Chapter 7
Emilia
T he kitchen's marble countertops gleamed in the evening light, reflecting the sunset that painted the sky outside in shades of pink and gold. I moved through the familiar space with practiced ease, gathering what I needed for my evening tea – a ritual that usually helped calm my nerves.
Usually being the operative word.
Tonight, every shadow made me jump, every footstep in the hallway sent my pulse racing.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clinking of a spoon against porcelain. The tea I was making had long since stopped steaming, but I kept stirring it anyway, letting the repetitive motion calm my nerves. The house was too still, the kind of silence that made you hyper aware of every creak and shuffle. It didn’t help that I knew he was here, somewhere in the house, waiting.
Dante.
The name alone sent a ripple of something I couldn’t quite name down my spine. Frustration? Fear? Intrigue? Probably all three. I didn’t want to think about him, but his presence was impossible to ignore. It was like he carried his own gravity, pulling everything—and everyone—into his orbit whether they wanted to be there or not.
The sound of footsteps behind me made me freeze. They were deliberate, unhurried, the kind of footsteps that didn’t belong to someone who had anything to prove. My pulse quickened even before I turned around.
"Chamomile?" Dante's voice was low, touched with amusement. "How...predictable."
I sighed, abandoning the spoon and reaching for the tea bag to toss it in the trash. The tea was ruined anyway, steeped too long and bitter. Just like my mood.
“Is this how you always make tea?” He leaned against the doorway. His dark eyes flicked to the counter, where the abandoned tea sat, before returning to me. “Because if it is, I’m starting to question your taste.”
I scowled, turning back to the counter to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“And yet, here I am giving it anyway.” His voice was closer now, the deep timbre of it sending a shiver down my spine. I didn’t have to look to know he was standing behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my back.
“What do you want, Dante?” I asked, keeping my tone as steady as I could manage. “Shouldn’t you be in my father’s office, talking about...whatever it is you came here for?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached around me, his arm brushing mine as he grabbed the kettle from the stove. The movement was deliberate, his proximity suffocating. My breath hitched as I felt his chest graze my shoulder, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a net.
“You’re making it wrong,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm as he set the kettle down and opened a cupboard. “Loose-leaf tea is better. And you’re supposed to boil the water first.”
I turned to glare at him, but the words died in my throat when I realized just how close he was. His dark eyes met mine, and for a moment, the air between us felt charged, like the seconds before a thunderstorm. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
“I didn’t realize you were such a tea expert,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
He smirked, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. “I’m full of surprises, Emilia. You however I think i’ve got you figured out”
The way he said my name made the heat pool low in my stomach. I stepped back to put some distance between us. But the counter was behind me, and there was nowhere to go. He didn’t move, his smirk deepening as if he enjoyed watching me squirm.
His hand brushed against mine as he reached for the tea jar, and I hated the way my skin burned at the contact. I watched his hands as he measured out the tea leaves with precise movements, noting the expensive watch on his wrist. Not the one I'd stolen, I noticed. This one was even more impressive.
“Pretty bird in a gilded cage. Isn’t that how you see yourself?”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “Stop assuming you know anything about me.”
“Assuming?” He tilted his head slightly, a slow smirk curving his lips, though his eyes remained sharp, unrelenting. “I don’t assume. I only speak to what I’ve seen.”
He stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until the heat of him coiled around me. “And what I’ve seen,” he murmured, his voice soft but cutting, “is a girl who was born into a world that would chew her up and spit her out without a second thought. A girl who walks through it with her eyes half-closed, as if she doesn’t see the wolves circling her.”
My stomach twisted, but I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as his words scraped against something raw inside me.
“You sneak out of this house,” he continued, his tone dropping lower, more intimate, “like it’s a game. Like there aren’t men out there who would do far worse than just kill you if they caught you.”
My pulse thundered in my ears, but I refused to look away. “You don’t know anything about why I do what I do,” I said, my voice steady, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck .
His lips curved again, but this time there was no humor in it. Just something dark and knowing. “Don’t I?” His gaze flicked down, lingering on my lips for a moment too long, before dragging back up to meet my eyes. “I know you take risks that make no sense. Stealing from men who wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in you. For what? A thrill? To feel alive?”
Before I could respond, his hand rose, slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing along the line of my jaw. The touch was maddeningly light, but it burned all the same, sending a jolt through me I couldn’t hide.
“You have everything,” he said quietly, his thumb pausing just below my bottom lip. “And yet you throw yourself into danger, like none of it matters. Like you don’t matter.” His voice softened, the words sinking deep. “But you do, Emilia. Your life does matter. Even if you can’t see it.”
I swallowed hard, my breath catching as his thumb grazed the edge of my lip. “Then maybe you should stop pretending you’ve figured me out,” I said, my voice sharper now, though it wavered at the edges.
Dante didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on mine, unflinching, as if he could see straight through me. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally spoke—his tone infuriatingly calm, like I hadn’t just tried to push him away.
“You know,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the teacup on the table before returning to me, “you shouldn’t steep tea for longer than three minutes. Otherwise, it becomes bitter.”
"Like you?" The quip slipped out before I could stop it.
"Careful, princess. I'm being unusually patient with you."
His hand shot out, fingers brushing my hair as he tucked a loose strand behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, almost intimate, but there was nothing soft about the way he looked at me.
"Patient?" I turned my head slightly, immediately regretting it when I realized how close his face was to mine. "Is that what you call this?"
His eyes darkened dangerously. "Would you prefer I showed you impatience?"
The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the moment. I quickly stepped away from Dante, though the counter had left me nowhere to go. My father appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he took in the scene.
