Page 29 of Dante
"Probably not," he concedes with a slight shrug. "But I'm not hiding this. I don't fear anyone, least of all Marco Rossi." His eyes hold mine, intense and sincere. "I'm proud of you, proud of us. I won't pretend otherwise."
To my horror, I feel tears spring to my eyes. His words touch something deep inside me, a need I didn't even know I had. No one has ever said they were proud of me before. Either they assumed my gallery was just a hobby funded by family money, or they saw it as a struggling business doomed to failure. ButDante, who knows everything about me, who has seen both my strength and my vulnerability, is proud of me.
I lean in to kiss him, pouring everything I can't yet say into the gesture. He responds with equal fervor, his hand cradling my face as if I'm something precious.
As I drift toward sleep, I feel his fingers gently combing through my tangled hair, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. For the first time in years, I feel completely safe, completely seen.
It's ironic that I've found this feeling in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city, a man who, just hours ago, I considered my family's enemy.
Chapter 11- Dante
I wake before dawn, as I always do. Years of training have made deep sleep a luxury I rarely indulge in. But this morning is different. There's a warm weight pressed against my side, soft breath tickling my chest, dark hair spilled across my arm.
Elena.
The events of last night flood back. Her sweet taste, her sounds, the way she'd taken her pleasure with the same fierce determination she shows in everything else. I watch her sleep, studying the peaceful expression I've never seen on her face before.
Slowly, I extract myself from her embrace, padding silently to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and make my way to the kitchen to start coffee.
Franco appears in the hallway, looking perfectly composed despite having been on duty all night.
"Boss," he nods, his eyes taking in my state of undress. His expression remains neutral, but I can see the questions forming.
"Coffee?" I offer, ignoring the unspoken interrogation.
"Please." He settles on one of the kitchen stools. "The Rossi girl. Are you sure that's wise?"
"No," I admit, measuring the coffee grounds. "But it's done."
Franco is silent for a moment. "The meeting with her brother is in four hours."
"And we'll tell him exactly what's happened," I say firmly. "That his sister is with me now. That if he wants an alliance, he accepts this."
"And if he refuses?"
I give him a look that has made harder men than Franco take a step back. "Then I eliminate the problem."
"You'd kill her brother?" I can hear the concern in his voice. "She might not forgive that."
The thought gives me pause. Elena's forgiveness isn't something I've factored into my calculations before. "It won't come to that," I say. "Marco is many things, but he's not suicidal. He'll see the benefits of our arrangement."
Franco nods slowly. "And Pietro?"
"He dies today," I say simply. "Whether Marco agrees to it or not."
The sound of movement from the bedroom interrupts our conversation. Franco rises, taking his cue to withdraw. "I'll prepare security for the meeting. Raphael will drive you."
"Franco," I call as he reaches the door. "Have our tailor send over a fresh suit and a dress for Ms. Rossi."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Already done, boss."
Minutes later, Elena appears wrapped in my silk robe, her hair tousled from sleep.
"Morning," she says, a hint of shyness in her voice that wasn't present last night. "I smelled coffee."
"Good morning." I hand her a cup. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in years," she admits, taking a sip. "So. Today we meet with Marco."
