Chapter 6: Grapes, Games and Wicked Flames.

Dante’s POV

The morning air was quiet, still laced with the scent of last night’s smoke from the courtyard torches. I was already at the balcony, glass in hand, swirling the thick, ruby liquid of a Sassicaia 2018. Smooth, bold, arrogant, just like me. The kind of wine that lingered too long on the tongue, reminding you it was expensive enough to silence men twice my age.

I heard her before I saw her. Those deliberate, almost arrogant footsteps. Bianca. She had that habit of walking like the whole damn floor belonged to her.

I didn’t turn. I let her stand there. I wanted her to stew in her own silence.

After a beat, I said without looking back,

“Is greeting far from your side these days, or has respect gone extinct already?”

Her voice slid through the morning like a blade.

“Respect should be earned, Dante. Maybe take up the cross you keep preaching about and set the example, instead of waiting for people to worship you.”

I smiled into my wine. Damn! woman was blunt, I’d give her that. I finally turned, gave her the kind of smile that usually made people question whether I was amused or ready to destroy them.

“Morning, morning… Mrs. Moretti.”

Her face twisted into a frown.

“Don’t call me that. I have a name.”

I tilted my head. “You mean Caruso?”

Her eyes flashed. “No. Bianca. Just Bianca.”

I leaned on the railing, swirling the wine again, watching the crimson streaks crawl down the glass like blood. “So you’re letting go of your father’s name now? Thought you Carusos clung to family honor.”

She stepped closer, chin tilted high. “It’s stupid to attach the name of a useless man to mine. I’d rather stand on my own than drag his shadow with me.”

I chuckled low. Sharp tongue, sharper pride. God help any man who thought he could tame this one.

“Blunt,” I said, licking my teeth. “Admirably so.”

Then she hit me with:

“How far is Mordecai city from here?”

That made me pause. My eyes lingered on her a second longer than I should have. Too direct. Too damn curious. I ignored the question, turned my back on her, and started walking inside.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, heels clicking after me.

“To do what normal humans do in the morning,” I said lazily.

“And what’s that?”

“Eat breakfast.”

When I reached the dining hall, the long table was already alive....trays of golden croissants still steaming, eggs poached to perfection, platters of berries glistening, pomegranates sliced open like red jewels, cheeses sharp enough to bite back, and two bottles of wine flanking the silver carafes of coffee. The grapes were fat and ripe, still kissed with dew.

I sank into my chair like a king.

“And me?” Bianca’s voice cut through.

I laughed. “You? Go have your assassin plans for breakfast. They probably taste better.”

She glared. “You think you’re funny?”

“I know I am.” I plucked a grape and tossed it in my mouth.

Her hands slammed against the table. “You’d serve grapes to yourself but not to me?”

I leaned back, smirk tugging my mouth. “Fine. I’ll give you grapes… but you’ll have to open your mouth while I throw them in.”

Her nostrils flared. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know how to treat a wife?”

I barked out a laugh. “Wife? I don’t feed or care for a woman who doesn’t feed me… sexually.”

Her lips curved into a sharp, mocking smile. “Pathetic. You think women should serve themselves up to you like a platter just to earn crumbs?”

I shrugged, nonchalant. “Works for most.”

She didn’t ask for permission. She dragged the plate of food toward her and began serving herself like she owned the place.

I froze mid-bite. The audacity.

I shoved the plate back toward my side.

She yanked it toward hers again.

We went back and forth until her stubbornness sent eggs and sauce flying, splattering across her dress.

For a second, silence. Then I let out a laugh that shook my shoulders.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. She grabbed another plate and charged toward me like a soldier with ammunition. I backed away, laughing harder.

“Bianca..”

But her heel caught on the rug, and she went crashing down with a yelp.

I sighed, running a hand over my jaw as I went to her. She’d gotten her damn shoe stuck in a tear in the floor carpet. I crouched, tugging it free, and just as we both started laughing at the ridiculousness of it....splat.

Food hit my face.

She’d smashed the plate against me.

I growled, low and dangerous, but playful. Like a devil about to claim a soul. I lunged, pinning her beneath me as we both collapsed back on the floor.

Silence fell.

Her breath hitched under mine. My chest pressed against hers, wine and eggs dripping between us. The heat in her eyes wasn’t hate...it was fire. And hell, it matched mine.

The air crackled. Our gazes locked, daring, wanting, hating how much we wanted.

Then...

A guard burst in. “Should I bring towels, sir?”

I didn’t move. I didn’t even look away from her. “No. Prepare a hot tub for us instead.”

Her eyes widened. “Us?”

I smirked as I pushed myself off her. “Of course not. I don’t bathe with women. But since you ruined my hair, I’ll need it cleansed. Thoroughly.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Do you even own a comb?”

“No.”

“Pathetic.” She dusted herself off. “Wait here. I’ll bring my things.”

***

Later, she came to my chambers, stopped dead at the door.

Her lips parted. Eyes widened. I stood there, towel knotted at my waist, water dripping down my chest.

Her gaze lingered. Too long.

“Snap out of it,” I drawled. “You’re too lesbian to be staring at me that way.”

Her frown snapped back in place. “I am not a lesbian.”

I laughed. “In a city full of women, don’t tell me not one of you ever…..indulged. Hell, even in cities of both sexes, people cross lines. Don’t play saint with me.”

She ignored me, grabbed my hair with both hands, tugged down hard.

I gasped. “Damn. That… was sexy.”

“Shut up before I make you lick the soap.”

I leaned closer, eyes burning with mischief. “I wouldn’t mind licking the cream on your breasts instead.”

Her eyes dropped before she could stop herself. The gown she wore had ridden up just enough to tease her curves. She snapped her head back up, defiant.

“Dante would never stoop so low.”

I smirked, pulling her against me, my lips brushing her ear. “Watch me.”

And I did.

My tongue slid over the soft swell of her breast, hot, teasing, deliberate. Her body tensed, then melted, a moan breaking past her lips before she could choke it down.

I stopped just shy of her nipple, savoring the way she trembled beneath my mouth. Then I laughed against her skin, releasing her with a smirk.

“Finish the job you came here to do,” I murmured, settling back. “Wash my hair. I’ve got plans.”

She was flushed, breath uneven, but silent. Like she’d been caught in her own trap.

As she worked her fingers through my hair, water running over us, I caught her staring at my reflection in the mirror.

“You want to know what these abs can do to you in bed?” I asked lazily, eyes meeting hers in the glass.

She hissed, trying to mask her blush. “Kill your dreams. I’m not looking. Not interested.”

I chuckled, standing, towel slipping lower around my waist. “Free yourself, Bianca. Enjoy your one year of miserable life. You might not get another chance.”

And I walked out, door slamming behind me.