5: PLAYING WITH FIRE

Amara didn’t sleep well. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The slow curve of his mouth when he whispered good girl. The molten amber of his gaze that seemed to burn through every wall she’d spent years building.

It was maddening. She should’ve been cataloging information from last night,his penthouse security, his wine preference, the coded way he avoided her questions. But instead, her mind kept circling back to the brush of his fingers on her skin, the phantom heat of a kiss that never landed.

And then there was the promise he left hanging in the air. We’re not finished, Amara.

A shiver ran down her spine as she buttoned her blouse the next morning, tucking it neatly into a pencil skirt. She told herself she looked professional, untouchable. A far cry from the emerald slip dress she’d worn like armor last night.

But when she stepped outside, her stomach dropped.

The same sleek black car was waiting at the curb. Engine purring. Windows tinted.

Her phone buzzed with a message.

Dante: Get in.

Her pulse skipped. She could’ve ignored it, walked away. But she didn’t.

Because this was the game. And if she wanted to win, she had to play.

The car drove her across the city, weaving through traffic until it stopped in front of a building she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a restaurant. It wasn’t an office. The glass façade gleamed with understated luxury, the kind that didn’t advertise but commanded.

When the driver opened her door, she stepped into cool air heavy with perfume and cigars. Inside was a world wrapped in shadows, rich mahogany, crystal chandeliers dripping light, velvet booths filled with men and women who oozed money and danger.

It was a private club. His club.

And there he was, at the center of it all.

Dante sat in a leather armchair like a king on his throne, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other draped lazily over the armrest. Two men in dark suits hovered nearby, their eyes scanning the room, but Dante didn’t need protection. Power clung to him like a second skin.

When he saw her, his lips curved into that infuriating, devastating smile. He stood, and the room seemed to bend around him. Conversations dimmed. Eyes followed.

“Bella.” His voice was low, intimate, as though they were alone. “You came.”

She forced her chin high. “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

His gaze swept over her, slower than last night, lingering on the tailored lines of her blouse and skirt, the flash of bare skin at her calves where her heels clicked against the marble.

“You always have a choice,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand brushed her elbow as he guided her toward a booth tucked in the corner, away from prying eyes. “You just make the right one.”

The booth was intimate, the shadows cocooning them. Instead of sitting across from her, Dante slid in beside her. Their thighs touched, his presence swallowing the air between them.

Amara stiffened. “You don’t believe in personal space, do you?”

He smirked, setting his glass down. “Why would I keep space between us when every man in this room wants to steal my attention away from you?”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m inevitable.”

The words should’ve sounded arrogant. Instead, they wrapped around her like silk.

A waiter appeared, pouring wine into crystal glasses before disappearing with a bow. Dante picked his up, his fingers brushing hers as he handed the other over.

“To us,” he said.

She arched a brow. “There is no us.”

His eyes glinted as he clinked his glass against hers. “That’s what you keep telling yourself.”

For a while, they drank in silence. Amara tried to focus on her mission, memorizing faces, cataloging names whispered in greeting, piecing together who belonged to him and who didn’t. But it was impossible to concentrate with Dante so close.

Every time she shifted, his thigh pressed against hers. Every time she raised her glass, his eyes followed the motion, lingering on her lips. His hand rested casually on the back of the booth, close enough that the tips of his fingers brushed her shoulder each time he leaned in to murmur something at her ear.

And God help her, she trembled.

“You’re distracted,” he said finally, his voice soft.

Her head snapped toward him. “I’m not.”

“You are. I can see it.” His hand slid lower, grazing the bare skin of her arm. “You’re thinking about me when you should be thinking about your excuses.”

Her breath caught. “You don’t know me well enough to make assumptions like that.”

“I know enough.” His fingers brushed her wrist, tracing the pulse beating wildly beneath her skin. “I know that your body betrays what your lips won’t admit.”

She yanked her hand back, forcing steel into her spine. “You’re used to women falling at your feet. That won’t be me.”

His smile widened, dark and dangerous. “No, bella. That’s exactly why it will be you.”

Before she could retort, a shadow fell over the table. A man in an expensive suit, reeking of arrogance and whiskey, stopped beside their booth.

“Vitale,” he drawled. “I didn’t know you were bringing a date.” His eyes raked over Amara, lingering too long. “Pretty little thing.”

Amara stiffened, ready with a sharp comeback, but Dante moved first.

In one smooth motion, he rose, towering over the man. The air shifted, the easy charm draining from his features, leaving something colder. Sharper.

“Watch your mouth,” Dante said softly. Deadly.

