Chapter Eleven
Adriana
I slip the red silk over my skin, the fabric soft against my body. The dress hugs my curves, its simplicity a deliberate choice.
Dante’s invitation this morning still echoes in my mind - his voice low and intimate as he leaned in close before leaving for work. “Be ready at eight, cara. I’m taking you out tonight.”
The mirror reflects a woman I almost don’t recognize - elegant, poised, a far cry from the webtoon artist hunched over her drawing table. I take a steadying breath, willing my speeding heart to slow. This is just dinner with my husband. So why does it feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den?
I step out of the bedroom, my heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the floor. Dante stands in the foyer, cutting an imposing figure in his tailored suit. His eyes darken as they rake over me, hunger and possessiveness warring in their depths.
“Bellissima,” he says, voice like rough velvet. “You look exquisite.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. “Thank you,” I manage, taking in the sight of him. Despite everything, my traitorous body responds to his presence - the broad shoulders, the strong jaw, the predatory grace with which he moves. At thirty-nine, he’s more handsome than men a decade younger.
Dante extends his hand, and I place mine in his larger one. His thumb traces idle patterns on my skin, sending shivers up my arm. “Shall we, cara?” he asks, leading me towards the door.
While we walk, I can’t help but marvel at how my perception of him has shifted. The man I first met on our engagement night - cold, calculating, terrifying - has become someone I find myself drawn to more with each passing day. It’s a realization that both excites and unsettles me.
“You seem deep in thought,” Dante observes, his keen gaze missing nothing.
I offer a small smile. “Just… reflecting on how much has changed. How much I’ve changed.”
Something flashes in his eyes - pride? Satisfaction? Before I can decipher it, he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Change isn’t always a bad thing, Adriana,” he says softly.
We step out into the night and into the car. I watch the neon-lit world blur past, my fingers absently tracing patterns on the seat as the car glides through the city. Dante’s hand rests possessively on my thigh, a constant reminder of his presence.
“Where are we going?” I ask, curiosity winning the best of me.
A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Patience cara, we’ll soon be there.”
I turn my attention back to watching the night streets. Twenty-minutes later, we pull up to a discreet entrance, no gaudy signs or flashy valet stands. Just a simple door with an attentive doorman who nods respectfully as we approach. “Mr. and Mrs. Rossi,” he greets, opening the door.
The restaurant interior hits me like a wave - soft lighting, the gentle clink of crystal, hushed conversations. Rich wood paneling and deep red accents create an intimate atmosphere. A ma?tre d’ appears, bowing slightly.
“Your usual table, Mr. Rossi?”
Dante nods, his hand on the small of my back as we’re led through the dining room. I feel eyes on us, curious glances quickly averted when Dante’s gaze sweeps the room. We’re seated in a secluded alcove, partially hidden by a curved wall.
“What do you think?” Dante asks once we settle in.
I offer a small smile. “It’s beautiful. Intimate. Not what I expected.”
A hint of a smile plays at his lips. “And what did you expect, cara?”
I hesitate, not wanting to offend. “Something more… ostentatious, I suppose.”
He chuckles, a low sound that sends warmth through me. “I prefer subtlety. True power doesn’t need to shout.”
A waiter materializes, pouring wine with practiced ease. As he recites the specials, I study Dante’s face in the candlelight. The sharp planes of his cheekbones, the intensity of his gaze - how can someone so dangerous be so captivating?
When we’re alone again, I gather my courage. “Dante,” I say softly, “I realized… I don’t know much about you..other than gist of who you are. What were you like as a boy?”
There is a flash in his eyes - pain? Nostalgia? It’s gone before I can grasp it.
“Curious tonight, aren’t we?” he says, his tone light but with an edge of warning.
I press on, determined. “I’d like to know you better. What did you enjoy doing?”
Dante is silent for a long moment, swirling the wine in his glass. When he speaks, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I used to…”
I lean in, captivated by this rare glimpse of vulnerability.
“I used to cook with my mother,” Dante continues, his eyes distant. “She’d lift me onto a stool, let me stir the sauce. I dreamed of being a chef one day.”
The image of a young Dante, flour on his cheeks, catches me off guard. I can’t suppress a smile. “A chef? Really?”
He nods, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”
“Not at all,” I say, emboldened. “You should cook for me sometime.”
Dante’s eyes lock onto mine, intense and unreadable. “Perhaps I will.”
A pang of guilt hits me as I remember why he no longer cooks with his mother. “I’m sorry about your parents,” I offer softly. “It must have been difficult.”
He stiffens slightly, but nods. “Thank you, Adriana.”
Just then, our food arrives, steam rising from perfectly plated dishes. As we eat, the conversation stays light, but I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between us. A door cracked open, revealing glimpses of the man behind the underboss.
