THE SANCTUARY

003

The cold, heavy steel of the gun pressed lightly against the back of my neck. My heart pounded against my ribs so hard it was suffocating, and the air trapped in my lungs. Under the dim amber glow of the desk lamp, the document stayed wide open, the words Staged Vehicle Failure ringing inside my head.

"How much did you read?" Dante whispered softly into the dark.

His voice wasn't angry. It was terrifyingly calm, smooth as silk and deep enough to vibrate through my spine.

I slowly turned around, my back hitting the sharp edge of the mahogany desk. The barrel of the gun lowered to my navel, but Dante didn't step away. He towered over me, a broad, intimidating wall of pure heat and authority. The sharp scent of cedar, expensive tobacco, and his warm skin flooded my senses, making my head spin.

"Did your family kill my parents?" I asked. My voice sounded small, bittered, and trembling in the quiet room.

Dante didn't say yes. He didn't say no. He just stood there, his dark, piercing eyes locked onto mine, completely unreadable.

That silence scared me more than a confession.

"Answer me!" I choked out, my hands shaking so hard out of rage I had to ball them into fists.

Instead of answering, Dante reached around my waist, his large, warm hand brushing against the silk of my robe. My skin ignited everywhere he touched. He smoothly snatched the execution order, folded it, and locked it inside the iron wall safe with a quick flick of a brass key.

"You have no idea what you just touched, Lyra," he murmured, stepping back into my personal space until his chest was inches from mine. "Some truths carry a price you aren't equipped to pay."

"Then why am I here?" Anger flared through my terror, hot and sharp. "You threw four million dollars at Victoria to take me. You brought me into your fortress. If your family murdered my parents, why pull me into your world?" Oh! You want to keep me trapped and hand me over?

Dante leaned down, placing both of his large hands on the desk on either side of my hips, trapping me completely between his body and the wood. The raw physical power radiating off him was suffocating. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, smell the heat of his breath on my lips.

"Because your parents' death is the exact reason I have been looking for you," he whispered to me.

A cold shiver ran down my spine, instantly followed by an electric jolt of heat low in my belly. "What does that mean? Are you holding me hostage?"

Dante looked down at me, his dark gaze dropping slowly from my panicked eyes to my mouth, then lower to the loose collar of my silk robe, where my collarbone was exposed. The cold boss vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by a dark, hungry predator.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up. His long, calloused fingers slid under the lapel of my robe, brushing against the bare skin of my shoulder. A sharp gasp escaped my throat. My nipples hardened under the thin fabric as a wave of intense, forbidden desire rushed through my veins. I wanted to fight him, to push him away, but my body felt completely paralyzed by his touch.

"Look around you, Lyra," Dante growled softly, his fingers tracing a slow, burning path down the side of my neck to the pulse point hammering in my throat. "This estate is built on a private grid. The security systems beneath these floors run on my authority alone. My father's men cannot step foot past those gates without my command."

He bent his head lower, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a shudder straight through me. "You wanted somewhere safe from Victoria. This is the only place in this city where you can breathe."

My mind was a chaotic storm. Safe from whom? I thought desperately, gripping the edge of the desk behind me to keep my knees from buckling. Safe from his father? Or safe from the way he makes my body betray me?

Dante felt the tremor running through my frame. His eyes darkened as he looked at my parted lips. He shifted his weight, pressing his hard thigh directly between my legs through the soft silk of my robe. The sudden, intimate friction made me gasp his name out loud.

"Dante..."

"Tell me to stop, Lyra," he whispered against my lips, his breath hot, demanding, and intoxicating. His hand slid down my waist, pulling my hips flush against his firm body. "Tell me you hate me, and I'll walk out that door."

I stared into his dark eyes, completely trapped. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to run, to scream, to remember the blood on the paper in his safe. But my body was alive in a way it had never been before. The danger, the dark luxury, and the raw, possessive way he held me made me crave the very man I should have feared.

"I have nowhere else to go," I whispered, my voice breaking.

Dante let out a low, dark growl. He didn't hesitate. He slammed his mouth down on mine in a deep, filthy, possessive kiss.

I gasped into his mouth, and he took complete advantage, his tongue sliding past my lips to claim me completely. It was intense, wild, and heavy with control. My hands flew to his broad shoulders, clutching his jacket as he lifted me slightly onto the edge of the desk. His hands gripped my waist tightly, his thumb rubbing against the bare skin above my hip. Every nerve ending in my body lit up like wildfire. I kissed him back with a desperate, chaotic hunger, lost in the sheer heat of his mouth.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of us were breathing heavily. His lips were wet, his dark eyes burning with an intense, dangerous satisfaction.

He slid his hands off my waist, giving me space, though his presence still dominated the room.

"You can leave these grounds tomorrow if you choose," Dante said, his voice husky and deep as he adjusted his jacket. "I won't lock you in a cell. But out there, you are prey. Here, you are mine to protect."

I slid off the desk, my legs feeling like lead, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Is this a sanctuary or a prison, Dante?"

"That depends on whether you're smart enough to trust me," he replied coldly.

He turned toward the heavy mahogany door, stopping at the threshold. He looked back over his shoulder, his face half-hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit corridor.

"There is one rule you must never break in this house, Lyra," he warned, his tone turning deadly serious. "There is one person you can never trust."

My breath hitched as I pulled my robe tight around my trembling body. "Who?"

Dante looked out into the dark hallway before answering. "My father."

He stepped out into the corridor, and I followed a few paces behind, my head spinning with dark desire and unanswerable questions. But as I rounded the corner toward the main staircase, I froze dead in my tracks.

Standing in the shadows at the end of the hallway was Martha, the housekeeper.

She wasn't holding towels. She wasn't doing chores. She stood perfectly still in her neat gray uniform, her hands folded over her front, her pale, cold eyes fixed directly on me. A small, chilling smile slowly spread across her face.

In her right hand, held loosely at her side, was a sleek, silver burner phone with an active call on the screen.

Martha looked right past me to Dante, her voice smooth as glass. "He's on line one, Young Master. Don Vincenzo knows she's in the house.”