Chapter 2
Emilia
T onight the kitchen was a sanctuary of controlled chaos. Staff moved like clockwork, their whispers in Italian blending with the clatter of silverware and the hiss of steaming espresso machines. I leaned against the marble counter, the cool surface grounding me as I tried to catch my breath. My pulse was still racing, Dante’s voice echoing in my head like a dark melody I couldn’t shake.
Princess.
The way he said it—mocking, knowing, and yet laced with something that felt like a dare—made my skin crawl and heat all at once. It wasn’t the first time a man had tried to unnerve me, but Dante wasn’t just any man. He was a predator wearing a suit, and I was the prey who’d foolishly wandered too close.
But now, another fear wormed its way into my chest, he knew where I was last night. I foolishly thought I had gotten away with it.
But I hadn’t.
Taking the watch had been stupid, I knew that. But it wasn’t about the watch itself—it was about proving to myself that I could. That I wasn’t just Vincent Ricci’s daughter, bound by rules and expectations.
He hadn’t said anything yet, but it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Men like Dante didn’t keep secrets for free. Would he go straight to my father? Would he tell him I’d been out past midnight, drinking in the kind of places that would make him furious if he found out ?
My stomach churned at the thought of my father’s reaction. Vincent Ricci wasn’t a man who took disobedience lightly, not from his associates, not from his sons, and especially not from his daughter.
My father would ask where I’d gone, who I’d been with, and why I hadn’t thought to take one of his men with me. He’d remind me that I wasn’t just anyone—I was a Ricci. A name that carried weight, a name that came with expectations. Expectations I’d ignored the moment I slipped out the back gate.
And Dante—God, Diavlo—he wouldn’t hesitate to use it against me. Men like him never did. He’d sit there, calm and composed, telling my father everything with that smooth, detached voice of his. Not because he cared, but because he could. Because it would amuse him to see me squirm under my father’s wrath.
The thought made my skin prickle with heat and cold all at once.
“Signorina Emilia, are you all right?” Maria, the head chef, paused mid-stir, her kind eyes narrowing in concern.
“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just needed a moment.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and returned to her work, muttering something about the tiramisu needing more mascarpone.
I envied her focus, her ability to lose herself in something as simple as dessert. My own thoughts were a tangled mess.
Why had Dante come tonight? And why had his attention landed on me, of all people? I wasn’t even seated with the others—my father, my brothers, and the dozen associates who would have killed for a moment of his time. But his gaze still found me, sharp and unrelenting, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.
My fingers tightened against the edge of the counter as the memory of his eyes burned into me. Had he come to toy with me? To remind me that he’d seen me, that he knew ?
Or worse...was he waiting for the right moment to tell my father?
I could already picture it: Dante leaning back in his chair, calm and composed, his voice smooth as silk. “Did you know your daughter was out last night, Vincent? Alone. No guards, no protection. Imagine what could have happened.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the image from my mind, but the knot in my chest refused to loosen. I hated the way he made me feel—like a child caught in the act, waiting for their punishment. Like I was powerless, dangling on a string he could cut at any moment.
And yet, beneath the frustration and fear, there was something else. Something I didn’t want to name.
“More wine?” Maria asked, holding up a fresh bottle and already reaching for my glass.
“Yes,” I said quickly, shoving the thoughts away. “Please.”
As she poured, I tried to focus on the hum of the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of the staff moving around me. But Dante’s voice lingered, low and mocking, in the back of my mind.
Princess.
I hated him for saying it, hated how it made my skin burn and my chest tighten. But mostly, I hated that he had the power to unravel me with a single word.
And if he told my father what he knew?
I was in trouble.
I reached for the wine glass, my hands trembling slightly as I took a sip. The cool liquid did little to calm the fire still simmering beneath my skin.
Footsteps in the hallway made me freeze. The steady, measured pace was too deliberate to be one of the staff.
“Running away already?” His voice drifted toward me, smooth and dark, laced with that dangerous amusement that made my skin prickle. “And here I thought we were just starting to get along.”
I turned slowly, my fingers tightening around the stem of the wine glass I’d brought with me. Dante leaned casually against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin below his sharp jawline. There was something maddeningly casual about his posture—like he wasn’t just standing there, but owning the entire room.
He was tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome in a way that felt entirely unfair. The kind of handsome that demanded attention, that left you fumbling for words even when you wanted to hate him. And I did want to hate him, if only to drown out the way my pulse quickened every time he got too close.
