Page 51 of Dangerous King
I take a sharp breath, then push away from the bed before that thought turns into action. I'm not that man. Not with her.
The hallway is even quieter on the way out. Shadow's paws drum a restless beat against my chest. I mutter, "Yeah, yeah. We're going."
Outside, the first sliver of sun breaks over the trees. Pale gold spills over the fields, and the sky stretches wide and empty. The kind of morning that dares you to believe in second chances.
I lower Shadow to the grass, and he immediately starts sniffing around, determined to mark something important. I watch him with narrowed eyes, pretending my mind isn't still back in that room. Pretending I didn't just stand over a sleeping girl like some kind of ghost from her nightmares. She's not scared of me, and that might be the cruelest part.
She should be.
Because wanting her is dangerous.
And wanting to protect her… is lethal.
Shadow pees proudly on the base of an oak tree, tail wagging like he's conquered a kingdom.
I sigh. "You're lucky she likes you."
We head back toward the house. Breakfast will be soon. She'll wake to find the room empty and maybe panic. Maybe come looking. And I'll have to pretend I didn't stand there staring at her like a starving man at a feast. Like a man who's starting to want something he can't afford to keep.
"We're in here," my mother calls when I enter through the balcony. That woman would hear a pin drop through a concrete wall. I nudge the door open with my shoulder, Shadow tucked under one arm like contraband. The room is washed in warm morning light, high ceilings, marble floors, and a long table already set with espresso, pastries, and cut fruit no one ever touches.
She's seated at the head, perfectly composed as always, wearing a crisp white blouse, not a hair out of place, even this early. Dante sits beside her, tie loose, sleeves rolled, eyes pinned to his phone like he's solving a diplomatic crisis. He probably is.
My mother lifts her eyes and catches sight of the black-furred lump in my arms. Her brow rises, slow and imperial.
"No dogs in the house, Enrico. You know the rules."
I bend down and kiss her cheek. "Buongiorno, Mamma."
She gives a sigh that's more about disappointment than disobedience. "Don't buongiorno me when you're holding a muddy stray."
Dante finally glances up, his mouth twitching. "It's not muddy. Yet."
I drop into the chair across from him, setting Shadow on my lap. He wiggles briefly, then settles with a sigh. I sip the espresso waiting for me, and meet my mother's stare over the rim of the cup.
"He's recovering from an injury. I didn't think dumping him back in the barn with the others at dawn was ideal."
"And why is there aninjured puppyin my house to begin with?" she asks, pointed but not cruel.
"I gave him to Cat last night."
Her expression flickers, turns a few shades softer. "How is she? That poor girl has been through so much."
"She's… holding up."
My mother nods once, as if cataloguing that response. Then, casually—but not—she asks, "And her family?"
"Being taken care of."
She arches a brow. "You've spoken to them?"
"Cat has. Marcello is taking care of them."
Dante perks up, "Marcello Orsi?"
"That's the one," I nod, reaching for a piece of bacon, while Shadow attentively watches my every move.
"You trust him?" Dante cocks an eyebrow.
