Desired by the Dangerous Men
“You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, Lilliana,” Dante reassured me, standing in his tuxedo, looking far too delicious to be saying that on my wedding day.
“But everything is settled,” I said, trying not to smear too much of my makeup as I cried uncontrollably. “Why doesn’t he love me, Dante?” A sob tore through me.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and dark—practically a command.
“What?” I asked, looking up at the stoic, dangerous man in front of me.
“Come with me,” he repeated, holding out his hand. “I’ll make sure everything goes away, fiorellino.”
I looked down at his hand, at the tattoos swirling around his fingers. And even though a hand like Dante Gal
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