“I wasn’t running,” I said evenly, setting my glass down on the counter with deliberate care. “I just needed some air.”
A contemplative noise rumbled low in his throat, paired with a small, deliberate nod. He stepped into the kitchen, and the atmosphere shifted instantly, the staff scattering like startled birds.
The whir of the espresso machine and the faint clink of silverware being washed in the distance were the only sounds left.
“Air,” he repeated, rolling the word across his tongue like he wasn’t sure he believed me. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk of his—the one that made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once. “Funny, I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Why would I avoid you?” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. “We’ve barely met.”
“True,” he conceded, his gaze dropping briefly to my hands before returning to my face. “But I get the impression you don’t like being cornered.”
The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on me. “I’m not cornered.”
“Aren’t you? ”
He moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. I held my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat, even as my pulse betrayed me, thundering in my ears. Retreating in front of men like Dante was just as good as surrendering.
“Is there something I can help you with Dante?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended. “Or do you always make a habit of following women into kitchens?”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich, like the first sip of a good whiskey—smooth, intoxicating, and far too easy to get lost in. The warm timbre of it curled around me, settling beneath my skin in ways I didn’t want to admit.
He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastating, the kind of man who could unnerve you with a single glance. His sharp jawline, the faint stubble that framed it, the slight looseness of his tie—it all worked together to create a disarming mix of power and allure. It wasn’t fair how someone so dangerous could look so effortlessly handsome.
I hated how my body betrayed me, my pulse quickening at the way his dark eyes seemed to drink me in, as if he could see right through the layers I’d spent years perfecting. The heat of his gaze was suffocating, but it was the kind you didn’t want to escape from.
“Only the interesting ones,” he said, his voice rich with amusement, though his eyes stayed locked on mine, as if daring me to look away.
I hated the way my stomach flipped at his words, hated the way his presence seemed to wrap around me like a second skin. But most of all, I hated the way my body responded to him, no matter how much I told myself it shouldn’t.
Dante leaned casually against the counter, his posture deceptively relaxed. But there was nothing relaxed about the way his eyes pinned me in place. They were dark, fathomless, and they seemed to see straight through me, peeling back layers I wasn’t ready to share.
I narrowed my eyes, trying not to notice the way his sleeves were rolled back just enough to expose strong forearms. “You’re wasting your time,” I said, my voice steady despite the heat prickling at the back of my neck. “I’m not one of your business deals to dissect and figure out.”
His smirk deepened, maddeningly confident. “Oh, I know you’re not a business deal, Emilia. You’re...something else entirely.”
The way he said my name sent a shiver up my spine, his voice curling around it like smoke. My pulse throbbed harder, and I silently cursed myself for the way his words coiled tight in my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, tilting my chin up in defiance, even as the air between us grew heavier, more charged.
The air between us was taut, humming with an energy I didn’t want to name. He moved closer, deliberate and unhurried, until the space around me felt impossibly small.. He was magnetic, suffocating, pulling my thoughts in directions I couldn’t control.
“It means you’re not as untouchable as you’d like to believe,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp.
I swallowed hard, my composure slipping. “Big words coming from someone who clearly enjoys cornering me.”
“That’s the thing.” He tilted his head, studiying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “I don’t think you mind as much as you want me to believe.”
His words struck like a match, igniting something I didn’t want to name. My heart was pounding now, wild and erratic, and I hated how right he sounded.
“I’m not interested,” I said, rolling my eyes, even as my voice wavered slightly, betraying me.
His smile softened, becoming something almost genuine. “You’re a terrible liar.”
My breath caught, and I hated him even more for the way his words sent a flush creeping up my neck. I forced a laugh, though it came out strained. “You’re awfully confident for someone who doesn’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he said simply, his eyes locked on mine in a way that made my chest tighten.
That threw me off guard. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how to respond, and I hated the way my silence gave him the upper hand.
“Are you done?” I snapped, desperate to regain control. “Because if this is your idea of flirting, you’re terrible at it.”
His grin widened, and somehow, it managed to be even more irritatingly attractive. “You think this is flirting?”
“You tell me,” I shot back, crossing my arms again, though the motion did little to shield me from the weight of his gaze.
“Have many men flirted with you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I shrugged, throwing my hair over my shoulder acting more unbothered than I felt.
Something flashed across his face before he set the cup down with a soft clink.
“Maybe I just like getting under your skin.”
