Page 75 of Shadows of Steel
I arch a brow, smirking. “Don’t tell me you forgot, we’re taking the yacht out today.”
That gets him moving. He bolts upright so abruptly that even I feel momentarily unsteady. “I didn’t!”
Still tangled in his blankets, he scrambles to his feet, a flurry of fabric shifting around him. With a sudden leap, he lands on the floor with a heavy thud, grinning at me, excitement lighting up his face.
I let out a soft laugh, stepping back toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs.” He’s already rushing past me toward the bathroom, and I call after him, “Hurry up.”
As I make my way to the kitchen, I find Bianca already in motion, gracefully arranging breakfast trays. She glances up as I enter, offering a warm, familiar smile.
“Buongiorno, Signora Salvatore,” Bianca greets me with practiced poise. “Shall I have breakfast served in the dining room?”
“Good morning,” I reply warmly. “We’ll take it on the terrace, please.”
She nods in understanding, seamlessly gathering what’s needed, while I step outside, allowing the morning warmth to envelop me. The sun is still gentle, casting a golden glow across the estate, its heat not yet overbearing. A soft breeze whispers through the trees, rustling the leaves with a quiet elegance.
I lower myself into a chair at the terrace table, tilting my face toward the sky, closing my eyes as I savour the moment, the tranquil hum of nature, the distant melody of birdsong, the intoxicating scent of summer lingering in the air.
A shadow drifts over me, casting a fleeting respite from the morning sun. I open my eyes to find Dante standing above me, his gaze intent, assessing.
He says nothing at first, merely pulls out the chair across from me and sinks into it composed as always.
Soon, maids appear with trays, setting down breakfast. A cappuccino for me, espresso for Dante. Fresh fruit, croissants, juice for Mattia. When they leave, silence lingers between us for a beat too long.
I meet Dante’s gaze. “Why do I feel like you're still regretting saying yes to this?”
His lips twitch. “Because I am.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
He lifts his cup, sipping his espresso, eyes never leaving mine. “And you’re so demanding.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Because I encouraged your son to have one day of fun?”
“Because you don’t know when to stop pushing.” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it. “It’s almost like you enjoy getting under my skin, leonessa.”
I exhale, feigning exasperation. “Please. If anything, you enjoy it far more than I do.”
His lips curve, slow and knowing. “That would be accurate.”
It’s moments like these that confuse me the most. One second, we’re at each other’s throats, barely suppressing the urge to tear one another apart, and the next, we’re exchanging words like normal people. The tension between us is unpredictable, shifting between aggravation and something else entirely.
Before I can come up with a retort, Mattia bursts outside, his excitement nearly tangible. Practically vibrating with energy, he drops into his seat, snatching up his juice with a grin that stretches wide across his face. It’s good to see him like this.
“You’re eating before we leave.” Dante instructs, his tone leaving no room for argument as he nudges a plate toward Mattia.
With a dramatic groan, he slumps back in his chair but ultimately gives in, begrudgingly reaching for a croissant. “Okay, va bene.” He mutters before taking a bite.
As we eat, I catch Dante’s gaze more than once, brief glances stolen across the table, subtle yet charged. It’s an unspoken game, neither of us willing to acknowledge it, yet neither of us entirely looking away.
I watch as he interacts with Mattia, the way his sharp edges soften just enough when he speaks to his son. It’s not overt, Dante Salvatore does not coddle, but there’s a quiet steadiness in the way he ensures Mattia eats, the way he listens to his rambling excitement about the yacht. And against my better judgment, something in my chest tightens.
After breakfast, we gather our things. Mattia is practically bouncing as he drags me toward the car, his energy contagious. Dante follows behind, sunglasses perched on his face, his presence effortlessly commanding despite his casual attire, he’s wearing shorts and a button down, still managing to look infuriatingly good.
The drive to the marina is quick. Within minutes, we’re boarding the yacht, a sleek, luxurious vessel cutting through the morning light.
Dante takes the wheel.
The water stretches endlessly before us, a brilliant shade of blue against the cloudless sky. I lean back against my seat, the sea breeze tangling through my hair, exhaling slowly.
