Chapter 11
Emilia
“S he said excuse me.”
The words sliced through the charged air, calm but carrying the weight of a threat. I froze, my breath catching as I turned to find Dante standing there. His expression was cold, carved from stone, and his dark eyes were locked onto Romero with a look sharp enough to cut.
The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The easy confidence Romero had displayed moments ago evaporated, his smirk faltering as unease flickered across his face. He straightened slightly, like a predator trying to convince itself it wasn’t suddenly the prey.
“Dante,” Romero said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice lost some of its usual smoothness, a slight edge of nervousness creeping in. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Dante replied, his tone calm, almost conversational, but laced with a menace that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. “But now that you do, I suggest you step away from Ms. Ricci.”
The air between them crackled with tension, the kind that made everyone else in the room feel a little smaller, a little more insignificant. Romero’s smile wavered, his hand twitching slightly at his side as if debating whether to stay or retreat.
For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke. Dante didn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene—his presence alone was enough to command the space. He stood tall, his tailored suit immaculate, his jaw tight, with the kind of authority that made it clear he wasn’t just asking. He was daring Romero to defy him.
Romero cleared his throat, his forced grin tightening. “Of course,” he said finally, taking a step back, though his gaze flicked to me one last time before he turned. “We’ll talk later, Emilia.”
“No, she won’t,” Dante said, his voice cold and final, cutting through the air like a blade.
Romero hesitated, his gaze darting between me and Dante. For a moment, I thought he might push back, but then he seemed to think better of it. With a forced laugh, he took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“Of course,” he said, his grin faltering. “I was just making conversation.”
“Conversation’s over,” Dante said, his voice like steel. “Leave.”
Romero’s smile vanished, and without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. The tension in my chest eased slightly, but my heart was still racing as I turned to face Dante.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice quieter now, unsure if I was thanking him for stepping in or for the strange sense of safety I suddenly felt in his presence.
Dante didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes scanning my face, slow and deliberate, as if searching for something I wasn’t sure I wanted him to find. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I expected, almost gentle. “Stai bene?"
Are you all right?
I nodded, though the trembling in my hands betrayed me. “I’m fine.” My voice didn’t sound as convincing as I’d hoped. I rubbed my wrist, wincing slightly as I felt the tender marks already forming beneath the surface. “I had it handled.”
“Clearly.” His tone was dry, but his hand settled on my lower back, warm and steady through the thin silk of my dress. “ Come with me.”
It wasn’t a request. Before I could protest, he was already steering me away from the bar, his grip firm but not forceful. As we moved, I could feel the weight of curious eyes following us, whispers rising like static in the background, but Dante didn’t seem to care—he never did. He guided me through a set of French doors that opened to a secluded garden terrace, the cool night air brushing against my heated skin.
The scent of jasmine lingered in the air, clinging to the vines that climbed the trellis surrounding us. Dante led me to a shadowy corner, where the party felt like it was a world away.
“Let me see,” he said softly, reaching for my wrist.
“It’s fine,” I replied quickly, instinctively pulling back.
But he wasn’t having it. Dante’s hand caught mine with surprising gentleness, his grip firm but not forceful as he turned my wrist toward the moonlight. The faint red marks left by Romero’s fingers stood out against my skin. His thumb brushed over them, the gesture almost tender, though his expression was anything but.
“No,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “It’s not fine.”
I swallowed hard but didn’t pull away. “Why does it matter to you?”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unrelenting. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“Tell you what?” I challenged, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “That one of my father’s associates is a creep? Welcome to my world, Dante. That’s practically a job requirement for some of them.”
His expression darkened at my words, his jaw tightening. “Has he touched you before?”
“Define touched.” My tone was flippant, but I immediately regretted it when I saw the way his eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Emilia.” He said my name like a warning, low and dangerous, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I said quickly, trying to dismiss it, but the words felt hollow even to me. I tried to pull my wrist back, but his grip tightened just enough to keep me still.
“Like you handled it tonight?” His tone was sharp now, cutting through my defenses like a blade.
The criticism stung, and I ripped my hand away, glaring up at him. “I don’t need your protection, Dante.”
“No?” He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me as I backed up against the trellis. “Then why did your pulse jump when I showed up?”
