Page 99 of Second Chance Daddy
I turn, eyes locking on the man beside me—the man who’s wrecked me, saved me, destroyed every illusion, and still kept me breathing.
Dante’s not Gino.
And I’m done fucking running.
I push the sheets off, legs shaky, but my voice? Solid.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Tina’s brow arches. “Cass?—”
“He’s not leaving her,” I say, fire cracking behind every word. “Or me.”
I feel it—the fear breaking loose, the fight rising instead.
I turn to Dante, voice steady, stare locked on his, daring him to doubt me.
“I’m not scared anymore.” My breath shudders, but I stand tall. “Not of you. Not of them. Not of the Bratva.”
Dante rises slowly, dangerously, that signature burn in his eyes—but this time it’s different.
This time it’s pride.
“Then marry me,” he says, voice low and final, a hand curling around my wrist, pulling me flush to him. “Marry me—and let them fucking try to take us.”
31
CASSIE
The thing about being raised around chaos? You can smell a setup a mile away.
Tina practically shoved me down the hall, whispering something about “go put that dress on and brush your damn hair,” which is suspicious on its own. The rain’s beating down so hard outside, I thought the roof might blow off, but no—apparently, I’m supposed to dress up like I’m crashing a gala.
I slip into the dress—the deep red one, silky, slinky, sinful, the slit cutting high up my thigh, the fabric hugging me like it was made for nights like this. Nights where everything changes.
My hands shake as I smooth the fabric down my sides, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
“What’s going on, Tina?” I pretend to grumble because where my mind is going. It could leave me disappointed. Better to imagine this isn’t what I think this is. “We can’t really go out in the rain, you know?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, bitch.” She reaches for my lips with bright red lipstick. “Besides, you’ve got to trust me. You wanna look good for this.”
So, I do.
My nerves? Shot. My heels? Higher than my self-confidence. But I go ahead and do what Tina asks with a fluttering heart.
Once she’s all done, she rushes me out the door. “Go wait in the living room,” she tells me. “I’ll be right there.”
Downstairs, the house is dark—except for the glow of candles. Roses everywhere. No guards, no Aria, no housekeepers. Not a soul. Just the storm pounding against the glass and the flicker of firelight.
And him.
Dante stands by the fireplace, all dark suit and danger, watching the flames like he could outburn them. When he hears me and turns, the air leaves my lungs.
“Christ, Cass.”
His eyes burn straight through me, lingering on the dress, the legs, the bare shoulders. His mouth curves in that slow, lethal smirk I hate loving.
I already know what this is. My pulse races for all the right, terrifying reasons.
