CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVENI sit at the kitchen island, watching Dante move around the space with surprising ease.He's cooking.Actually cooking.The almighty Dante De León, Lycan King, mafia lord, man who terrifies grown adults with a single look, is standing at a stove making dinner.He sent all the maids out about an hour ago. Told them he didn't want to be disturbed. That he'd handle the meal himself.And now here he is.Wearing ash-colored joggers that hang low on his hips. An apron tied around his waist. And nothing else.Nothing.His chest is bare. All muscle and bronze skin. His shoulders broad and defined. His arms flexing as he moves pots and stirs something that smells incredible.I try not to stare.I fail miserably.Because for some freaking reason, I cannot take my eyes off him.Maybe it's the domesticity of it. The way he looks so comfortable in the kitchen. So different from the violent, aggressive man I've seen before.Or maybe it's just that he looks really, really good
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