My breath hitched, my chest tightening as his words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I hated that he was right, hated how much he could see through me. “Maybe I was just surprised to see you at a party where no one got shot,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I felt.
His laugh startled me, low and genuine, warming the air between us. “The night’s still young, princess.”
The nickname made my jaw tighten, but before I could respond, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small and thin. At first, I thought it was a weapon, but then he held it up, and I realized it was a perfectly rolled joint.
“Seriously?” I asked, unable to hide the incredulity in my voice. “Dante Conti carries pre-rolled joints?”
He arched a brow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Dante Conti,” he said, mimicking my tone, “likes to be prepared. Want to find out what else I’m hiding?”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead, I found myself laughing quietly—a small, disbelieving sound that I hadn’t expected. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told,” he said, lighting the joint with a gold lighter that caught the gleam of mischief in his eyes. After taking a long drag, he held it out to me like a challenge. “Well?”
I hesitated, but his gaze didn’t waver, steady and full of something I couldn’t quite name. Finally, I took it, our fingers brushing for a brief second. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I hated how much I liked it.
The smoke was smooth, faintly sweet, and nothing like the harsh stuff I’d tried before. I handed it back to him, trying to ignore the way his lips wrapped around the same spot mine had touched.
“Impressed?” he asked, his voice lower now, more intimate, as if the rest of the world had disappeared.
“By your ability to source good weed?” I replied, forcing a smirk. “Hardly. I’m sure you have people for that.”
“I have people for everything,” he murmured, leaning in closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Except this.”
“This?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
Instead of answering, he took another slow drag, his gaze never leaving mine. His dark eyes glinted with something dangerous, something that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t want to name. Then, without warning, he leaned in even closer, the scent of smoke and his expensive cologne wrapping around me like a noose. His hand slid to the back of my neck, his fingers curling just enough to make my breath hitch.
Before I could pull away—or think better of it—he exhaled the smoke directly into my mouth, the gesture deliberate and intimate in a way that made my knees feel weak. The heat of his breath mingled with mine, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us, the space between us charged with something electric.
The intimacy of the moment made my head spin, and I wasn’t sure if it was the weed or the way his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. His thumb grazed the edge of my jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was testing how far he could push me. I swayed slightly, caught in the gravity of him, my body betraying me as I leaned closer instead of pulling away.
A low, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest, and his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that made my pulse thunder in my ears. His face was so close now that I could feel the heat of him, his lips just inches from mine. For a fleeting moment, I thought he might close the distance, and the thought alone sent a jolt through me—a mix of panic and something far more dangerous.
But before he could say anything—or before I could figure out whether I wanted him to—voices drifted toward us from the terrace, shattering the moment like glass. Dante stepped back smoothly, the movement almost lazy, but his hand lingered on my waist for a beat too long, his fingers pressing into the curve of my hip like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
“Careful, princess,” he said, his hand brushing against the small of my back, his breath warm against my ear. “You keep tempting fate.”
“Maybe fate should be afraid of me,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended, though it hadn’t been enough to drown out the way my pulse quickened under his gaze.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, slipping the joint into my hand, his fingers brushing against mine in a way that made my breath catch. “And stay away from Romero.”
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my skin still burned where he’d touched me. “Or what?” I asked, my voice steadier now, though my pulse betrayed me, racing like I’d just run a marathon.
His smile darkened, all predator now, his gaze trapping me in place as if daring me to defy him. "Or I'll have to show you what real danger looks like."
He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes trailing down to my lips as if he were considering breaking every unspoken rule between us. I felt the air shift, the tension almost unbearable, and I hated how my body responded to it—how I wanted him to close that distance, even if I knew it would destroy me.
But just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows, moving with the kind of grace that only someone like Dante could pull off. He left me standing there alone, my chest rising and falling too fast, the joint still clutched in my hand like some kind of evidence of what had just happened.
I stared after him, the echo of his touch still lingering on my skin, my thoughts spiraling in a million directions. I hated how he got under my skin, how he could unravel me with just a look, a word, a touch. And I hated that, deep down, some part of me didn’t want him to stop.
As I turned back toward the terrace, his words echoed in my mind, low and raspy, like a warning I couldn’t shake.
I'll have to show you what real danger looks like.
The memory of his dark, smoldering expression lingered long after he was gone, like a phantom touch that refused to fade.