CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Dante Salvatore's office occupied the entire top floor of Salvatore Tower, and I had goosebumps all over as I walked into it.

 Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Crimson Bay, but I barely noticed the view. My attention was fixed on the man standing behind the desk, which was at the center of the room, watching me with those grey eyes that always unnerved me.

 Six-foot-three of controlled power, dark hair styled to perfection, and a face that belonged to a Greek god. Worse off, was the arrogant expression he always carried on his face. He knew he was damn too good-looking.

"Isabella." His eyes bore through me. "You're early."

 "I'm exactly on time." I moved into the room with confidence I didn't feel, my Louboutins silent on the marble floor. "You said nine. It's nine."

 "I said nine. You arrived at eight fifty-seven." He glanced at his Patek Philippe.

Damn him for being observant.

I said nothing as I settled into the leather chair across his desk without him telling me to sit down. “I don’t want to take too much of your time. I just want to cut down to the chase.”

 "Immediately down to business. Exactly how I like it." He moved around the desk, leaning against it so he was closer to me. Close enough that I could smell his signature cologne, which, like him, was very powerful. "So let's skip the posturing, shall we? Tell me why Isabella Castellano called me at midnight, begging for a meeting."

 "I wasn't begging."

 "You were close enough." His smile held no warmth. "What's wrong, cara? Finally realize that stealing the Morrison account wasn't enough? Ready to admit I'm the better strategist?"

I wanted to slap him so hard across the cheeks. Why couldn't he live the Morrison account incident down? Must he always rub the failure in my face?

Instead, I forced myself to smile back. I had to maintain composure. I needed him.

 "I have a business proposition for you."

 "I'm listening."

I opened my Hermès bag and pulled out a folder. Inside was everything I'd compiled in the six sleepless hours since the gala; contracts, territory maps, financial repercussions. I had everything meticulously planned out. This was war.

"My father has arranged for me to marry Vittorio Romano," I said, watching his face for any reaction. "The engagement will be announced in two weeks."

Something flashed in those grey eyes. It could either be a surprise, maybe, or calculation. With Dante you can never tell. His jaw tightened.

 "Congratulations," he said. He sounded bored. "I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

 "Don't be an ass, Salvatore. You know what Vittorio is."

 "A sadistic psychopath with a body count?" He shrugged. "But your father's choice of son-in-law isn't my concern."

 "It should be." I leaned forward, holding his gaze. "The Romano-Castellano alliance will control sixty percent of the port, thirty percent of the city's real estate, and have enough political connections to make your life very difficult. They'll squeeze you out of every market that matters."

Now I had his attention. I had spoken his language, and his eyes narrowed at me as the weight of my words sunk in.

 "And you're here because...?"

 "Because I'm offering you an alternative." I slid the folder across his desk. "A fake engagement. To me."

The silence that followed was deafening.

He looked at me with amused awe, waiting for me to crack and say ‘It’s a prank.’ But the serious expression on my face told him all he needed to know. Then Dante laughed. A deep, genuine sound that would have been attractive if it wasn't so infuriating.

 "Let me understand this correctly," he said, still grinning. "You want me to pretend to be engaged to you? The woman I've been competing with for two decades? The woman who once told me she'd rather eat glass than spend five minutes in my company?"

 "I was fifteen, and you'd just stolen my prom date."

 "You stole him first. I was merely reclaiming what was mine."

 "He wasn't property, Salvatore."

 "Neither are you, apparently, despite your father's best efforts." He crossed his arms, studying me with unsettling intensity. "Why would I agree to this insane plan?"

This was it. The moment where I either hooked him or lost everything.

 "Because I'm offering you something you've wanted for years." I opened the folder to the first page. "You would have full access to the East Side territory. The Dockyard contracts you've been trying to acquire since your father died will all be yours. A seat on the Castellano board. And the satisfaction of watching Vittorio Romano's face when you announce that his fiancée is already taken."

Dante picked up the folder, flipping through it slowly. His lips were pushed deep in thought, and I could see his mind working, weighing costs against benefits, searching for the trap.

 "Six months," I continued. "We act like we are madly in love with each other. Like we can’t keep our hands off each other. We would have to announce our engagement immediately, before Vittorio can solidify his claim. You get business advantages, I get out of a nightmare marriage, and everyone wins."

 “Why would you want to lose so much just to be with me?” Again, that arrogant tone that always infuriated me. “What you're offering is a lot, Isabella.”

 I tipped my chin higher. “I have the most shares and the most stakes. And it's all going to be revoked after six months. The person I hate more than you is Vittorio.”

 I flipped the folder on the table nonchalantly. “And you hate me to the core."

He sat down on his chair, and I waited for his answer while he drummed his fingers on the table.

 "What happens after six months?"

 "We have a very public, very amicable breakup. We blame it on career pressures or whatever sounds believable. We negotiate business advantages. I will keep my freedom."

 "Just like that."

 "Just like that."

Dante stood up again and moved closer, invading my space deliberately. I forced myself not to lean back, not to show any weakness.

 "There are problems with your plan, Isabella."

