Chapter 17
Dahlia
T he drive is encrypted, triple-locked and hidden.
Dante checked it twice after I checked it twice for tampering, trace signatures, or even ghostware embedded by Vesper. We don’t want what happened with the collar to happen again.
Now we’re in the bedroom, stripped down to skin and silence.
No cuffs. No masks. No roles.
Just the slow glide of his thumb along my spine as I curl into his chest.
He doesn’t speak, but his body says everything. The way he holds me—like I’m precious. Like I’m breakable. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
I feel that too.
The weight of what we’ve done. What we’re becoming.
The shift in us isn’t loud or fireworks or declarations. It’s smaller than that. Slower. The way he pulls the blanket over me like I’m the single light in his obsidian universe. The way his hand never leaves mine.
“You okay?” he asks finally, voice like gravel and night.
I start to nod, then pause. “No.”
He shifts to look at me, brows furrowed.
“I’m not okay, Dante,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what happens next. But I know what just happened back there. I know what I felt when I saw your face waiting for me. When I ran toward you like you were home. It… scares me.”
Something in him softens, then breaks. He leans in. Kisses me like he’s starving.
And then we’re kissing again, slower this time. No games. Just mouths and hands and need.
I climb into his lap, straddling him. Letting him in inch by inch.
He groans, like the feel of me might undo him. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers into my neck. “Dahlia. Goddess.”
My heart lurches. It’s the first time he’s called me that.
I hold his face, eyes stinging. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making me slide deeper than I want to.”
He grips my hips tighter. Breath shallow. “Maybe I want you to.”
I ride him slowly, tenderly. Letting the ache between us melt into something sweeter. Every thrust a declaration neither of us can vocalize yet.
When I come, it’s with his name against my lips like a lullaby.
And when he follows, it’s with a broken sound I’ve never heard from him before.
Like surrender.
Dante
She’s asleep against my chest, one hand curled against my ribs like she trusts me not to disappear.
God help me, I don’t deserve this girl.
I don’t deserve her laugh, her fire, the way she tears into code and danger like it’s foreplay. The way she takes every part of me, even the ones I’ve spent years hiding.
And now I’m terrified.
Because I’ve given her everything. My secrets. My revenge. My soul.
I brush a kiss into her hair and whisper, “What the fuck are we doing, little thief?”
She stirs. Eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. “Winning.”
I laugh, low and hoarse. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Her voice is soft. “And when it’s over, maybe I’ll let you keep me.”
I should tell her not to say that. Should remind her that we made a deal. Thirty days. No more.
But the words die in my throat. Because I don’t want thirty days anymore.
I want forever .
And that scares me more than the Vesper Syndicate ever did.
Dahlia
The sound of Dante’s breathing anchors me as I stare at the ceiling.
I can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking about what we’ve done—what we’re about to do.
One final infiltration. One last hit before we vanish for good.
His fingers are still laced with mine, even in sleep.
I turn my head to look at him. Just look.
His beautiful eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, lashes darker and longer than should be legal. He looks… at peace. Boyish, almost.
After the time I’ve spent with him, I know he doesn’t get that often. Never lets himself rest. And maybe that’s why I know something’s wrong.
Because that kind of peace doesn’t last long in our world. Not when people like the Vesper Syndicate are wounded but not dead.
The knock on the door is soft. Three taps.
My heart jerks.
Dante shoots up, instantly alert. “Stay here.”
“Like hell I will,” I whisper, already grabbing my shirt.
He’s out of bed and armed in seconds, gun drawn, shoulders coiled tight as wire. I follow barefoot, adrenaline washing the sleep from my veins.
We reach the hallway together.
Another knock. Then a voice—quiet. Half-familiar.
“Mr. O’Driscoll,” comes Solomon’s voice. One of Dante’s hackers. Trusted but verified. Repeatedly. “It’s urgent.”
Dante lowers the weapon but doesn’t holster it. “What is it?”
Solomon doesn’t look at me when he steps in. Just hands Dante a sleek tablet with shaking fingers.
