Page 24 of Dante
"How?" I sit up straighter, hope flaring.
"Convince your brother to join forces with me," Dante says, watching my reaction. "A true alliance, not just a temporary ceasefire."
"Join forces?" I repeat skeptically. "Or surrender to you? There's a difference."
That goddamn smirk appears again. Confident, arrogant, and irritatingly sexy. "That depends entirely on how well your brother and I can work together." His eyes hold mine. "You might need to spend more time with me. Mediate. Ensure we're both... satisfied with the arrangement."
The double meaning isn't lost on me. "Aren't you tired of me already?" I challenge him. "I must be boring compared to your usual company."
"Why would I be tired of you?" He seems genuinely confused by the question.
"I'm still the enemy," I point out. "And I'm sure you could find a more interesting woman to spend your nights with. Someone who actually belongs in your world."
Dante stands suddenly, "Get up," he says, the command soft but unmistakable.
Curiosity overtakes caution, and I rise from the sofa, smoothing down my wrinkled dress. He leads me to the floor-to-ceiling windows, positioning me before him. The view is breathtaking. The city spread out below us, buildings twinkling with thousands of lights, the distant river a ribbon of darkness snaking between them.
"Look at it," he says, his voice close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I have everything a man could want. Money. Power. Respect. Fear." His hand comes to rest lightly on my shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. "What I've missed, for longer than I care to admit, is a night like tonight. A genuine conversation with someone who wants nothing from me. Someone who could walk away tomorrow and continue their life as if I never existed."
I turn to face him, suddenly aware of how close we're standing. The city lights cast half his face in shadow, the other halfilluminated in a way that highlights the perfect cut of his jaw, the sensual curve of his lips.
And god, those lips… Slightly parted, the bottom one full and tempting, practically begging to be kissed.
No. I can't. He's my family's enemy. This is insane.
But then... I've spent my entire life separating myself from "family business." I've built walls between my gallery and Marco's world. If I truly believe in that separation, then why can't I do what I want? Why can't I have this moment?
"There's something else you should know," Dante says, his expression turning serious. "Your brother's right-hand man, Pietro. He's been making moves without Marco's knowledge. He needs to be eliminated."
The words snap me out of whatever spell had been building between us. "Pietro? That's impossible. He practically raised us after our father died. He's like a second father to Marco and me."
"Which makes his betrayal all the more dangerous," Dante says gently. "I have proof, Elena. Multiple sources confirming he's been skimming from your brother's operations for years. Recently, he's begun negotiating with other people behind Marco's back."
"No," I shake my head, stepping back. "I don't believe it. Pietro would never—"
"He would and he has," Dante interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind. "Think about it. How else would Moretti's men know exactly when and where to find you tonight? Who else knows your routines, your habits, where your brother's weak points are?"
My mind races, trying to process this information. Pietro, who used to bring me art supplies when I was a child. Pietro, whoattended every one of my gallery openings, always buying a piece to support me. Pietro, betraying us?
"If what you're saying is true," I say slowly, "then Marco is in even more danger than I thought."
"Yes," Dante confirms, watching me closely. "Which is why tomorrow's meeting is so crucial. We need to present a united front. You, me, and eventually your brother."
"And if he refuses?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Dante's expression hardens. "Then I can't guarantee anyone's safety. Not his, not yours, not even mine. The situation has become too volatile."
I move back to the sofa, sinking down as the weight of everything crashes over me. The gallery, the attack, Pietro's betrayal, Dante's unexpected alliance... it's too much to process in one night.
"I need to think," I say, rubbing my temples where a headache is beginning to form. "This is all happening so fast."
Chapter 9 - Dante
"I need to think," she says, rubbing her temples where a headache is beginning to form. "This is all happening so fast."
I watch her, this woman who hours ago was hosting an art exhibition and is now sitting in my penthouse, processing betrayal and danger with remarkable composure.
Fear radiates from her in subtle waves: in the slight tremble of her fingers against her temple, in the too-rapid blink of her eyes, in the way she's curled slightly into herself on my sofa. But she's not breaking. Not running.
