CHAPTER 4

Dante lay on the bed, his palm pressed firmly against his bleeding arm.

The deep red stain spread across his white sleeve, but his face betrayed nothing.

His breathing was steady, deliberate, even as a faint tremor ran through his fingers. He groaned softly, a sound more from annoyance than agony, as though the bullet wound was a mere inconvenience.

Eric walked in, his face etched with concern.

“My lord.” He bowed, shifting his gaze to Dante’s bleeding arm.

Dante’s eyes, dark and piercing, held the faintest flicker of pain, but it was buried beneath a fortress of resolve. They carried the weight of countless battles won, and countless scars endured.

“I have contacted the doctor. That ingret has sent his trusted assistant.”

Dante took note of Eric’s information but his face remained a mask of indifference.

Eric bowed as a flicker of guilt sliced through him.

“I am sorry, I should have protected…”

Dante raised a finger, and this mare act silenced Eric.

“It was an uncalculated move. You do not have to be sorry.”

Eric stared at Dante, hating himself for being such an incompetent assistant. His duty was to protect Dante but he had failed at his duty and he could not be any happy.

Dante's grip against his arm tightened, the sharp sting in his arm seemed almost insignificant in the presence of his unwavering determination.

He adjusted his position slightly, a calculated movement that disguised the jolt of pain it brought. To anyone watching, he appeared untouchable—a man who would bleed but never falter. The wound was real, but weakness had no place here. Even in the quiet agony of the moment, his strength dominated, his will unbroken.

“I will bring you some coffee.” Eric proposed with a bow and Dante gave a single nod.

Dante sat motionless, his eyes glinting with a dark intensity as he fixed a dangerous glare on the wall, his mind consumed by thoughts of vengeance. He envisioned Miguel brought to his knees, pleading for forgiveness—a plea to which Dante would offer no mercy.

Eric walked in some minutes later.

“My lord.” He bowed, holding onto the coffee mug.

He placed it on the bedside table.

“She is here.” He informed and Dante’s brows knitted.

She? Why would it be a she?

Eric noticed the alarming look on Dante’s face. “I have double-checked and he confirmed that she is his most loyal assistant.”

“Send her In.” His voice carried the weight of command than his words and Eric bowed, gesturing towards the door.

Sophie walked into the dimly lit room, her calm and peaceful presence spreading through the air like a gentle tide, sweeping away the dread that lingered.

Her white coat, pristine and glowing, seemed to hold its light, illuminating the shadowed room. Her movements were unhurried, each step deliberate and graceful. She carried her aid box with quiet authority, her chin held high and her shoulders straight, exuding an air of sophistication that felt unshakable.

Her blue eyes landed on the man lying on the bed, and for a fleeting moment, something stirred between them—an unspoken connection. Familiarity hung in the air, delicate yet undeniable.

Dante’s gaze snapped to her, his dark eyes narrowing. Her presence lit the room in a way that pierced through the gloom. His brow furrowed as an ache of recognition clawed at him.

“Good day, Sir,” Sophie greeted, her tone warm yet professional as she set her kit on the bedside table.

A muscle in Dante’s jaw tightened. Her voice had struck him like a chord, sending an unexpected warmth coursing through his chest. It was her. She was here. His own. The one who haunted his thoughts.

He had known it was madness to think of her this way, but madness suited him. As the head of the mafia, he always got what he wanted. After the night he saved her, he ordered a few of his men to carry out some research about her. Although they came back with little information.

Doctor Sophia Antonio is said to be a renowned doctor with a spotless record, she is known for her discipline and good morals. Surely she would be one good girl in his bed.

Dante snapped his fingers twice, and the automated lighting system responded immediately, flooding the room with brightness. The sudden glare startled Sophie, and she jumped slightly, her composure briefly shaken.

“Hello,” Dante said, at last, his voice a deep rumble that pulled her attention back to him.

Sophie froze, her brow furrowing as she studied him. Surprise flickered across her face. “You?” she asked, pointing at him.

“You’re the man from the other day. The savior.”

Dante’s lips twitched, and an invisible smile played at the edges of his face. She was as breathtaking as he remembered, her long lashes trembling with disbelief.

“Oh my goodness,” Sophie whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. Her blue eyes softened as they moved from his face to the wound on his arm.

