Page 30 of Ivory Crown

Then his phone rang again and a dark shadow passed over his face. He answered immediately. “I don’t care, Sal. Take care of it. Take care of him. You don’t need me to spell this out, do you? Okay, good.”

He hung up the phone, sighing, his shoulders slumping. “Where were we?”

“Did you just order a hit?” The question burst from me before I could snag it back into the safety of unspoken thoughts. My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing in my ears like a drumbeat counting down to something inevitable.

“Sometimes, things need to be handled,” Dante said without missing a beat, his response chilling in its indifference. His eyes were fixed on mine, but they might as well have been looking through me, considering matters far beyond the reach of my understanding.

“Dante, what the fuck?”

The clink of silverware against fine china filled the air, a stark reminder of the civilized façade we maintained. Dante’s hand enveloped mine, his touch a jarring mix of danger and solace. I glanced at our intertwined fingers, his skin warm against the cool expanse of the tablecloth.

“Let’s not do this here,” he suggested, voice as smooth as the aged wine resting in our glasses. “Eat your dinner, Jade. You told me you would behave.”

I nodded, withdrawing my hand to slice through the tender steak that rested on my plate. The rich scent of cooked meat and herbs did little to settle the unease that knotted in my stomach. Across from me, Dante watched with an unreadable expression, the dim light of the restaurant casting shadows across his strong features.

And so I did what was expected of me. I ate, I smiled, and I played the part of the oblivious dinner date. With each bite, I pushed away the knowledge of who Dante truly was—a man cloaked in charisma and enshrouded in the dark dealings of the Moretti family.

Because one thing had become painfully clear throughout this dinner: if I wanted to stay alive, I would have to play this game.

And if I wanted to raise our kid by myself, then I had to make damn sure I was going to win.

Chapter Thirteen: Jade

Iknew I was a mess when the elevator dinged at Dante’s floor. A cold sweat had taken over my palms, and my heartbeat wasn’t exactly playing nice. But there he was, cool as ever, watching me with those eyes that seemed to pick apart my soul piece by piece.

“Jade, you’re rattling like a leaf in a storm,” Dante said, his voice low and smooth as we stepped into his penthouse. “In the car, it was all nerves, but tonight...” He let the words hang, a promise lingering in the silence between us.

I didn’t have the words, not then. The opulence of his place always felt like it swallowed me whole—a kind of luxury that made my lab look like a child’s playset. My shoes clicked against the marble, echoing around the grand space.

“Tonight, I’ll show you. Show you how breathtaking you are,” he murmured, and I could feel the heat from his lips grazing my ear even though they barely touched my skin.

His fingers traced my hip, and my traitorous body leaned into the caress, my mind fogging up with warmth I hadn’t realized I craved.

“Jade?” His breath teased the shell of my ear, and I fought the urge to shudder. Every sensible cell screamed at me to run, yet here I was, melting.

We’d moved to the bedroom without me noticing, the shift as smooth as everything else about Dante. The bed loomed behind me, its presence undeniable, but so was the thrumming in my veins, the way my breath hitched with every brush of his touch.

“God, you shouldn’t do this to me, Dante,” I finally managed, my voice shaky.

“Jade,” he repeated, his tone dipping, darkening. “I know what you need.”

And damn him, he did. Because despite it all—despite the secrets, the lies, and the fucking captivity—I wanted him. Wanted this. And as much as it might break me, I couldn’t find it within myself to say no.

“Tell me to stop,” Dante’s voice was a command, but his eyes...they told another story. They were a mix of iron and something softer, something that looked an awful lot like yearning.

I should have. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, my hand reached up of its own accord, finding the thick, dark locks I’d so often ended up tangling my fingers in.

It was as if we were trying to devour each other’s doubts, silence the questions. His mouth moved against mine with a ferocity that matched the storm of emotions within me. There was no gentleness in this kiss—it was raw and demanding, as if we were both starved for something only the other could provide.

His hands settled on my waist, fingers digging into my flesh as though he feared I might slip away. I felt owned, marked by his touch, and part of me hated it. The rational side of me, the one that valued control and order, was appalled at the magnetism I felt towards him.

Considering he had literally kidnapped me.

Fuck.

It was wrong on so many levels—this magnetic pull towards a man who was steeped in darkness, a man whose world was a stark contrast to the clean lines and bright lights of my laboratory. But the more I thought about escaping, the tighter his grip became, as if he could sense my inner turmoil.

The cool silk of my red dress was no match for the heat of Dante’s hands as they traced patterns over my skin. We were sitting on the bed now, his presence engulfing the space around us, making the outside world feel miles away.

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