 "Such as?"

 "Your father will never believe this. We hate each other. Everyone knows we hate each other. Last month you sent my mother a basket of dead roses after I bought your café building."

 "They were black roses. There's a difference."

 "Semantics." He was close enough now that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "If we're going to sell this, it needs to be convincing, which means full commitment. No half-measures."

 "I can be convincing."

 "Can you?" His voice dropped lower, intimate. "Can you look at me like you're in love? Touch me like you can't help yourself? Let me touch you the same way? Because that's what it will take, Bella. Anything less and your father will see through it immediately."

My pulse was racing. This close, I could see the silver flecks in his grey eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his gaze kept dropping to my lips.

 "I can handle it," I said, proud that my voice didn't shake. "The question is, can you?"

 Something dangerous flashed across his face. "Careful, Isabella. You're playing with fire."

 "I've been playing with fire since I was twelve years old." I stood, forcing him to take a step back. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He studied me for a long moment, and I couldn't read his expression. Then, slowly, he smiled. I didn't trust that smile. It was cheeky, like he had an ace up his sleeve. "I have conditions."

 There. "Of course you do."

 "First, you move into my penthouse immediately. If we're engaged, we live together. No arguments."

 My stomach flipped, but I nodded. "Fine."

 "Second, when this is over when we have our 'amicable' breakup you owe me a favor. One favor, no questions asked, to be called in whenever I choose."

 Red flags waved in my mind, but I was desperate. "What kind of favor?"

 "Any kind I want. That's the point." He circled me slowly, and I felt like prey being assessed. "Those are my terms, Isabella. Take them or leave them."

I should leave them. That undefined favor could be anything; a business disaster, a personal humiliation, leverage he'd hold over me for years.

 But the alternative was Vittorio Romano's dead eyes and violent hands, and a marriage that would destroy me piece by piece.

 "Deal," I said.

Dante's smile widened. He extended his hand, and I took it, feeling the electric shock of skin on skin. His grip was firm, possessive, and he held on longer than necessary.

 "We will announce it tonight," he said. "I'm hosting a business dinner at The Velvet Room. Fifty guests, all the major families. We'll make it public."

 "Tonight?" My mind raced. "That's too fast. I need time to"

 "You came to me desperate, Isabella, which means we move on my timeline." He finally released my hand. And I found my hands craving the warmth of his touch. "Wear something beautiful, revealing, convincing."

 "I'm always convincing."

 "We'll see." He returned to his desk, already pulling out his phone. "My driver will pick you up at seven. Bring whatever you need for a few days. We'll send the rest of your things later."

The reality of what I'd just agreed dawned on me. I was moving in with Dante Salvatore tonight. I would be spending six months playing his fiancée, sharing his space, pretending to be in love with the man I'd spent my entire life competing against.

 "Salvatore"

 "Dante," he corrected, not looking up from his phone. "If we're engaged, you should probably use my first name."

 "Fine. Dante." The name felt strange on my tongue. "Thank you."

 Now he looked up, and something in his expression was almost soft. "Don't thank me yet, cara. You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into."

 A chill ran down my spine, but I lifted my chin defiantly. "I can handle whatever you throw at me."

 "Famous last words." He stood, effectively dismissing me. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

I turned to leave, needing to escape before he saw how rattled I was. But his voice stopped me at the door.

 "Isabella?"

 I looked back.

 "That bruise on your cheek. The one you're hiding under makeup." His eyes were dark now. "Did Vittorio do that?"

 My hand moved to my face instinctively before I could stop it. "How did you"

 "I notice everything about you." It wasn't romantic. It was a fact. Dante has always been exceptionally observant. "Did he?"

 I could lie. It was easier. But something in Dante's expression made me tell the truth.

 "Yes."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Dante's hands clenched into fists, and he cracked them against the table.

 "He hit you."

 "He did worse than that. But it doesn't matter now. After tonight, I'm yours, not his."

 "You're goddamn right you are." The possessiveness in his voice should have annoyed me. Instead, it sent heat pooling in my stomach. "And if Vittorio Romano ever touches you again, I'll kill him slowly. Very slowly."

It wasn't an empty threat. The deadly promise in his eyes was absolutely real.

 "Dante"

 "Seven o'clock, Isabella. We have a performance to prepare for."

This time when I left, he didn't stop me.

I made it to the elevator before my hands started shaking. What had I done? I'd just traded one cage for another, and this one came with grey eyes that saw too much and a voice that made my pulse race in ways I absolutely could not afford.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Looking forward to seeing you tonight, Cara. Wear the emerald dress. The one from the Morrison gala. It makes your eyes look like jewels worth stealing. -D

How the hell did he know what I'd worn to the Morrison gala? And how did he have my personal number when I'd only ever called him from my business line?

I texted back: How did you get this number?

 His response was immediate: I told you. I notice everything about you. See you at seven. And Isabella? Try not to miss me too much before then.

Arrogant bastard.

But as I stepped into the elevator and watched the doors c

lose on Salvatore Tower, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a deal with the devil himself.