your brother wouldn’t be here.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Marco cut in. “This isn’t Dante’s fault, Dad,” he said defensively. His eyes, though clouded by pain medication, were sharp and determined. “You know as well as anyone that this was a risk I took willingly. That every risk I take for this family is one I take willingly.”

“Yes,” my father replied, his voice firm but quiet. “A risk you shouldn’t have had to take.”

Marco didn’t have a response for that. He knew, just as we all did, that my father carried the guilt of our actions, our mistakes, on his own broad shoulders. He saw every wound we suffered as a personal failure.

And he had every right to be angry with me.

This was on me.

And whatever else happened…well, I had to fix this.

No matter what.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Dante

Istepped into the cool expanse of my penthouse suite, shrugging off the constraints of the city’s chaos outside, a glass of ice water in my hands.

There she was, Jade, sprawled across the bed, her desire etched in every flushed inch of her skin.

This room smelled amazing. And I wanted her so much.

I made sure to shut off the vibrator as I approached her.

“Jade,” I called out softly, noting how her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. The black thread I’d left encircling her, binding the source of her pleasure in place, stood out against her pale flesh—a reminder of the control I wielded, even as it faltered now.

Her eyes flickered open, glazed and drowning in need. She didn’t speak, but her gaze latched onto mine, pleading for relief or perhaps more torment—I wasn’t always sure which she craved more. I moved closer, my own needs clawing at me from beneath the surface of calm I projected.

“Here,” I said, offering her a glass of water with hands that betrayed none of the storm raging inside me. “Drink.”

She looked at her bound wrists, but she still didn’t seem to snap out of it. I brought the glass to her lips and she swallowed, a soft moan escaping from her parted lips as the cool water seemed to awaken her senses. Gently, I brushed away a strand of hair that stuck to her damp forehead, my heated gaze drinking in her vulnerability.

“I’m going to untie your hands now,” I said. “I want you to drink this whole thing.”

She nodded, a soft murmur of consent barely audible as the bindings loosened from her wrists. Careful not to leave any trace of discomfort, my fingers worked skillfully, unravelling the material that held her captive. Once free, she raised her arms slowly, rubbing at the faint red impressions left behind.

“Now drink,” I said, handing her the water.

She took the glass with a tremor in her fingers, sipping slowly, the water tracing a path down her throat. I watched, captivated by the simple act. It was then I noticed—the slight haze in her eyes wasn’t just lust; it was something deeper, almost intoxicating.

“Are you alright?” The words slipped from me, a mix of the mafioso and the man who found himself unexpectedly ensnared by this woman who was all sharp intellect and hidden fires.

“Mhm,” she hummed, a nonverbal affirmation that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I could see she was still caught in the web of her arousal, ensnared as much by her own sensations as by the silken restraint I’d placed upon her.

“Good,” I replied, though a part of me questioned if it was true. I set the glass aside and sat on the edge of the bed.

As she lay there, hair splayed like a dark halo around her head, she looked at me with an intensity that cut through the fog of my own hesitations. “Dante,” Jade’s voice broke through, thick with need, “Don’t make me wait anymore. Please.”

The sound of my name on her lips, laced with such raw desire, stirred a storm within me. Fuck everything else. In that moment, as I shed the last piece of my tailored armor, I was just a man, driven by primal want.

“Please,” she whispered, and that single plea was laced with more power than any command I had ever given or received.

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