Page 112 of Ruthless Desire

A dark chuckle rumbles through the air, caressing my skin with disturbing intimacy. "But you are tiny, solnyshko. A delicate wildfire I can't help but want to consume."

Dante's rough palm sears against the bare skin of my hip, fingers digging in as he yanks me back against the solid wall of his chest. A strangled gasp escapes me at the contact, hyper-aware of every hard plane of muscle molded against my softer curves. This man is immovable as granite, forged in violence and shadow. Yet my traitorous flesh still burns for him, craving the brutal tenderness only he can provide.

"Is this what you want, moy voron?" Dante's words slur against the thrumming pulse in my throat, his grip tightening possessively. "Your Capo baring everything for your artistic appreciation?"

I swallow hard, unable to banish the image his words conjure - Dante in all his rugged glory, sprawled across silk sheets, inviting sin with those full lips and the sinuous lines of ink etched into golden skin. It's a temptation to madness, one I can't seem to escape no matter how desperately I try.

Shoving such dangerous thoughts aside, I twist in his arms to glare up at him. "I was kidding, you arrogant ass. Do you really think I want-"

The words die on my tongue as Dante's mouth crashes down on mine, stealing my breath in a searing, punishing kiss. His fingers fist in my hair, holding me immobile as he devours me. The taste of him - cedar, cigars, and something darker, more intoxicating - floods my senses. I'm drowning in him, lost in the maelstrom of unholy pleasure only Dante can ignite within me.

When he finally allows me to surface, I'm gasping, lightheaded from more than just lack of oxygen. Dante's lips brush against my ear, his voice a gravelly rasp that sets every nerve ending ablaze. "Careful what you wish for, solnyshko. You'll be the one left breathless and utterly at my mercy."

His low, dark laughter reverberates through me like a physical caress. I'm achingly aware of the hollow ache between my thighs, the shameful wetness gathering there. Dante steps back, leaving me swaying and bereft. I curl inward, torn between mortification at my wanton response and a bone-deep craving to bare my throat for the taking all over again.

How much longer can I play this exquisite game of submission and defiance before I lose myself completely? Or have I already shed the last remnants of the woman I once was, only to be reborn as Dante's profane masterpiece - a treasured possession finally, irrevocably claimed?

I stumble back towards my canvas, desperate for some anchor to reality. But my thoughts betray me, drifting to my father. Is he okay? Has Enzo managed to track him down, to get a message to him like he promised? Guilt lances through me as I picture the permanent worry lines etched into my dad's face, imagining his anguish at having no idea where I am or what's become of me.

"You look tense, moy voron." Dante's deep voice rumbles with concern, the husky timbre sending awareness shivering through me all over again. "What's going through that exquisite mind of yours?"

I can't tell him about my dad, not really. He'd only use the information as another tool of control, another way to manipulate me into total compliance. It's better this way, better that he remains oblivious to the parts of me he can't possess.

Forcing a seductive smirk, I trail the tip of my brush down the sharp line of his jaw. "Just thinking about you... completely nude and at my artistic mercy for once." The lie drips from my tongue like honey, saccharine and cloying. "Think you could handle being the subject instead of the one barking orders?"

Dante's obsidian eyes blaze with a mixture of primal hunger and masculine challenge. He leans in until his full lips are a mere whisper from mine. "Be careful what you wish for, my little paintbrush. I promise you'll be the one rendered breathless and utterly at my mercy when I'm done."

His low, rumbling laughter ghosts over my heated skin as he finally relents, heading for the door. I wait until his footsteps have fully retreated before allowing the brittle mask to crumble. My hands fist in my hair as I fight a rising wave of anguished desperation.

How much longer can I keep treading these murky waters of desire and deception? How much more will Dante demand of me before he's sated his obsession? Will I even recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror by then? Or will I be utterly entombed within the gilded confines of his possessive love, losing my sense of self piece by piece until I become nothing more than his pretty little paintbrush?

The next few days blur together in a whirlwind of opulence and further immersion into Dante's world. He sweeps me from the penthouse to oversee various "business dealings," always keeping me tucked possessively against his side. At first, I'm uneasy witnessing the grit and brutality underlying his empire's operations. But Dante's mere presence exudes an unmistakable aura of power and control over everyone around him.

With a simple look or tilt of his head, his men snap to attention, hanging on his every word. I can't deny the dark allure of being the sole object of this dangerous man's obsessive focus whenever his smoldering gaze lands on me. In those heated moments, the rest of the world blurs away until it's just the two of us locked in our own private tango of wary fascination and barely restrained hunger.

Away from prying eyes, Dante showers me with lavish gifts and attentions that leave me reeling - custom designed gowns, priceless jewels, and private indulgences that money simply cannot buy. Each tantalizing offering is a poignant reminder of the decadent cage I've accepted, even as part of me craves knowing no world outside of his spiraling devotion.

Tonight, flickering candlelight casts the ornate dining room in an amber glow. Ruby refractions from cut crystal wink at me like taunting omens. Dante insisted on this intimate setting - another not-so-subtle reminder that I'm merely a prized objet d'art permitted to grace his lavish penthouse at his whim.

As the waiter refills my glass with another rich burgundy vintage, the heady aroma transports me back to dad's ramshackle kitchen table - a rare indulgence shared during happier times. The recollection slips out before I can censor it. "This reminds me of a wine dad used to buy for special occasions."

The words pierce the tangible tension like a gunshot. Dante goes utterly still, his fork clattering against fine china with cold finality. When his obsidian gaze bores into me, it's with the impassive menace of a viper coiled to strike. "Still pining over the man who raised a daughter depraved enough to deal with the devil himself?"

I bristle at the undisguised disdain lacing his deep rasp. As if this brutally possessive crime lord has any right to moralize. "At least he taught me integrity instead of cruelty."

The muscle in Dante's jaw ticks sharply, but he shows no other sign of the banked fury I've learned to dread. When he speaks again, it's with deathly calm - somehow more disquieting than any roaring outburst.

"Your father is the reason we're having this cozy tête-à-tête, painter girl. I hoped to spare you the gory details, but it seems you're determined to pry the lid off Pandora's sad little box."

An icy chill trickles down my spine, and I grip the delicate glass stem until my knuckles whiten. "What are you talking about?"

"Enzo called earlier with a helpful update." Dante's smile is as mirthless as a skull's rictus. "You've been keeping things from me, moy voron."

Bile rises, burning the back of my throat as Dante's mocking words detonate like concussive blasts. Enzo... the one person I risked trusting to be my ally within this viper's den. Who swore on his life to help me find dad and bring him somewhere safe, far from Dante's reach.

Dante watches me impassively, dark eyes glittering like black diamonds as my world crumbles around me. "Enzo told me all about how he'd been tirelessly searching for your father's trail. Offered up the information as a 'gift' to curry favor and appreciation for his loyalty to me." His chuckle is devoid of any mirth. "I have to admit, I was surprised he never confided in you about his progress. Or lack thereof..."

White-hot fury blazes through me, searing away the icy tendrils of panic and dread. I shove back from the table, the heavy chair clattering behind me in my haste. "That lying snake! After everything I confided in him, all his promises-"

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