Chapter 15
Emilia
T he office had never felt so suffocating.
The rhythmic hum of the air conditioning, the faint tapping of keyboards, and the occasional murmur of conversation usually faded into the background, a white noise that allowed me to focus on the endless stream of numbers and reports in front of me. But today, it was different.
Today, Dante was here.
He wasn’t saying anything. He hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived that morning, striding into the office like he owned the place, his dark suit tailored to perfection and his expression as unreadable as ever. But his presence was impossible to ignore.
He was seated at the corner of the room, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his phone in hand, scrolling through whatever it was that occupied men like him.
I pondered that and wondered what he did on his phone. Scroll social media? Swipe right on tinder? I didn’t want to admit what that thought did to me.
Occasionally, he’d glance up, his dark eyes flicking toward me with a weight that made my skin prickle.
It infuriated me—the way he could shift the focus of an entire room without lifting a finger. The way my pulse betrayed me, quickening every time I felt his gaze. And the way he made me feel exposed, like every movement, every breath, was being studied under a microscope.
The forensic accountant Dante had hired was seated at the desk across from mine, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he worked through the financial records. He was a wiry man in his late forties, with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses that constantly slid down the bridge of his nose. He barely looked up from his screen, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
I envied him.
Because while he was buried in spreadsheets and data, I was acutely aware of every shift, every breath, every glance from the man sitting just a few feet away.
“Miss Ricci,” the accountant said, his voice breaking the silence. “Do you have the records from last quarter? I need to cross-check something.”
“Of course,” I said, grateful for the distraction. I stood and walked over to the filing cabinet, pulling open the drawer and rifling through the folders. I found the right one and handed it to the accountant, offering him a tight smile before returning to my desk. But as I sat down, the sound of footsteps made me freeze.
Dante was moving.
I didn’t look up, but I could feel him approaching, his presence growing heavier with each step. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, laced with that infuriating edge of amusement.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to turn around. “I’m working, Dante.”
“Good to see you’re not wasting company time,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe me.
Before I could respond, the door to the office opened, and the familiar sound of the UPS delivery driver’s voice filled the room.
“Morning, Miss Ricci,” he said, his tone cheerful as he walked in with a stack of packages.
I looked up, grateful for the distraction getting out of my chair and hurrying to the front to grab the mail. “Morning, Eric. Busy day?”
“Always,” he said with a grin, setting the packages down on the counter. “But seeing you makes it worth it.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re such a flatterer. Also you know to just call me Emilia.”
“Only for you, Emilia” he said, winking as he handed me the clipboard to sign.
The exchange was harmless, lighthearted banter that broke up the monotony of the day. But as I handed the clipboard back to Eric, I heard it—the deliberate clearing of a throat.
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room shifted, growing heavier, more charged. Eric’s easy smile faltered, his gaze darting over my shoulder before quickly returning to me.
“Well, I’d better get going,” he said, his voice a little too bright. “Lots of packages to deliver.”
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile as he turned and practically bolted from the room.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with Dante.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something I couldn’t quite name—something dark and dangerous that made my pulse race.
“Do you always flirt with the delivery guy on company time?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
I bristled, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s called being polite, Dante. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
His lips curved into a faint smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Polite? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What’s your problem?” I demanded, my frustration bubbling over. “Eric is just a nice guy doing his job. Not that it’s any of your business. ”
Dante took a deliberate step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. The air between us felt charged, the kind of tension that made it impossible to breathe evenly, let alone think clearly. His smirk was gone now, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous, and it made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to name.
“My problem,” he said, his voice low and measured, “is that you seem to think you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, without any regard for the consequences.”
II stepped closer to him, unwilling to let him loom over me any longer. “Consequences?” I snapped, the word sharp and cutting. “For what? Making small talk with the UPS guy? You’re unbelievable.”
His dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath a warm whisper against my cheek.
“Do you think I didn’t notice?” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. “The way you smiled at him, the way you tilted your head just so. You’re walking a fine line, Emilia. And you don’t even see how far the fall is.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “You’re insane,” I said, though the words came out weaker than I’d intended. “Eric is just a delivery driver. He’s harmless.”
Dante’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like a predator baring its teeth. “Harmless?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Is that what you tell yourself? That men like him don’t notice the way you look at them? The way you...invite their attention?”
