Page 35 of Ruthless Desire

"Am I?" I challenge, sliding my thigh between her legs. She gasps, her hips rocking instinctively. "Your body doesn't lie, Natalie. It knows who it belongs to."

Before she can retort, a commotion near the entrance catches my attention. I look up to see a group of men in suits pushing their way through the crowd. My eyes narrow as I recognize their leader – Viktor Petrov, head of the Russian mob and my biggest rival.

"What's wrong?" Natalie asks, sensing the change in my demeanor.

I pull her closer, shielding her with my body. "Nothing for you to worry about, moy voron. Just some uninvited guests."

Viktor spots me then, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He makes his way towards us, his men flanking him like attack dogs.

"Dante Corleone," he drawls, his accent thick. "What a pleasure to see you here. And who is this lovely lady?"

I feel Natalie stiffen in my arms, her breath coming faster. I stroke her back soothingly, even as I meet Viktor's gaze with steel in my own.

"My fiancée," I say coolly. "Natalie, this is Viktor Petrov. An... associate of mine."

Viktor's eyes gleam with interest. "Fiancée? How interesting. I hadn't heard you were engaged, Dante. You must allow me to congratulate the happy couple properly."

He reaches for Natalie's hand, but I intercept, gripping his wrist with bruising force. "That won't be necessary," I say, my voice low and dangerous.

For a moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The air crackles with tension, the entire room holding its breath.

Then Viktor laughs, the sound grating on my nerves. "Always so possessive, Dante. Very well, keep your pretty bird to yourself. But remember – even the most gilded cage can be broken into."

With that, he and his men melt back into the crowd. I watch them go, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

"Dante?" Natalie's voice is small, uncertain. "What was that about?"

I turn to her, cupping her face in my hands. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with," I say, forcing a smile. "Come, it's time we were leaving."

As we make our way to the exit, I catch sight of Viktor watching us from across the room. The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. He's planning something, I'm sure of it.

The ride back to Shadowcrest is tense, silent. Natalie sits as far from me as the backseat allows, staring out the window. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

When we arrive, I escort her to her room. She pauses at the threshold, turning to face me.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For... for not telling them the truth. About what I really am to you."

For a moment, I'm thrown. This isn't the reaction I expected. "You're welcome," I say cautiously. "But don't mistake it for kindness, Natalie. You're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you."

She nods, a sad smile playing at her lips. "I know. Goodnight, Dante."

As I watch her disappear into her room, I'm struck by a realization that shakes me to my core. Tonight, for the first time since I brought her here, Natalie didn't try to escape. Didn't fight me at every turn.

Is it progress? Or just another move in this twisted game we're playing?

I head to my study, pouring myself a generous measure of scotch. As I sip the amber liquid, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us.

The question is – who's really winning? And at what cost?

Chapter 13 Natalie

Itrace my fingers over the cold marble of the windowsill, my breath fogging the glass as I stare out at the manicured grounds of Shadowcrest. The sun's setting, painting the sky in shades of blood and bruises. Fitting, given my current state of mind.

Dante Corleone. The name burns on my tongue, a mix of poison and dark honey. He's everywhere – in the air I breathe, in the silk sheets that caress my skin at night, in the very marrow of my bones. Those fathomless black eyes haunt me, that cruel mouth whispers promises of pleasure and pain in my dreams.

I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself. My skin prickles with goosebumps, remembering the scorching heat of his touch, the way his hands branded me, claimed me. The ghost of his fingers tracing my curves, the phantom pressure of his cock grinding against my core...

"Fuck," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. I can't think about that. Can't let myself remember how my traitorous body responded, how that secret, shameful part of me clenched with need.

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