All Chapters of The Don's Forbidden Claim: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I couldn’t breathe with Dante standing so close, his eyes burning into mine like he could see every dirty thought I was trying to bury.The realization hit me harder than the gunshot still ringing in my head: part of me didn’t want to leave this penthouse. Not tonight. Maybe not at all. That truth scared me more than the blood on his cuff or the danger lurking downstairs.“You’re staying,” he repeated, voice low and final, like the decision had already been made and I was just catching up. His broad frame blocked the door, shoulders tense under the black shirt, the faint outline of his holster visible. At forty-six, he carried power the way other men carried grudges—quiet, heavy, impossible to ignore.My hands shook as I clutched my phone tighter. “You can’t just decide that for me. I have a life. Friends. Enzo—” The name tasted wrong now, like ash in my mouth. My boyfriend. The guy I’d planned to give everything to tonight. Instead, I was trapped in his father’s suite, my skin still

The window rattled harder, the shadow outside pressing against the sheer curtain like a ghost trying to break through.My heart slammed into my throat. I stumbled back from the balcony door, phone still clutched in my sweaty palm, the mysterious text about Dante’s “file” burning in my mind. Someone was out there—on the 42nd floor. How? This was supposed to be Dante’s fortress.“Essa?” Dante’s voice carried from the living room, sharp and alert. Footsteps headed my way fast.I wanted to scream for him, but fear glued my tongue. The intruder’s silhouette shifted, gloved hand testing the lock. Another rattle. Then a faint click—like a tool working the mechanism.Run. But where? The only way out was through Dante or straight into whoever wanted me dead. My core desire clawed at me—to feel safe, loved, in control after all the betrayals. Yet here I was, trapped between my boyfriend’s unstable world and his father’s dangerous one, my body still humming from Dante’s earlier touch.The bedroo

I woke to the smell of coffee and the distant murmur of Dante's voice through the bedroom door.For a disoriented second, I didn't know where I was. The sheets were too soft, the pillows too expensive, the light slanting through the curtains too golden for my cheap apartment with its perpetually stuck window. Then memory crashed back—the shattered glass, the blood on Dante's cuff, the weight of the knife in my palm. The text I'd sent to an unknown enemy before collapsing into exhausted sleep.I want proof. Send me the Valentine's photos. If Dante's lying, I'll meet you in person.I sat up fast, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. No new messages. The screen glowed empty, which felt somehow worse than a threat. They were thinking. Planning. Which meant I needed to be faster.The clock read 7:14 a.m. I'd slept through the rest of the night without waking once—a miracle after everything. Or maybe not a miracle. Maybe my body had finally surrendered to the safety of Dante's penthouse

The pier at noon was a skeleton of itself.In summer, this place would be crowded with tourists and fishermen, the air thick with salt and fried dough. But now, under a gray November sky, it was abandoned — wooden planks bleached by weather, seagulls huddled against the cold, the water beneath black and restless.I walked alone, just as the unknown texter had demanded.My boots echoed on the weathered boards. Wind whipped my hair across my face, and I pulled my coat tighter, fingers brushing the small device clipped inside my sleeve — a panic button wired to Dante's phone. He was close. Closer than the texter knew.Come alone or I disappear and the photos go public.The message had arrived again at dawn. Same unknown number. Same threat. But this time, I'd answered differently.Noon. The pier. I'll be there. I have what you want.What they wanted was proof I'd turn on Dante. What I was bringing was a trap of my own.The pier stretched ahead, empty except for a single figure standing a