Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bianca
When we get home, I leave him alone.
Not because I want to. The look on his face in the car—dark and distant—tells me he needs space to process whatever happened tonight with Matteo and the drunk man.
I change out of the black dress, wash the casino smoke from my hair, try not to think about the way he beat that man. And the way I reacted. I wasn’t scared, not one bit, because I knew Dante’s anger wasn’t directed at me, it was for me. And it softened my heart towards him even more.
An hour passes. Then two.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore.
I find him in his office, sitting in the leather chair behind his desk. The room is dark except for a single lamp casting shadows across his face.
There's a glass of whisky on the desk in front of him, which startles me.
It’s full, clearly untouched. But what’s it doing there?
I raise a confused brow. "Dante?"
He doesn't look up. Just stares at the amber liquid like it holds answers he's afraid to find.
"Why do you have that if you're not going to drink it?"
"I like the smell." His voice is quiet. Hollow. "Reminds me of my father's office. When I was a kid, I'd fall asleep on the couch while he worked. The smell of whisky and leather and old books."
I step closer. "But you never drink."
"No." His eyes hardens.
"Because of your mother."
His jaw tightens. "She drank herself to death after my father's scandal. Vodka, mostly. Sometimes wine. She'd hide bottles in the garden, in closets, under the bathroom sink. Thought no one knew."
"But you knew."
"I always knew." He finally looks at me, and the pain in his eyes steals my breath away. "I came home one night and found her on the bathroom floor. Empty bottle beside her. She was still breathing, but barely. I held her while we waited for the ambulance."
My throat closes.
"She died three days later. Liver failure." He picks up the glass, brings it close. "I held her hand while she died. She smelled like vodka and the grin fucking reaper."
"Dante—"
"That's why I can't stand the smell of alcohol on a woman's breath. It drags me back to that day, that bathroom. To watching her die because she couldn't handle the shame my father brought to our family."
The confession hangs between us, raw and bleeding.
"The man at the casino," I say softly. "He reminded you of her."
"He reminded me of everything I hate. Weakness. Self-destruction. Using alcohol as an excuse to hurt the people around you, loved one or not."
I cross to him, take the glass from his hand, and set it aside. "You're not weak, Dante. And neither was she."
"She gave up."
"She was in pain." I kneel in front of his chair, force him to look at me. "Sometimes pain is louder than love. That doesn't make her weak. It makes her human."
His hand comes up to cup my face. "You're too good for this world."
"I'm really not." I smile softly.
"You are." He pulls me up into his lap, and this time there's no violence in the way he holds me. Just need. "You make me believe things can be different."
I kiss him. Slow and soft and careful, like he might break.
He responds with the same gentleness, his hands moving over me like he's memorizing every curve. When he carries me to the couch, it's with a reverence that makes my chest ache.
This time is different. Slower. Less about claiming and more about connecting.
When we're both breathless and tangled together afterward, he speaks against my hair.
"Matteo gave me a warning tonight."
I go still. "What kind of warning?"
"He said if I marry you, it makes the family look weak. Our partners won't accept it—a capo marrying an escort who's been with men in our circles."
My heart aches. "So w-what does that mean?"
"It means Caterina offered him a deal. Leave you, marry her instead, and she stays quiet about your past."
My heart drops. "And what did he say?"
"He told her that he'd think about it, so he could speak with me and give me the chance to handle it myself, if I can. He's giving me two weeks to fix the situation."
"Fix it how?"
"I have no idea yet." He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a small black box. Opens it.
The ring inside is beautiful. Simple. A single diamond on a platinum band that catches the lamplight.
He places it in my hand. Not on my finger. In my palm, like a promise waiting to be kept.
"I'm not accepting Caterina's terms," he says quietly. "I'm not marrying her. I'm not letting this scandal dictate the end of us."
"Dante—"
"I know what I'm risking. I know what it could cost me. But I'm done making decisions based on other people's expectations."
I stare at the ring, feeling its weight. "You're really willing to lose everything for me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"I want to hear you say it." I look up at him. "Remember our bet? You said if I won, you'd answer one question honestly. No deflection, no clever avoidance."
His eyes narrow. "That's what you're using it for?"
"Yes." I close my hand around the ring. "Tell me how you really feel about me. The truth, Dante. Not strategy, not convenience. The truth."
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then something in his expression cracks open.
"I'm in love with you." The words come out rough. Raw. "I didn't want to be. Didn't even fucking plan on it. But somewhere between your first day in my house and now, you became the only thing that matters to me."
My breath catches.
"You make me want things I thought I'd buried with my mother. Family. Home. Someone who sees the worst parts of me and stays anyway." His hand tightens on my hip. "So yes, I'm willing to lose everything for you. Because losing you would be worse."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare at this dangerous man who just gave me his heart.
"Say something," he whispers.
I kiss him instead.
Because some things don't need words.