Chapter 3 : Playing with fire

Dante didn’t move.

His gun stayed up, aimed right past my shoulder at the glass behind me. His silver eyes didn’t blink.

“Is that so,” he said. Low. Amused. Like he knew I was lying and wanted to watch me do it.

He took one step forward. Then another.

His chest brushed mine and the heat of him made my lungs forget how to work.

His free hand came up and wrapped around the back of my neck. Not hard. Just enough that I couldn’t look away.

“You want me to claim my investment, Elena?” His breath was hot on my mouth. “Then stop shaking like you’re about to die.”

“I’m not shaking because of you,” I lied. My hands went to his chest on instinct, fingers curling in his shirt. Anything to keep him looking at me and not at the window.

Outside, something moved. A shadow against the rain.

_Please run. Please._

Dante’s eyes flickered. He saw it.

“No?” He smiled. Dark. Slow. “Alright. Let’s see how good you are at distracting me, little bird.”

And then he kissed me.

This wasn’t the war from before. This was slower. Deeper. Cruel.

He tasted like scotch and rain and something dangerous I shouldn’t want. His mouth took mine like he was trying to drown me in it.

I hated it.

I hated how my hands fisted in his shirt.

I hated how my body arched into his even while my brain was screaming _Julian is out there_.

_Clatter._

Metal on tile. Loud. From the balcony.

Dante broke away instantly.

The heat in his eyes was gone. Replaced with ice.

He shoved me back onto the bed and spun. In one motion he had the balcony doors open and rain was pouring into the room.

“Dante, no!”

I scrambled up, heart in my throat.

The balcony was empty. Just rain and wind and an overturned iron chair rolling in circles on the wet tile.

Dante stood at the railing, soaked in seconds, scanning the drop below. He looked like death in a wet shirt.

He reached down and picked something up.

When he came back inside he was dripping on my floor. Water ran down his face and into the collar of his shirt.

He held out his hand.

A silver cufflink sat in his palm.

_J.M._

Julian Mercer.

My blood went cold.

“A loose planter, right?” Dante said. His voice was quiet. That was worse than yelling. “Guess your dad’s planters shop at Tom Ford now.”

“Dante, I—”

“Shut up.”

One word. And my mouth closed.

He walked to the wall and hit the intercom. “Marco. East terrace breach. Lock it down. Find him. Bring him to me alive.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The line cut.

Dante turned back to me. He tucked the gun into his waistband like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t almost killed someone 30 seconds ago.

He stopped in front of me. So close I could smell rain on him.

“You played me,” he whispered. “You kissed me to keep me from looking out that window.”

“It’s not what you think,” I said. My voice cracked.

“Then tell me what it is.” His hand came up and grabbed my chin. Bruising. “Because from where I’m standing, you just risked your brother’s life to protect some other man.”

“He’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me again.”

The room went silent except for the rain.

Dante stared at me for a long time. Then he laughed. Not a nice sound.

“I was going to be generous,” he said. “Separate rooms. Some freedom. Let you pretend this wasn’t a prison.”

He let go of my chin and stepped back.

“But you want to play games?” He gestured to the bed behind him. “Rules changed. You don’t leave this room. And you don’t sleep anywhere but here. Under me. Where I can see you.”

“No,” I said before I could stop myself. “You can’t—”

“I can,” he cut me off. “I can do anything I want to you, Elena. Remember that.”

He walked to the dresser and set the cufflink down with a sharp _clink_. Then he started unbuttoning his wet shirt, slow, like he had all night.

I watched, frozen.

Every inch of skin he revealed was scarred. Tattooed. Dangerous. The snake at his throat looked like it was moving in the low light.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said without looking at me. “You’re afraid of wanting me back.”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” He turned. Bare chest. Jeans. Gun at his hip. “Your pulse is racing. Your hands are shaking. And it’s not all fear.”

He was right and I hated him for seeing it.

I crossed my arms, holding my torn dress together. “If you’re so sure I want you, then why keep me locked up?”

Dante’s eyes darkened. “Because locked up women don’t run to other men in the middle of the night.”

He moved fast.

One second he was across the room, the next he had me by the wrist and was pulling me toward the bed.

“Let go!” I twisted, but he was too strong.

He threw me down onto the silk. I bounced once before he caged me in with his arms, one on either side of my head.

“Here’s how this works now,” he said, voice low. “You sleep here. You eat here. You breathe here. And if Marco brings me that cufflink’s owner tonight, you get to watch what happens when someone touches what’s mine.”

My stomach dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He leaned down. His mouth hovered over mine but didn’t touch.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away.”

I should have. God, I should have.

But Julian was out there. And Dante was the only thing standing between him and a body bag.

So I did the only thing I could.

I reached up and pulled him down by the collar.

His mouth crashed into mine again.

This time I kissed him back.

Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

Because if Dante thought I was his, he wouldn’t look for Julian tonight.

The kiss was furious. Punishing. His hands in my hair, mine clawing at his back. We were teeth and anger and desperation.

He pulled back first, breathing hard. His eyes were wild.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Elena,” he growled.

“So are you,” I whispered back.

A buzz cut through the room. His phone on the dresser.

Dante didn’t move. Just stared at me like he was trying to decide if I was worth keeping alive.

It buzzed again.

He rolled off me and grabbed it.

I couldn’t see the screen from here.

His jaw ticked.

“Marco found a trail,” he said finally, not looking at me. “Downtown. Near the docks.”

My heart stopped.

“Get dressed,” Dante said. He threw a robe at me. Black silk. His. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I leave you here, you’ll do something stupid.” He pulled his shirt back on, gun sliding back into place. “And because I want you to see what happens when people lie to me.”

He walked to the door and held it open.

“Move, wife.”

I stood. Legs shaking. Pulled his robe around me and followed him out.

Behind us, the rain kept falling on the balcony where Julian had almost died.

And in my pocket, my phone felt like it was burning.