“Well, congratulations,” I snapped. “Mission accomplished.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick, charged with something I didn’t want to name. His eyes lingered on mine, and I hated how I couldn’t look away—how the pull of him was so strong it felt like gravity itself.
I turned away, desperate to break the spell he seemed to have over me. “You should leave,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t want him to. I brushed past him toward the door, “I have better things to do than entertain your ego.”
Before I could escape, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist with a grip that was firm but not painful. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I froze, my breath hitching as I turned to face him.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave .
I tried to yank my arm free, ignoring the way my skin burned where he’d touched me. “I’m not the one playing games, Dante.”
His grip tightened fractionally. "No games with me, princess. Just curiosity about the girl who dares to steal from a man like me."
"I gave everything back." The defense sounded weak even to my ears.
"Did you?" His other hand slid down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Then why do I feel significantly lighter since our encounter at the bar?"
I forced a laugh, trying to ignore how his proximity made it hard to think. "Maybe you should check your pockets more carefully."
"Oh, I'm very careful." He shifted closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "About everything."
The threat in those words was clear, but instead of fear, I felt a thrill of defiance. "Are you? Because from what I hear, your last fiancée might disagree."
His grip on my arm tightened fractionally, just enough to remind me of the power he held without crossing the line into pain. The storm in his expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought I’d finally pushed him too far.
Then, with deliberate slowness, his hand slid upward, his fingers brushing along my arm before finding my jaw. The movement was unhurried, maddeningly controlled, and it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
For a long moment, his hand stayed where it was, thumb trailing along my jaw in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I hated the way my body reacted to him, how my breath hitched even as my pride demanded I hold his gaze.
"You think you're brave," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade. "But you're just foolish. You throw accusations like a child throwing stones, hoping one of them will shatter a window."
His words were calm, measured, but his grip on my chin tightened just enough to remind me of the power he held.
"Maybe I am foolish," I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "But I notice you still haven’t answered my question."
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Because you’re asking the wrong one."
I frowned, my heart pounding in my chest. He leaned in closer, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me—not out of desire, but as a way to prove a point. His breath was warm against my cheek, carrying that intoxicating mix of spice and smoke.
“You should be more careful about the questions you ask, Emilia,” he murmured, his tone dropping into something darker. “Especially regarding things you know nothing about."
I swallowed hard, my defiance faltering for just a second. The weight of his words pressed against me, heavy and suffocating, but I refused to let him see the fear creeping into my chest.
"Then explain it to me." The words came out as a challenge rather than the plea they should have been. "Why does everyone say you left her to die?"
His eyes swept over my face, and for the first time, I thought I saw something flicker there—something I couldn’t place. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same cold, unrelenting mask he always wore.
"Believe what you like," he said finally, releasing my chin with a deliberate slowness that made me shiver. "It won’t change the truth."
The absence of his touch was almost worse than the weight of it, leaving me standing there, trying to remember how to breathe.
"You should get back to the party," he said, his tone neutral again. "Before they come looking for you." He released my arm, but ran his eyes up and down my body as if inspecting me for marks. Evidence of our encounter.
When I brushed past him toward the door, his fingers brushed my wrist—a touch so brief it shouldn’t have made my breath hitch, but it did. I didn’t look back, even as his voice followed me, low and amused.
"Emilia."
I froze, halfway down the hallway but didn't turn around. "What?"
"I think you're forgetting something."
My heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"My watch."
"You know," I said, keeping my tone deliberately light as I turned around, "for someone of your...status, I expected something more impressive." The lie rolled easily off my tongue – the Patek Philippe was worth more than most people's annual salary.
Dante's eyes shined dangerously as he studied me, stepping forward, and invading my space again. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm." I forced myself to hold his gaze, the proximity of him had his fingers brushing mine...deliberately? "Rather pedestrian, really. Almost not worth the effort."
His laugh was low and dark, sending shivers down my spine. "I told you once, you’re a terrible liar."
I shrugged, feigning indifference, though I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against my skin. Turning on my heel, I muttered my final words as I walked away.
"And you’re an asshole."
I didn’t look back, but I could hear him chuckling softly, feel his eyes on me like a brand, until I rounded the corner. My heart pounded a rhythm that felt dangerously like excitement rather than fear.
Later that evening, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his words echoed in my mind, intertwining with the memory of his touch and the dark promise in his eyes.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to win—or lose.