Chapter Eight
Adriana
The flickering glow of the TV screen casts dancing shadows across the living room. I’m curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over my legs, trying to lose myself in the movie. But my mind keeps drifting, unable to fully focus on the plot unfolding before me.
Heavy footsteps approach, and my pulse quickens. I know those steps.
Dante appears in the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame. His grey eyes lock onto me, intense and unreadable. I resist the urge to shrink back into the cushions.
“Adriana,” he says, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
“Welcome home,” I manage to reply, my own voice sounding small in comparison.
He shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over a nearby chair. The movement draws my eye to the gun holster visible beneath his crisp white shirt. A stark reminder of who he is, what he does.
To my surprise, Dante moves towards the couch. “What are you watching?” he asks, settling his large frame beside me.
“Oh, um, just some old movie,” I stammer, caught off guard by his proximity even though we sleep in the same bed almost every night. The scent of his cologne envelops me - spicy and masculine. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze shifting to the screen. We sit in silence for a few moments, the dialogue from the film the only sound between us. I’m hyper-aware of every inch where our bodies almost touch, electricity seeming to crackle in the narrow space.
“How was your day?” he asks suddenly, turning to face me. His eyes, dark and intense, search my face. “Did you make progress on your latest project?”
I blink, thrown by the casual question. It feels so…normal. As if we’re any other married couple.
“It was…fine,” I say hesitantly. “Quiet. I worked on my webtoon for most of it.”
“Tell me about it.” There’s genuine curiosity in his tone.
I pause, unsure how much to share. The unexpected interest catches me off guard. I find myself relaxing slightly, eager to discuss my passion. “It’s going well, actually. I finished the rough sketches for the next chapter today.”
“What’s this one about?” Dante asks, shifting to face me more fully. His knee brushes against mine, and I try to ignore the jolt it sends through me.
“Well, it’s a fantasy romance,” I explain, warming to the subject. “The main character is a princess who’s been cursed to turn into a dragon at night. She falls in love with a knight who’s been sent to slay her, not realizing they’re the same person.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at Dante’s lips. “Sounds intriguing. A story of forbidden love and hidden identities.”
I nod, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Exactly. It explores themes of acceptance and seeing beyond appearances.”
“And does the knight discover her secret?” Dante asks, leaning in slightly. His eyes are intent on my face, as if memorizing every detail.
“Eventually,” I say, feeling a flush creep up my neck at his scrutiny. “But not before a lot of misunderstandings and close calls.”
Dante chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm. It’s different to his usual cold demeanor. “Of course. It wouldn’t be much of a story without some conflict.”
I find myself smiling despite my lingering unease. “True. Though sometimes I wish I could just let them be happy right away.”
“But then your readers wouldn’t stay invested,” Dante points out. “The struggle is what makes the eventual happiness worth it.”
His words strike a chord, and I wonder if he’s still talking about my webtoon or if there’s a deeper meaning. Before I can ponder it further, he speaks again.
“How many readers do you have now?”
The question startles me. I didn’t realize he knew anything about my online presence. “Um, around fifty thousand,” I admit, a hint of pride coloring my tone. “It’s grown a lot in the past few months.”
Dante’s eyebrows rise, looking genuinely impressed. “That’s quite an accomplishment, Adriana. You should be proud.”
The praise warms me unexpectedly. “Thank you,” I reply, ducking my head slightly. “It’s been a lot of work, but I love doing it.”
“I can tell,” Dante says softly. His hand moves, coming to rest on my knee. The touch is gentle, almost tender, but it still sends my heart racing. “Your passion shines through when you talk about it.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. This softer side of Dante is unfamiliar territory, and I don’t know how to navigate it. Part of me wants to lean into his warmth, while another part screams to pull away.
“Will you show me some of your work sometime?” he asks, his thumb tracing small circles on my knee. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes my breath catch.
“You…you want to see it?” I stammer, caught off guard once again.
Dante nods, his grey eyes serious. “I’d like to understand this part of you better. If you’re willing to share it.”
The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep inside me. For a moment, I can almost forget who he is - what he is. In this quiet moment, he’s just a man showing interest in his wife’s passion.
“Okay,” I find myself agreeing. “I can show you some sketches tomorrow, if you’d like.”
A rare, genuine smile spreads across Dante’s face. It transforms his features, softening the hard edges and making him look younger. “I’d like that very much,” he says.
We lapse into silence again, but it feels different now. Less tense, more companionable. On the screen, the movie continues to play, but neither of us is really watching it anymore.
Dante’s hand remains on my knee, a warm weight that I’m becoming increasingly aware of. His thumb continues its gentle circles, each sweep sending tingles up my leg. I should pull away, I know. But I can’t bring myself to break this fragile moment of peace between us.
As the movie plays on, a sudden sharp pain lances through my abdomen. I stiffen, trying to hide my discomfort. But the cramps intensify, twisting my insides.
“Shit,” I think, realization dawning. My period. It’s early.
Panic rises in my throat as I glance down at my light-colored pants. No visible stains yet, but I can feel the telltale warmth spreading. My heart races. The couch. Dante’s expensive, pristine white couch.
I shift subtly, trying to assess the damage without drawing attention. Another cramp hits and I can’t help but wince.