“You’re bleeding badly,” she said, her voice tinged with pity. “Are you okay?” Her concern, so genuine, so foreign to him, wrapped around him like a balm.

For a moment, Dante let himself sink into her world. Her calm, her kindness—they melted through the ice that had encased his heart for years. Her presence lightened the darkness he had chosen for himself.

Pity was not a language he understood. It didn’t belong in his world, yet it suited her so perfectly that he couldn’t look away.

Sophie pulled herself together and slipped on a pair of sterile gloves, her movements brisk and efficient. She leaned closer to examine his wound, her focus unwavering despite the tension in the room.

“Fortunately, the bullet didn’t stay lodged,” she said softly. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

She hesitated, then added, “A police report has been made. I heard you were saving someone when this happened. A victim, right?”

Dante didn’t budge at her news, fake police officers and fake men. He has been In this game for too long to not know that his men had that all arranged. He didn't reply, but simply watched her, his lips curving into a faint smile he couldn’t suppress. Her hands worked deftly, but he noticed the faint tremor in her fingers, betraying her nerves.

“You should be careful,” she murmured as she dressed his wound. “Even saviors can get hurt.”

Her words struck something deep within him. Savior. She didn’t know who he truly was. She didn’t know the monster behind the man.

He wasn’t a savior. He was the reason people needed saving. The memory of his father’s death loomed in his mind, a wound far deeper than the one Sophie was treating. He had failed to save the one person who mattered most. That day had stolen his warmth, his humanity, and left him hollow. But now, her touch, her voice—it brought a fleeting sense of life back into him. A warmth he didn’t deserve yet craved desperately.

Dante’s dark eyes lingered on her. In her world of calm and light, he felt himself breaking, piece by piece. She didn’t belong here, in his cold and brutal existence. But for now, he let himself bask in her presence, if only to remember what peace felt like, from trying to remember what peace felt like, the nagging intrusion of sinful desire followed.

His breath hitched as his eyes lingered on the exposed part of her chest. A sight to the narrow line of her cleavage which struggled in-between her merged-up boobs.

Dante rolled his eyes away, trying to shut the intrusive thoughts away, but the sinful desire to grab her boobs into his palm nagged heavier than the pain of his wound.

His eyes darted back to the sight of her revealed mound and his eyes darkened with heavy desire.

He swallowed in, the reflex of his throat very much visible. What would it feel like to bury his cock between the lines of her already predicted C-cup boobs and fuck them till he spills every bit of his content on her tits?

Dante’s cock twitched and he tore his gaze from her heavy boobs— it was the hardest thing to do, but he would rather torture himself than let her notice his very much visible bulge.

Sophia’s cheeks burned and her hands trembled. His breath was hot and it fanned her cheeks. She felt uncomfortable and slightly disturbed not from his glaring look, but from the reaction that his glaring looks caused her body. Her knees weakened and her skin turned sensitive to every of his breath.

Sophia pressed her thighs together in an attempt to get rid of her burning entrance. Weird that a glare from this savior could make her body react in ways that her body never reacted to the kisses from her ex.

Sophia struggled beneath the weight of his glare. She wanted him to stop, to tear his predictory glare away from her body but a tiny part of her loved it— that tiny part of her was the reason she broke up with her. That tiny part of her was the aspect of her that was insensitive to a man’s touch, yet could feel an unfamiliar feeling of moisture burning through her pussy.

Her hand trembled as she drew the treatment to an end.

“Here. I am done.” Sophia exhaled. Concealing her nervousness with a smile.

Dante forced his gaze from hers, taking note of his treated arms. He had been lost in the comfort of her world, he didn't even feel a pain.

“How did you stay calm? Didn't you feel pain?”

“I was staring at you,” Dante replied bluntly and his reply sent a flicker of awareness.

Sophia's cheeks burned and she pressed her lips together, averting her eyes from his.

“You should stay away from trouble.” Sophia cautioned, clumsily arranging her equipment into her kit.

Dante watched her cheeks as they turned into a shade of red— a shade of red that would be his favorite color, in soon time. Red that is different from the regular blood color.

His groin twitched. A dirty image of what her naked self would look like in his bed surfaced and the desire to pull her closer and wrap her into his body crawled insanely at him.