Page 59 of Shadows of Steel
He found me.Again.
My breath turns shallow, my vision tilting at the edges. My body reacts before my mind can fully process it, pure instinct, pure adrenaline. I refuse to fall apart.
Not here.
Not now.
The air feels heavier, pressing against my lungs, but I force myself to stand my ground. He wants me to panic, to feel powerless. I won’t give him that.
Fingers tighten around Mattia’s wrist, anchoring me to something real. Pulse hammering, thoughts racing, I steady myself, forcing my spine to stay straight, my expression impassive. If he’s watching, I won’t let him see me break.
Mattia frowns, his grip tightening around my hand. “Can I have your phone?”
I barely process his words, but I hand it to him, my fingers numb. He quickly unlocks it, his small hands moving fast as he dials.
“Dad,” he says urgently into the receiver. “Something’s wrong. We need you here.”
I don’t hear Dante’s response.
All I know is that five minutes later, he’s there.
Storming toward us like a force of nature, his expression murderous.
Chapter 18
Dante
My wife keeps her distance.
And I allow it. For now.
Since our wedding night, I haven’t stepped foot in our bed. Sleep is a fleeting luxury, one I neither have the time nor the inclination to wallow in. My nights are spent elsewhere, consumed by the weight of responsibility, the unrelenting demands of my world. Between overseeing operations, keeping the families under my command in line, and waging war against my own damn thoughts, there’s been no room for anything else. And now, with the weight of this arranged marriage settling into place, there’s even more to handle. Merging alliances, securing loyalty, ensuring the foundations of this union hold, it's a battle of its own. One that requires precision, strategy, and control.
Controlthat’s been slipping ever since I put a ring onherfinger.But that doesn’t mean I don’t watch.
I always keep my eyes on her, whether directly or through the estate’s surveillance. It’s become an obsession, a quiet fixation that gnaws at the edges of my control. A need.
And that alone fucking infuriates me.
I demand discipline in all things. Restraint.
Yet with her, I keep failing.
I observed my wife this morning, as I always do. Watched as those tight fucking leggings moulded to her body, clinging like a second skin, like they existed for no other purpose than to test my restraint. Every movement, every slow, languid stretch sent a sharp current of need straight to my cock, tightening something inside me that was already wound too fucking tight.
And then one of my men made a grave mistake.
He looked.
He dared to approach, and then he disrespected her.
Might as well have signed his own death warrant.
Which is why I’m here now, deep in the underbelly of my estate, where the walls have heard more screams than confessions. The air is thick with sweat, blood, and impending death. Before me, the bastard sits strapped to a chair, bleeding, trembling, drowning in the weight of his fate. My men stand in a silent formation, waiting. Watching.
No one speaks. They wouldn’t dare.
Everyone here knows what comes next, they’ve witnessed it before. There’s no need for words. Only action.
