Page 81 of Ruthless Desire

“Did I?” she whispers, her eyes searching mine, filled with a vulnerability that tightens something deep inside me. “Sometimes I wonder if I had any choice at all.”

Her words hit me, stoking the fire of possession that burns in my veins. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise. The kiss is fierce, all teeth and tongue, a claiming, a punishment, a promise.

When I finally release her, we’re both breathing hard, the night air between us electric.I growl, pressing my forehead to hers, letting her feel the intensity of my gaze. “You’re stuck with me. By choice or by fate, and I’ll burn the world to keep it that way.”

Natalie trembles in my arms, desire and fear warring in her gaze. “What happens when we dock?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, my touch deceptively gentle. “You’ll see, solnyshko. You’ll see...”

We stand there, locked in our embrace as the yacht cuts through the inky waters, the shore looming ever closer, bringing with it the promise of blood and retribution.

The horizon draws closer, the dark silhouette of the coastline rising from the sea like a specter. My mind sharpens with the clarity of purpose, the tension between what’s already been done and what’s still to come thrumming through my veins.

This isn’t just about revenge anymore—it’s about reestablishing my dominance, about reminding the world why I am the king of this twisted empire.

As the yacht nears the shore, my phone vibrates again, the number on the screen makes me laugh out loud. Sergei Mikhailov. The Bratva’s Pakhan. He’s a man as cold and hard as the granite of his ancestral homeland, a power broker who’s learned to play the long game with deadly precision.

I answer, my voice a cold, measured whisper. “Sergei.”

“Dante,” Sergei’s deep, gravelly voice rumbles through the speaker, like a distant storm rolling over the horizon. “This war you’ve started with the Corsinis—it threatens everything we’ve built. You know what this means, don’t you?”

I picture him in his fortress of a home, surrounded by the relics of his forefathers, his craggy face set in the kind of grim expression that only decades of ruthless leadership can carve. He’s not a man who wastes words, and the gravity in his tone tells me everything I need to know. The alliance—the fragile, blood-soaked truce that has kept the balance of power intact for years—is teetering on the edge.

“It’s already done, Sergei,” I reply, my tone as unforgiving as the steel in my grip. “Luca crossed a line. There’s no coming back from that. He dared to touch what’s mine. He will pay the price.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence heavy with the weight of centuries of tradition and violence. When Sergei speaks again, his voice is lower, edged with something that could almost be called regret. “If this war escalates, it will consume us all. The Corsinis won’t go down without a fight, and when they do, others will follow. You know this.”

“I’m counting on it,” I say, the words slipping from my lips like a deadly promise. “This isn’t just about Luca. It’s about reminding everyone who holds the reins in this world. Who the true power belongs to.”

“Shadowcrest was a warning,” Sergei says, the name of my once-prized estate hanging in the air like a ghost. “They came for you, Dante. They destroyed your sanctuary. They sent a message.”

“They made a mistake,” I respond, my voice dark with the kind of fury that only loss can bring. “Shadowcrest may be gone, reduced to ashes, but everything that mattered was already beyond their reach. My precious pieces are scattered, hidden across the world, waiting for the right time. They can burn the house, but they can’t touch what’s truly mine.”

“Is that what you’ll tell Natalie?” Sergei asks, his tone pointed, as though probing for a weakness, for the chink in the armor that he knows I never show. “That she’s just another piece in your game?”

A dangerous smile pulls at my lips, one that Sergei can’t see, but surely senses. “Natalie is more than a piece. She’s the queen. And I’ll protect her with the same ferocity that I rule with. Luca’s actions were not just a challenge—they were a death sentence.”

“And if the Corsinis come for you again?” Sergei asks, his voice carrying the weight of the inevitable.

“Then they’ll find out what happens when you dare challenge Dante Corleone a second time,” I say, the words edged with finality. “I’ve been unprepared before. I won’t be again. This time, Luca will face the full consequences of his actions. There will be no escape.”

Sergei is silent for a moment, the pause stretching long enough for the gravity of my words to sink in. When he speaks again, his voice is tinged with resignation. “Then this is the end of the alliance. You’ve chosen your path, Dante. Now you must walk it alone.”

“I’ve never needed anyone to walk it with me,” I reply, my tone a dark echo of the solitude that has always been my companion. “But remember, Sergei—the path you walk might soon cross mine. And when it does, be sure you’re ready.”

The line goes dead, the silence that follows heavy with the finality of our conversation. I slip the phone back into my pocket, the weight of the coming battle settling over me like a shroud. Sergei’s warning is clear—the alliance is over. The Bratva will no longer stand by my side, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve fought wars before, and I’ve won them all. This one will be no different.

The yacht slows as we approach the shore, the dark outline of the villa coming into view. The place is a fortress, built for the kind of bloodshed that’s about to unfold. My men are already in position, stationed around the perimeter, their presence a silent promise of the violence to come.

As I step off the yacht, the cool night air sharp against my skin, I know that this is just the beginning. Luca Corsini made a grave mistake when he dared to come for me. He thought he could destroy me, that he could strip me of my power.

But he was wrong.

I will show him—show them all—why Dante Corleone is the king of the underworld. Why I am the one who commands respect, who rules with an iron fist. And why no one, not even the Bratva, can stand in my way.

I reach out for Natalie’s hand, pulling her close as we walk toward the villa. She doesn’t question me, doesn’t ask where we’re going or what’s about to happen. She knows better than that. She knows that this is my world, and in it, I am king.

“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice low, the weight of what’s to come hanging between us.

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