Dante’s eyes flick to me, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” I lie, voice tight. I need to get up, but moving might make things worse. Sweat beads on my forehead as I frantically weigh my options.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, married to one of the most dangerous men in the city, and I’m terrified of a little blood on his furniture. But the thought of disappointing him, of being seen as weak or messy, makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
I take a shaky breath, steeling myself to stand. Maybe if I’m careful, I can make it to the bathroom without incident. But as I start to rise, a particularly vicious cramp doubles me over.
“Fuck,” I hiss, wrapping my arms around my midsection.
Dante’s hand is on my shoulder in an instant, his touch gentle. “What’s wrong?” His voice is low, urgent.
I can’t meet his eyes. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I mumble, “I… I’m having my period. It came early.” I brace myself for his disgust or irritation.
Instead, his grip on my shoulder softens. “Is that all?” There’s a hint of relief in his tone. " I thought you were hurt.”
I risk a glance up at him. His eyes hold no revulsion, only concern.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, shame coloring my words. “I didn’t mean to… I hope I haven’t stained anything.”
Dante shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Adriana, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s natural.” His hand moves to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “Tell me what you need.”
The tenderness in his touch, so at odds with his ruthless reputation, makes my breath catch. I lean into his hand, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability.
“I… I need to change,” I admit, wincing as another cramp hits. “And maybe some painkillers?”
Dante nods, already moving to stand. “Of course. Let’s get you comfortable.”
I shift on the couch, and my heart plummets. A small dark stain mars the light fabric beneath me. Panic claws at my throat. “Oh no!” I exclaim, horror-struck. “Dante, I’m so sorry. The couch—”
He follows my gaze, his brow furrowing. For a moment, I expect anger to flash in those dark grey eyes. Instead, he shrugs, his expression softening. “It’s just a couch, Adriana. Easily replaced.”
“But—” I start to protest, my voice trembling.
Dante cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. “I mean it. Don’t worry about it.” His hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I let him guide me up, his arm sliding around my waist as we move towards the bedroom. The closeness is… unexpected. Comforting. His body radiates heat, and I find myself leaning into him, grateful for the support as another cramp twists through me.
“Easy,” Dante softly says. We take the stairs slowly, his grip tightening whenever I wince.
I can’t help but marvel at this side of him – so different from the cold, ruthless man I first met.
“Thank you,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His lips quirk in a half-smile. “For what? Being a decent human being?”
“For not getting angry… for understanding,” I fumble, heat rising to my cheeks again.
We reach the bedroom door, and Dante pauses, his gaze intense as it meets mine. “You’re my wife, Adriana. Your comfort matters to me.”
The words send an unexpected jolt through me, mingling with the pain and embarrassment. I swallow hard, unsure how to respond to this glimpse of tenderness from a man I’ve feared.
Dante’s hand leaves my waist as he moves to the dresser. “Where do you keep your, uh… supplies?” he asks, hesitating only slightly.
“Bottom drawer,” I reply, sinking onto the edge of the bed. My insides feel like they’re twisting into knots. “The blue package.”
He retrieves the sanitary pads, then turns to the closet. “Pajamas? Panties?”
“Second shelf. The cotton ones with flamingos, please.”
As Dante gathers what I need, I can’t help but watch him. His movements are efficient, purposeful. It’s strange seeing those hands – hands I know have done terrible things – handling my most intimate items with such care.
He returns, setting everything on the bed beside me.
“Do you need help changing?” he asks.
I shake my head, feeling a rush of gratitude. “No, I can manage. But thank you, truly.”
Dante nods, then surprises me by pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Take your time. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
When the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath. My fingers trace where his lips touched, warmth blooming in my chest. This man, who terrified me not so long ago, now shows such unexpected kindness.
I change quickly, wincing at the mess but grateful for clean clothes. When I’m done, I call out softly, “Dante?”
He’s there in an instant, concern etched on his face. “Better?”
“Much,” I say, offering a small smile. “I thank you for being so understanding.”
I slide under the covers, my body still aching but my mind calmer. Dante joins me after he has taken a shower, his presence both comforting and electrifying. He reaches for me, and I allow myself to be drawn into his embrace.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I nod, nestling closer. “Yes. It… it helps with the cramps.”
His arms tighten around me, one hand resting protectively over my lower abdomen. The heat of his palm seeps through my pajamas, soothing the dull pain.
“Tell me if you need anything else,” Dante says, his voice a low rumble in his chest.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent - sandalwood and another scent that is uniquely him. “This is perfect,” I say.
We lie in silence for a moment, the only sound our synchronized breathing. I feel safe here, wrapped in his arms. It’s a jarring realization, considering who he is, what he does.
“Dante?” I venture, my voice barely audible.
“Hm?”
“Why are you being so… kind about all this?”
He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Because you’re mine, Adriana. Your comfort, your happiness - they matter to me.”
His words makes my heart flutter. There’s possessiveness there, yes, but also genuine care. I turn in his arms, facing him in the dim light.
“I’m starting to understand that,” I admit, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip.
Dante’s eyes darken, and he captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The tenderness of the gesture makes my heart skip.
“Goodnight,” I say.
“Goodnight,” Dante responds as he closes his eyes.