Page 97 of Ruthless Desire

Dressed and marginally more composed, I make my way back to the main living area. Voices drift from behind a closed door – Dante and Enzo, their tones hushed but urgent.

I hesitate, torn between respecting their privacy and satisfying my burning curiosity. In the end, the need for information wins out. I creep closer, pressing my ear to the smooth wood.

"–can't trust anyone right now," Dante is saying, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Whoever sold us out to the Corsinis, they're gonna pay. In blood."

Enzo's response is too low for me to make out, but Dante's snarl comes through loud and clear.

"I don't give a fuck about collateral damage. Anyone who even breathed in Natalie's direction is fair game. Understand?"

My breath catches in my throat. The casual way he talks about murder, about unleashing hell on anyone he perceives as a threat... it's a stark reminder of who Dante really is. Of the monster that lurks beneath the surface, always ready to bare its teeth.

I must make some small sound, because suddenly the voices go quiet. Footsteps approach, and I barely have time to step back before the door swings open.

Dante fills the doorway, his expression unreadable as he takes me in. "Eavesdropping, solnyshko? Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?"

I lift my chin, refusing to be cowed. "And satisfaction brought it back. You promised we'd talk, Dante. I want to know what's going on."

He studies me for a long moment, something dark and possessive flickering in his eyes. Finally, he steps aside, gesturing for me to enter.

"Alright then. Let's talk."

The room is clearly meant to be a study, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive oak desk. Enzo stands by the window, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by tense watchfulness.

Dante moves to pour himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing into a crystal tumbler. "Want one?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head. I need a clear head for whatever's coming next.

He shrugs, knocking back half the whiskey in one swallow. The burn doesn't even make him flinch.

"So," Dante says, his voice low and dangerous. "You want to know what's next? How we're going to crush the Corsinis and anyone else who dares to challenge us?"

The casual way he talks about destruction sends a chill down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. "And what about the collateral damage? The innocent lives caught in the crossfire of your war?"

Dante's eyes darken, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "There's no such thing as innocence in this world, solnyshko. You of all people should know that by now."

He stalks towards me, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Everyone has blood on their hands. The only difference is, I'm honest about it."

I should be terrified. I should be running for the hills. But something in his words, in the raw honesty of his declaration, ignites a fire in my belly that I can't ignore.

"And what about my hands, Dante?" I ask, my voice stronger than I feel. "How much blood will be on them when this is over?"

His laugh is dark, almost cruel. "Oh, Natalie. Your hands have been stained since the moment you caught my eye. But don't worry..." He reaches out, intertwining our fingers. "Red suits you."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue as his thumb traces my lower lip. The simple touch sends sparks racing through my body, igniting nerve endings I didn't even know I had.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Dante murmurs, his face inches from mine. "Tell me you don't crave this – crave me – and I'll let you walk out that door right now. No questions asked."

It's a lie, and we both know it. There's no scenario where Dante Corleone lets me go. But in this moment, with his dark eyes boring into mine and the heat of his body calling to something primal inside me, I almost wish it were true.

Because the truth? The truth is that I do want this. Want him. With an intensity that terrifies me.

"I can't," I whisper, the words barely audible. "God help me, Dante, I can't."

The smile that spreads across his face is triumphant, predatory. "That's my girl," he growls, and then his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding.

I melt into the kiss, all thoughts of resistance flying out the window. Dante's hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

A discreet cough reminds me that we're not alone. I break away, face burning as I remember Enzo's presence. But Dante doesn't seem to care, his arm a steel band around my waist as he turns to face his friend.

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