Chapter 6 - The Line Crosses
My back was pressed flush against Dante's chest. I could feel the rhythmic, steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his dark shirt, completely at odds with the frantic fluttering in my own chest. The heat radiating from his body was an immediate antidote to the drafty hallway, making me lean back into him before I could stop myself.
""I needed water,"" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.
Dante didn't let go of my wrist. Instead, his fingers slid down slowly, intertwining with mine, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of my palm. He turned me around slowly, backing me into my bedroom until the heavy oak door clicked shut behind us, plunging the room into the soft, flickering amber glow of dying fireplace embers.
""You were listening at the stairs,"" he said simply. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of undisputed fact.
""Julian is right, Dante,"" I said, looking up into his shadowed features. ""You can't burn down forty million dollars in city bids for me. If your own men think you're compromised, they’ll turn on you. This isn't how you built Moretti Enterprises.""
Dante stared at me, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. The cold, ruthless don who ruled Chicago was completely absent in this room. In his place stood a man consumed by an ancient, terrifying hunger.
""Moretti Enterprises is steel and paper, Harper,"" he said, stepping closer until there was no space left between us. His hand rose, his fingers curling gently around the nape of my neck, tilting my face upward. ""I can rebuild a company in six months. I can buy another hundred politicians with a single phone call. But if I had walked into that hospital room three days ago and found you gone...""
He paused, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
""I would have torn this city down to the dirt,"" he finished hoarsely.
""Dante..."" My breath hitched as his thumb brushed over my lower lip, tracing the small, healing split where the street thug's ring had cut me.
""Three years,"" he whispered, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made my knees feel weak. ""Three years of watching you walk into my office every morning in those neat pencil skirts, balancing my life, handling my chaos with that calm, brilliant mind of yours. Three years of keeping my hands to myself because I knew what I was. I knew the darkness I carry. I wanted to keep you clean.""
He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet room.
""And then they touched you,"" he growled softly. ""And I realized that keeping you at a distance didn't protect you at all. It just left you unguarded.""
""I don't want to be kept clean, Dante,"" I confessed, the truth finally breaking through the years of professional restraint and polite barriers. My hands came up, resting against the solid warmth of his chest, fingers gripping his shirt. ""I never wanted you to stay away.""
Dante let out a low, ragged sound—half groan, half surrender.
His mouth came down on mine.
It wasn't tentative. It wasn't polite. It was possessive, fierce, and desperate, yet miraculously mindful of my healing body. He pulled me against him, tasting like expensive bourbon and dark promises, while his hands buried themselves in my hair, holding me as if I were the only solid anchor in a world that had lost all reason.
The pain in my ribs vanished, drowned out by the roaring heat that surged between us. For three years, we had stood on opposite sides of a ledger. In one breathless, shattering instant, the line was crossed, erased, and forgotten forever.
May you like
When he finally pulled back, breathing heavily, his hazel eyes were dilated, dark with an unspoken oath.
""Tomorrow night, Enzo makes his move,"" Dante whispered against my lips. ""Stay close to me, Harper. Because after tomorrow, no one in this city will ever dare look at you with anything other than absolute reverence.""