"Dante." He nodded in greeting. "I see you've found your way in."
"Your security needs work." Dante's tone was casual, but I caught the implied threat. He still hadn't moved away from me.
My father's eyes narrowed slightly. "Emilia, don't you have plans this evening?"
"Yes." I seized the excuse to escape, though my voice came out shakier than I'd like. "I'm meeting Adrianna. She's getting married to Michael next month, we’re planning."
"Salvatore's youngest?" My father was already turning away, clearly expecting Dante to follow. "Good match. Come, Dante, we have business to discuss."
But Dante didn't move. Instead, his hand came up to play with a strand of my hair, twirling it around his finger with deliberate slowness. "And who gave you permission to go there?"
The question caught me off guard. I turned to face him fully, anger flaring at his presumption. "I wasn't aware I needed permission."
His smile was dangerous as he wrapped my hair around his fist, using it to tilt my head back. The position forced me to look up at him, exposed and vulnerable. "Your father clearly never taught you proper manners."
"You don't deserve manners," I shot back, thinking of Mario's blood on my dress. "Not after the show you put on the boat."
"That's not how things work in my house." His grip tightened slightly, sending shivers down my spine.
"Good thing I don't live in your house then."
Something flashed in his eyes – triumph? Amusement? – before he released me suddenly. Without another word, he turned and followed my father toward the study, leaving me trembling against the counter.
The tea sat forgotten, probably bitter now from steeping too long. Again. I touched my neck where I could still feel the phantom pressure of his grip, the ghost of his breath against my skin.
"Fuck," I whispered to the empty kitchen. Because that's what this was – I was completely, utterly fucked.
The sun had fully set now, casting the kitchen in shadows that seemed to hold echoes of Dante's presence. I dumped the ruined tea down the sink, my hands still shaking slightly as I reached for my phone to text Adrianna.
Need a drink, I typed. Several drinks.
Her response was immediate: Everything ok?
No, I thought, remembering the way Dante's body had felt pressed against mine, the dangerous promise in his eyes when he'd pulled my hair. Everything was very much not okay.
Fine, I texted back. Just family stuff.
It wasn't exactly a lie. Dante wasn't family – thank God – but he was quickly becoming as inescapable as one. His presence seemed to fill every room he entered, lingering long after he'd gone like expensive cologne or gunpowder.
The sound of raised voices drifted from my father's study – not quite shouting, but heated enough to carry. I couldn't make out the words, but Dante's tone held that dangerous edge I'd come to recognize. The same edge that had preceded Mario's execution.
I should leave, go meet Adrianna and pretend this evening never happened. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though. My driver, a soldier trying to prove himself to my father, lingered just outside. He was supposed to guard me, but I couldn’t help but feel that he was more concerned about my father’s wrath than my safety.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Pretend I couldn't still feel the heat of Dante's body against mine, or the way his fingers had felt in my hair. Pretend I wasn't attracted to a man who killed as easily as he breathed.
Instead, I found myself making another cup of tea, this time following his instructions exactly. Thirty seconds after boiling, precise measurements, three minutes to steep. The result was...perfect, damn him. Smooth and fragrant without a hint of bitterness.
"Practicing your new skills?"
I nearly dropped the cup at the sound of his voice. Dante stood in the doorway again, his tie slightly loosened but otherwise looking as impeccable as ever. How did he move so quietly in those expensive shoes?
"Just testing a theory." I lifted the cup in mock salute. "Turns out you might actually know what you're talking about. Sometimes."
His laugh was low and dark. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
"Don't let it go to your head." I set the cup down, trying to ignore how he filled the doorway like a beautiful threat. "Don't you have business to discuss with my father?"
"Finished." He stepped into the kitchen, moving with that predatory grace that made my pulse jump. "For now."
The way he said 'for now' carried weights of meaning I wasn't sure I wanted to understand. I forced myself to hold his gaze as he approached, refusing to back away this time.
"Well then," I said, proud that my voice remained steady, "don't let me keep you."
He stopped inches away, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "What if I want you to keep me?"
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with possibilities. I could smell his cologne again, mixed with something darker – whiskey maybe, from whatever he'd been drinking with my father.
"What if I don’t want to keep you?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended, though the tremble at the edges betrayed me.
His smirk deepened, slow and deliberate, as his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from my face. "You’re lying."
I stiffened, glaring up at him. "You think you know everything, don’t you?"
"I know enough." His voice was calm, maddeningly confident, as his fingers lingered in my hair, twisting a strand between them. "Enough to know you don’t really want me to leave."
I forced a laugh, though it came out weaker than I’d hoped. "You’re insufferable."
"And you’re still a terrible liar," he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to tilt my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze burned into me, dark and unreadable. "Maybe one day you’ll admit it."
"Don’t hold your breath," I said, though the words felt hollow under the weight of his stare.
Something flickered in his expression—satisfaction or amusement—before he suddenly released me and stepped back. I stumbled slightly, catching myself against the counter as he turned toward the doorway.
I waited until I heard the front door close, until the sound of his car faded into the distance, before letting out the breath I'd been holding. My reflection in the window looked flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes too bright.
The tea had gone cold again, but I drank it anyway, letting the familiar taste ground me. It was perfect, just like he'd said it would be. Somehow, that felt like another victory for him – as if he needed any more.
My phone buzzed with another text from Adrianna: Still coming?
Yes, I replied, already heading upstairs to change. Because I needed to get out of this house, away from the lingering scent of Dante's cologne and the memory of his hands in my hair.
But as I slipped into a new dress, I couldn't help wondering if any distance would be enough to escape whatever game he was playing. Or worse – if I even wanted to escape it at all.