I find myself laughing at a story about his first attempt at tiramisu when I sense a presence behind me.
Dante’s jaw clenches, his eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder. I turn, my heart thundering as I see him.
Lorenzo De Luca.
He stalks towards our table, a predatory gleam in his eye. The air crackles with tension as he and Dante lock gazes.
My fingers tremble as I reach for my wine glass, desperate for something to ground me. I can feel the shift in Dante, gone is the man who joked about tiramisu. In his place sits a stone-cold killer, eyes glittering with calculated menace.
“Well, well,” Lorenzo drawls, his voice dripping with false warmth. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Lorenzo,” Dante says, his voice calm and controlled. “I don’t recall inviting you to join us.”
Lorenzo’s lips curl into a sneer. “Come now, Dante. Surely there’s room at the table for an old friend?”
“Friend?” Dante scoffs, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the tablecloth. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I feel myself shrinking in my seat, the air thick with unspoken threats. A flicker of movement catches my eye. Enzo materializes from the shadows, his face set in grim determination as he positions himself near our table. Ready to protect us. The sight of him should be reassuring, but it only hammers home how precarious this situation is.
Lorenzo’s gaze flicks to me seeming unbothered by Enzo’s appearance. His cold gaze giving me the creeps. “And who’s this lovely creature?”
Before I can speak, Dante cuts in. “My wife. And none of your concern.”
“Oh, but everything about the Rossis is my concern,” Lorenzo says, his expression turning frosty. “After all, we can’t have usurpers thinking they run this city, can we?”
My eyes widen in surprise. Usurpers? What does he mean? I look at Dante, searching for answers, but his face is an impenetrable mask.
Dante’s jaw tightens. “Careful, De Luca. You’re treading on thin ice.”
Lorenzo takes a step forward, and I can’t help but flinch. The air around him seems to darken, a tangible aura of menace that makes my skin crawl. I hold my breath tightly in my lungs, and I find myself pressing closer to Dante, seeking his warmth and strength.
“Ice?” Lorenzo laughs, a harsh sound that sets me on edge. “Oh, Dante. You have no idea what’s coming.”
My mind races, trying to piece together the subtext of their exchange. What history lies between these two men?
“Is that a threat?” Dante’s voice is deceptively calm, but I can feel the tension coiled in his muscles.
Lorenzo’s grin is all teeth. “Consider it a promise.”
I brace myself, certain that violence is about to erupt. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. I glance towards Enzo, silently pleading for him to intervene.
Dante’s hand finds mine under the table, his grip firm and reassuring. I cling to it like a lifeline as he leans forward, his voice turning deadly.
“You forget your place, Lorenzo. This city, these streets - they belong to the Rossis. Always have, always will.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrow, a sinister smile playing on his lips. “For now, perhaps. But times change, old friend. And so do loyalties.”
My stomach churns as the full weight of the situation crashes over me. I’m trapped between two titans, powerless and exposed. The elegant restaurant fades away, leaving only this bubble of tension and unspoken threats.
“Adriana,” Dante says, his eyes never leaving Lorenzo’s face. “Why don’t you step outside for a moment? Get some air.”
It’s not a suggestion. I nod, my legs trembling as I stand. Lorenzo’s gaze follows me, piercing and calculating. I feel stripped bare under his scrutiny.
“Such a lovely wife you’ve found, Dante,” Lorenzo purrs. “It would be a shame if anything were to happen to her.”
Bile rises in my throat. I want to run, to scream, to beg Dante to take me far away from here. Instead, I force myself to walk calmly towards the exit, feeling their eyes boring into my back with every step.
I pause when I hear Dante’s voice. It’s ice-cold and lethal. “Threaten her again, and I’ll paint these walls with your blood.”
My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm that drowns out everything else. I’ve never heard Dante speak like this before, never seen this side of him. It both terrifies and thrills me.
Lorenzo chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. “Always so protective, Dante. But remember, in our world, no one is truly safe.”
I turn back, unable to resist. Lorenzo is backing away, hands raised in mock surrender. But his eyes… they linger on me, a promise of future confrontations.
“Until we meet again,” he says, tipping an invisible hat. Then he’s gone, leaving only a chill in his wake.
Dante is at my side in an instant, his arm wrapping around my waist. “Are you alright, cara mia?”
I lean into him, seeking comfort in his warmth. “Can we leave? Please? I… I’ve lost my appetite.”
He nods, pressing a kiss to my temple. Outside, the cool night air hits my face, and I gulp it down greedily. Dante guides me to the car, his hand never leaving the small of my back. As we slide into the backseat, I catch a glimpse of Enzo in the rearview mirror, his eyes alert and scanning our surroundings.
“Take us home,” Dante orders, his voice low and tight.
As we ride back home, I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something much bigger, much more dangerous.