Anger flared in my chest, though it was hard to tell if it was directed at him or at myself for the flicker of uncertainty his words sparked. “I’m not inviting anything,” I snapped, my voice rising. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business,” he said, his voice dangerously soft, like a blade sliding between ribs. His dark eyes bore into mine, unrelenting. “A lesser man would kill that delivery driver just for looking at you the way he did.”
I blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in his tone, the sharpness in his words. “Are you listening to yourself right now?” I shot back, my voice trembling slightly. “You’re being ridiculous.”
His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a warning. “Am I? You don’t understand the kind of attention you attract, Emilia.” His voice dropped further, low and intimate, making my skin prickle. “You smile at the wrong man, tilt your head just right, and suddenly, he thinks he has a chance. That’s how it starts.”
“And how does it end?” I asked, my throat dry, even as I tilted my chin defiantly.
“With me,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “It always ends with me.” His dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, some part of me knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. Eric’s harmless flirtation had been just that—harmless—but in our world, even the smallest misstep could ripple outward in ways I couldn’t predict.
“You’re overreacting,” I said finally, though the defiance in my voice felt hollow. “Eric isn’t a threat. He’s just...nice.”
Dante’s jaw tightened, his grip on the desk flexing slightly. “Nice doesn’t mean safe, Emilia. And you’d do well to remember that.”
I hated the way my name sounded on his lips—like a warning, like a promise. I hated the way he made me feel, like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t control. And most of all, I hated that some part of me didn’t want him to stop.
“Are we done here?” I asked, my tone sharper than I felt. “Because I have work to do.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at me, his dark eyes boring into mine as if he could see every thought, every secret I tried to bury. Then, slowly, he straightened, stepping back just enough to let me breathe again.
“We’re done,” he said, his tone clipped. “For now.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. The tension that had been suffocating the room didn’t leave with him; it lingered, thick and heavy, wrapping around me like a second skin.
I sank back into my chair, my legs trembling beneath me, and let out a shaky breath. My pulse was still racing, and my hands, clutching the edge of the desk, wouldn’t stop trembling.
I hated the way he made me feel, the way his words lingered in my mind like a command I couldn’t ignore. The jealousy in his tone, the possessiveness in his gaze—it should have made me furious. It did make me furious. And yet…
Yet, it also made my stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
I knew I should have been repulsed by him, by the way he had loomed over me, by the way he had spoken as if I belonged to him. But instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had gripped the desk beside me, caging me in without ever touching me. The sheer force of his presence was intoxicating, overwhelming, and it left me wanting more even as I tried to convince myself I didn’t.
Dante was tall, dark, and handsome in the most maddening way possible. Everything about him—from the sharp cut of his jaw to the cold glint in his eyes—radiated danger. And yet, it wasn’t just his looks that made him impossible to ignore.
It was the way he commanded a room, the way his voice could drop to a low, deliberate whisper that made my skin prickle. It was the way he looked at me, like It was the way he looked at me, like he already owned me, yet still wanted more.. It was the way his jealousy burned so hot, so unrestrained, that it left me breathless .
And God help me, I liked it.
Hours later, when the workday finally ended, I gathered my things and headed for the door, eager to escape the suffocating tension of the office. But as I stepped outside, I found Dante waiting for me, leaning casually against a sleek black Aston Martin DBX.
Of course.
“I already have a ride,” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Not tonight,” he said, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “Get in.”
I hesitated, my gaze flicking to the car and then back to him. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And because your father would skin me alive if I left and let anything happen to you.”
I rolled my eyes but climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against my skin. Dante slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life as he pulled out onto the street.
The silence between us was thick, the air heavy with unspoken words. I stared out the window, watching the city blur past, but I couldn’t ignore the way my body tensed every time he shifted gears, the way his presence filled the confined space.
“It’s beautiful,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “The car, I mean.”
Dante glanced at me, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You like it?”
I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “It’s nice. I’ve always wanted to drive myself places, but...well, you know how that goes.”
His smirk faded, replaced by something softer, almost thoughtful. “Maybe one day.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my skirt. The tension between us was suffocating, and I hated the way it made my heart race, the way it made me hyper aware of every breath, every movement.
“So,” Dante said after a moment, his tone casual but laced with something darker. “You and the delivery guy. Should I be worried?”
I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. “This again?”
He smirked, his gaze fixed on the road. “You heard me. Should I be worried about your little...romance?”
“There is no romance,” I snapped, my cheeks heating. “And even if there were, it’s none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And I’d hate to have to inform your father about your...extracurricular activities.”
