Desired by the Dangerous Men
As if it were an illusion, or something her heart didn’t dare to accept.
“Dante,” she whispered, lifting her gaze slowly until it met mine. “Is this…?”
“My second tattoo, fiorellino,” I answered. Right after the family brand, I got that one—the one that showed who my heart belonged to, who had always owned it. My body, my mind—they belonged to the family, to the business. But my heart had always belonged to her.
“How long?” she asked, her voice fragile and soft, like it might shatter under the weight of the answer.
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