Chapter 5

Melanie

My breath stilled the moment I realized it was a gun that was pressed against my neck. I felt like I was going to shit my pants or worse… faint.

I felt like I was reliving my past and soon everything around me faded and I was back at my father’s home. Back to watching him take his last breath, but that nostalgic memory didn’t last a second as I heard a grunt.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. My tongue might as well have been glued to the roof of my mouth.

“I said, who the fuck are you?” he snarled again, this time pressing the barrel harder.

I still couldn’t speak. Words? What were those?

“I swear to God say something or I’ll fucking blow your brains off.”

That did it. My body flinched.

“Sir!”

Marco’s voice broke through the tension like a sledgehammer, bursting through the doorway. “What’s the problem?”

“Who the fuck is this hooked up in my room like a goddamn stray?”

He barked.

Marco’s eyes widened. “She’s your new step—sister, boss. She came with your father and her mother.”

He pulled the gun away from my head and I finally got a grip on myself.

I turned to face him afterwards and holy hell I was stunned.

He had dark curly hair, tousled in that effortless, just-woke-up sexy way. His eyes were blue, the perfect shade that could drown you without trying.

I noticed a tattoo curled around his right hand, inked in black, with something unreadable on it. And his jawline? Carved from stone looking like an Greek god.

“Fuck,” he muttered, like the world was ending.

He stepped back like I was contagious. Like just existing near me physically offended him.

He walked off, leather boots thudding against the floor, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt like a storm barely held back.

I stood there, with heat crawling up my spine.

So this was Dante. The infamous heir. He seemed controlling and completely unhinged.

Back in my room, I tried to slam the door, but it was one of those fancy ones that glided silently, like even doors here were too posh to be dramatic.

I flung myself onto the bed, muttering to the ceiling. “What a psycho.”

As those words left my lips. I heard a knock.

“Come in,” I grumbled.

My mom peeked through the door, all smiles and sunshine. “Well? Isn’t this place stunning?”

I sat up with a sarcastic grin. “Yeah. Love the gothic murder energy.”

“Oh, Melanie.” She walked in and sat beside me. “Give it a chance. Federico’s been so kind, and this could be a good fresh start for us.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Except for your future stepson pointing a gun at me and threatening murder. Love that welcome package.”

Her face softened. “Dante… is difficult.”

Then she added. “He lost his mom at a young age. Federico told me he hasn’t healed.”

I snorted. “Figures.”

She stood and smoothed my hair like I was still ten. “Wear something nice for dinner tonight, okay? Let’s make a good impression.”

“Fine,” I said, half-smiling. “I’ll try not to curse in front of the cutlery.”

When she left, I lay back again, eyes on the ceiling.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Dante.

His voice. His eyes—the tension in them.

Ugh. What was wrong with me?

To distract myself, I decided to explore a little, hoping to get lost in some marble hallway and disappear forever.

Somewhere between the east wing and Narnia, I ended up in a garage the size of a damn airplane hangar.

There were cars of every model lined up in there. Motorcycles of every kind.

One power bike caught my eye. It looked exactly like the one my dad used to drive.

I stepped toward it, fingers grazing the leather seat. God, the nostalgia. I hopped on the bike and during that moment, I heard a hoarse voice.

“Why don’t you stay on your side of the house?”

I turned and my eyes landed on Dante. I glared at him, This time I wasn’t going to keep my mouth shut.

I turned slowly. “Why don’t you try not being an asshole for five seconds?”

I heard a low, amused chuckle. Then he stepped into the light. Dante’s eyes glistened like they actually did. I swallowed so hard.

“I like sharp mouths,” he said. “Makes it more fun when I shut them.”

I smirked. “Try me.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He was walking now. Slowly. Like a lion circling its prey. “You’re going to regret speaking to me like that.”

“What’s the worst you can do?” I tilted my chin. “Glare me into submission?”

He was in front of me now. I was still on the bike, my fingers gripping the handlebars, pretending my knees weren’t trembling.

He leaned in. Then he wrapped his hands lightly but firmly around my neck

I tensed, my breath catching in my throat.

He pulled out his gun again, letting the cool steel press against the underside of my jaw.

“Remember this,” he whispered. “You talk big. But you’re just a scared little girl with no idea what this world really is.”

My heart thundered. But I didn’t flinch.

He laughed darkly. “Girls like you can’t survive in Città dei re.”

I gulped, and he seemed to notice. Fuck! I was such a weakling and I hated it.

When he pulled back. I felt my heartbeat normalize.

“You’re not allowed near this garage. Not near this bike. Not near me.”

He started walking off again.

I jumped off the bike, heat burning in my cheeks, fists clenched.

“I have every right to be in this house. I’m going to be your sister.”

He stopped, then turned just enough to let me see that cocky smirk twist his lips.

“I will never let that happen.”

Then he walked away and just like that, I hated him almost as much as I was intrigued.