My jaw dropped, a mix of anger and disbelief surging through me. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he said, his smirk widening.
I glared at him, my hands curling into fists. “You’re what, forty and going to be a tattle tale?”
“Forty? I hope I look this good at Forty.”
“Fifty?”
He rolled his eyes. “You know I’m thirty five, and you’re avoiding the question” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That there’s nothing between you and the delivery guy.”
I stared at him, my pulse racing as I tried to process his words. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he said, his gaze flicking to me briefly before returning to the road. “But you’re not denying it.”
“Fine,” I said, my voice trembling with frustration. We had stopped at a redlight. “You want proof? Here’s your proof.”
Before I could think better of it, the words barely out of my mouth, I leaned across the center console, closing the space between us, and reached up, my fingers brushing his jawline. His skin was warm, his stubble rough beneath my fingertips. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head slightly, as if curious to see what I would do next.
His eyes darkened, the faint smirk slipping from his lips as my hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down toward me. For a moment, I thought he might resist, might push me back and regain the upper hand he always seemed to have.
But he didn’t.
His breath mingled with mine, warm and steady, as I brought his face to mine. And then, before I could second-guess myself, I pressed my lips to his.
The kiss was anything but soft. It was sharp, electric, and overwhelming, like stepping too close to a flame. He raised his hand, gripping my waist, and his fingers curled slightly as if trying to decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.
For a moment, the world fell away—the tension, the danger, the constant push and pull between us. All that mattered was the heat of his mouth, the way his lips moved against mine with a controlled hunger that made my knees weak.
When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, my chest heaving as I tried to steady myself. His forehead rested against mine for the briefest of moments, and I could feel the tension coiled in him, the restraint he was barely holding onto.
“Dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his breath fanning across my face. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe I do.”
I sat back on the seat before I could do it again.
The kiss was impulsive, reckless—a fleeting moment of contact that sent a jolt of electricity through me. His lips were warm, firm, and devastatingly soft, and the heat of him seemed to ignite something deep in my chest.
But it was brief. Too brief. My breath came in short, uneven gasps, and my fingers gripped the edge of the seat like it was the only thing keeping me grounded .
“Satisfied?” I said, my voice shaky, barely above a whisper.
Dante didn’t respond right away. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes locked onto mine like he was trying to decipher something hidden deep inside me. The car felt impossibly small, the air thick with a tension that almost crackled.
Then, slowly, a smirk curved his lips, but there was something different about it—something darker, more dangerous.
“Not even close,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping against silk.
Before I could process his words, before I could react, Dante moved.
In one smooth motion, he reached across the console, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. The sudden contact sent a shiver down my spine, and I barely had time to draw in a breath before his lips crashed against mine.
This kiss wasn’t like the first. This wasn’t brief, hesitant, or fleeting. This was something else entirely—demanding, consuming, and utterly overwhelming. His lips moved against mine with a confidence that left no room for doubt, his other hand finding my waist and pulling me closer until there was only the console between us.
I let out a soft gasp, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss in a way that made my head spin. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxing, exploring, and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The world outside the car disappeared entirely, the only thing anchoring me to reality was the feel of his hands on me, the taste of him, the way he kissed me like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.
My hands moved before I could stop them, one gripping his jacket while the other slid up to his shoulder, desperate for something to hold onto. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a wildfire, spreading through me, leaving nothing untouched.
I didn’t want to stop .
But then reality came crashing back in, cold and unrelenting, and I forced myself to pull away, breaking the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. My lips felt swollen, my skin flushed, and my heart was racing so fast it felt like it might give out.
Dante didn’t let go right away. His hand lingered on my neck, his thumb brushing against the curve of my jaw as his dark eyes bored into mine. His breathing was just as uneven as mine, his lips slightly parted, and I hated how good he looked—how good he felt. Someone honked from behind us and I noticed the light had turned green.
“Now I’m satisfied,” he said, his voice husky and smug, but there was something more beneath it. Something raw.
I couldn’t speak. Words felt impossible, my mind too foggy to string together a coherent sentence. Instead, I jerked back into my seat, my hands trembling as I pressed them against my thighs in a vain attempt to steady myself.
The rest of the drive was silent, the air between us thick with tension that felt impossible to cut. I stared out the window, refusing to look at him, but I could feel his gaze flicking toward me every so often, and it sent another shiver down my spine.
I was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.