Page 29 of Ivory Crown

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone unusually serious. “And I appreciate it, Jade. Really. But right now, I need you to understand that I’m doing this for us. For our future. For a world where our kid won’t have to be a part of... all this.”

“By this, you mean…”

“I mean my life. My family.”

“You could’ve let me go, and I could’ve raised our baby by myself.”

He cocked an eyebrow, removing his hand from mine. “You can’t be serious. I would never let that happen.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I was smart enough to know this wasn’t an argument I was going to win.

“Whatever. Let’s talk about the research,” I said. “You know, most labs have ethics boards and external funding to ensure that the work being done is ethical and beneficial. You should consider establishing something similar.”

“Sounds like you just volunteered,” Dante teased, his mood lightening again.

“I did not volunteer,” I replied.

“Shame. Then what should we do now?” Dante’s voice was softer, tinged with something that sounded almost like repentance. He leaned back in his chair, the shadows of the dimly lit restaurant hiding the usual hardness in his eyes.

I sighed, letting go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I don’t know,” I confessed, my mind a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. “The damage is done; the data is stolen. We can’t just undo it.”

“Jade, I’m sorry.” His apology was quiet, almost lost amid the clinking of glasses and low murmurs at nearby tables. “I shouldn’t have taken any of your research. It was wrong.”

I searched his face for any sign of deceit but found none. My heart ached, a mix of hurt and confusion swelling inside me. “Is that the only reason you got involved with me? For my work?”

Dante’s gaze locked onto mine, and there was a weight to his words when he spoke. “At first, yeah, using you was part of why I approached you. But then—shit, Jade.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I saw you at that conference, talking about genomes and shit with such confidence, and...fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“You can’t think that. Not with the way you look,” I replied.

“That was a compliment, I think, and yet it didn’t feel like one,” he said.

“You’re out of my league,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Out of your league?” Dante chuckled, a warm, rich sound that had my heart fluttering against my ribs. “Darling, if anyone’s batting out of their league here, it’s me.”

I frowned at that, looking away as I fought the blush creeping up my cheeks. “That’s not what I—“

“Whoever made you feel like this,” he said. “They’re wrong.”

“But Dante, you’re not exactly—“

“Shh.” His hand cupped my face, turning me to meet his gaze. His touch was soft, almost tender, a startling contrast to the hardened crime lord before me. “Enough of that self-deprecating talk. You are extraordinary, Jade Bentley.”

I scoffed lightly, trying to hide the way my heart fluttered at his compliment. “My ex would disagree. He called me a fat bitch as he dumped me for being too obsessed with my research.”

A dark edge crept into Dante’s tone, his protective nature surfacing. “You want me to take care of him?”

“Please tell me that’s a fucking joke, Dante.”

“Of course,” he replied quickly, though the seriousness in his eyes suggested otherwise.

The moment was shattered by the vibrating buzz of Dante’s phone. It was a quiet sound, yet in the silence that had settled between us, it felt as intrusive as a gunshot. His eyes snapped to mine, a silent command to stay quiet passing through his gaze before he lifted the receiver to his ear. “Speak,” he commanded, his voice slicing through the air with an authority that demanded obedience.

I tried to look away, to focus on anything but the exchange that was about to unfold. My gaze landed on the tapestries adorning the walls of the upscale restaurant, their threads weaving tales of power and conquest in the dim light that played tricks with shadows. But despite my efforts, fragments of his conversation impaled the bubble I tried to create around myself—words like ‘shipment,’ ‘territory,’ and ‘handled’ wormed their way into my ears, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

“Everything okay?” I asked when he finally clicked the phone off. The question felt feeble, but I needed to say something to break the tension that encased us.

“Business,” Dante replied curtly. He met my stare, and for a second, I thought I saw the flicker of something human—regret, maybe—in those dark pools before they shuttered closed again. His tone brooked no argument, and I knew that line of questioning was firmly closed.

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