The man chuckled, but it wavered under Dante’s gaze. “Relax. Just a compliment.”

Dante leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “One more word, and you won’t leave this club with teeth to drink through.”

The man paled, muttered something unintelligible, and stumbled away.

Dante sat back down as though nothing happened, his arm once again draping behind Amara. “Apologies,” he said smoothly, as if they’d just discussed the weather. “Rudeness irritates me.”

Amara swallowed hard. She’d just witnessed the edge of his world, the ruthlessness that kept men like him in power. It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.

And it left her dangerously unsteady.

Amara forced herself to breathe evenly, though every nerve screamed in warning. Dante had returned to that relaxed, seductive composure, but she couldn’t erase the flash of danger she’d just seen, the lethal man beneath the charming exterior.

She shifted slightly, putting a sliver of distance between them. “Do you always threaten people over nothing?”

His gaze slid lazily to hers, but there was nothing lazy about the sharpness in his eyes. “That wasn’t nothing.”

“He just said you had a date…”

“He looked at you like you were meat.” Dante’s voice dropped lower, steel cutting through silk. “And no one looks at what’s mine like that.”

Her pulse stuttered. She wanted to argue, to remind him she wasn’t his anything, but the word mine curled around her insides, dangerous and thrilling.

“You’re delusional,” she whispered.

“Maybe.” He leaned closer until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “But you still tremble when I touch you.”

Before she could stop herself, she whispered back, “You’re imagining things.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, and the smug curve of his mouth told her he’d heard the catch in her voice. His fingers trailed down her arm again, a slow caress that set her skin aflame.

Amara clenched her fists. She was losing ground. She needed to take control, to steer the conversation, to remember why she was here,

But then Dante kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a question. It was a claiming. His mouth crashed against hers, hot and demanding, tasting of whiskey and something darker. His hand slid to the back of her neck, tilting her head exactly how he wanted it, while his other hand gripped her thigh through the slit in her skirt, pulling her closer.

The world spun. Logic fractured.

She should’ve shoved him away. She should’ve been furious. But instead, her lips parted beneath his, betraying her with a hungry, desperate response. She felt his low groan vibrate against her mouth, the sound of a man getting exactly what he wanted.

The kiss deepened, scorching, his tongue sweeping into her mouth like he was memorizing her taste. Her body melted against him, traitorous and aching. Heat pooled low in her belly, dizzying, terrifying.

It was too much.

With every ounce of willpower she had, Amara tore herself back, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kiss. “Don’t…” Her voice was hoarse, trembling. “Don’t you dare.”

Dante’s eyes burned like molten gold, his smile slow and devastating. “Too late, bella. You already taste like mine.”

She shoved against his chest, enough to put space between them, though the imprint of his body lingered like fire on her skin. “You’re insane.”

“Insane?” His smirk widened. “No. Obsessed, perhaps.”

Her breath caught at the word. Obsessed.

That wasn’t better. That was worse.

She grabbed her purse, sliding out of the booth before he could stop her. The club’s air felt thick, suffocating, as she stormed toward the exit. She needed space. She needed air. She needed her head back.

Behind her, Dante didn’t follow. He simply watched, a predator letting his prey believe she’d escaped.

The city air was a relief when she finally stumbled onto the sidewalk. The night was cool, crisp, biting at her overheated skin. She flagged down a cab, ignoring the black cars that lingered at the curb.

By the time she reached her apartment, her pulse had calmed, but her lips still tingled from his kiss. She hated herself for remembering how he tasted, how easily her body had betrayed her.

It’s just a mission, she reminded herself, fumbling with her keys. It’s just a mission. He’s just another target.

But when she pushed open her door, her blood ran cold.

The lights were off, though she knew she hadn’t left them that way.

Every instinct screamed danger.

She slid her hand into her bag, fingers brushing the small blade she always carried. Quietly, she stepped inside, scanning the shadows. Nothing moved. No sound.

Her breath hitched when she reached her bedroom.

There, on her bed, lay a single red rose. The petals were perfect, velvety, impossibly fresh. Beside it, a folded note.

Her hands shook as she opened it, the handwriting sharp, elegant, undeniably his.

You taste like sin, Amara.

And now you’re mine.

Her heart thundered, equal parts terror and something dangerously close to thrill.

Because Dante Vitale hadn’t just kissed her.

He had been here. In her home. In her sanctuary.

Watching. Waiting. Claiming.

Amara sank onto the edge of the bed, the rose trembling in her grip. She had wanted a glimpse into his world, now it was inside hers.

And there was no escape.