“I decrypted the data. It’s worse than we thought.”
Dante taps the screen, scrolling rapidly. His expression sharpens with every word.
“Is that…” I step closer.
Dante nods slowly. Then exhales like the air just turned toxic.
“The basement was the tip of the iceberg,” he says quietly. “From what you harvested, it looks like they’re building something. A biometric database. Surveillance profiles. Everyone who’s ever logged in, ever stepped through the doors of The Gilded Cage. Then…” He stops. Flinches.
“Dante—”
“A spiderweb of every contact, and their contact. It goes fucking on.”
I step back, cold all over. “My father…”
Dante looks at me then, and there’s something brutal in his stillness. Not calculation. Not strategy. Something older. Fiercer.
“I already moved him,” he says, voice low. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to spook you. But I had him pulled out the second I saw the first wave of Vesper data come in.”
My knees nearly buckle with relief. “You—what?”
“He’s safe. New name. Clean trail. No digital footprint. Only three people know where he is, and I’m one of them.”
“Thank you, but… more secrets, Dante?”
He steps closer. Eyes locked on mine. “I swore to protect you. That includes the people you love.”
The tears come fast. Hot. Messy. I swipe at them with the back of my hand, but Dante is already there, cupping my face.
“I know I’ve fucked up by not telling you sooner,” he says, softer now.
“But this part? Where safety comes first? I meant it. I’d burn the world before I let anything happen to you.
Or those you love.” His thumb brushes under my eye, slow and firm.
“And you don’t have to like every move I make, Dahlia.
But you will accept that sometimes I’ll act without your permission. ”
My breath catches. “Dante?—”
“Tell me why that is, little thief.”
My breath shakes my soul. “Because you’re my Sir?”
His head tilts. “Is that a question?”
“You’re my Sir.”
“Good girl. And too fucking right.”
I take a breath, scared of the upheaval. The want . “Why?”
His eyes burn. Sears. “Because I love you.”
Bare. Raw. Powerful.
The words hit like impact trauma—no warning, no softening. My breath stutters. My lips part, but nothing comes out. Just heat behind my eyes, and the thunder of my pulse.
I wasn’t ready. I didn’t expect it. Not ever. But…even if a molecule dared to contemplate it—not like this. Not when we’re standing in the ashes of what we thought we could control.
He watches me—like a man waiting for a verdict. Like my silence might kill him.
I step forward, just an inch. Maybe it’s enough, maybe it isn’t.
“I love you, Dahlia,” he repeats.
Dante
She’s going to leave me.
I see it in the shift of her eyes. The way she inhales, sharp and pained. Not because she doesn’t feel something—but because she does . Because she’s brilliant enough to read between the silences. To see what I tried—and failed—to bury.
I could probably fuck her into forgetting the last five minutes. Into forgetting my love. Into obedience. But Dahlia Wynn doesn’t forget. She doesn’t yield unless it’s on her terms.
And now I’ve shown her the one thing I swore never to give anyone again.
My heart.
She looks at me like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
Like maybe she wishes I hadn’t handed it over.
Like she’s already halfway out the door.
And maybe I should let her go. Maybe it would be the right thing.
The decent thing. To release her from the danger, from me, before I pull her so far under she can’t find her way back.
But I can’t do it. I can’t watch her walk out of my life, not when I’ve already imagined a thousand ways to keep her in it.
The silence between us is brutal.
Unforgiving.
The kind of silence that tears at the seams of a man already unraveling.
“I know you want to run,” I say, voice raw. “Hell, maybe you should .”
Her lips part again, but I press on.
“But I need you to understand something, Dahlia. This thing between us—it’s not just sex. Not just power. Somewhere along the way, I stopped playing the game. I stopped pretending.”
I look her dead in the eye. “I love you,” I repeat, hoarse. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to. But I do.”
Her mouth opens. A beat of stunned silence.
But before she can speak?—
The lights go out.
And a second later, the world explodes .
The blast rocks the street outside, a white-hot roar that sends us both diving to the floor as the windows blow inward and the air fills with fire and rubble.