Chapter 16
Dante
R ules.
I’ve lived my entire life by them.
Some were inherited—etched into my very DNA by my father’s iron fist and my mother’s whispered lessons about survival. Others, I created myself—a personal code to keep the chaos in check. Rules about control, about power, about never letting anyone see the cracks beneath the surface.
Control is everything. Without it, you’re a liability. A man without control is a man with a death wish.
And yet, here I was, gripping the steering wheel of my Aston Martin so tightly that I could feel the leather groan beneath my fingers. My jaw clenched, my pulse pounding in my ears, and all because of one kiss.
Her kiss.
Emilia Ricci.
The woman was a walking contradiction—sharp and soft, defiant and vulnerable, a perfect storm wrapped in silk and fire. She was everything I shouldn’t want, and yet, she was all I could think about.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye as I drove, my knuckles whitening against the wheel. She was staring out the window, her profile illuminated by the glow of the passing streetlights. Her lips were slightly parted, still swollen from where I’d kissed her.
No. From where she’d kissed me .
That kiss...
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
I’d spent years perfecting the art of control, of keeping my emotions locked away behind a wall of indifference. But the moment her lips touched mine, that wall had crumbled like it was made of sand.
I’d lost control.
And that terrified and infuriated me.
The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine, but the tension between us was deafening. I needed to get away from her, to put some distance between us before I did something even more reckless.
Like lay her down in the back seat and fuck her until the leather was slick with her arousal. My cock stirred thinking about that image.
I pulled into a plaza without thinking, the neon lights of a sandwich shop catching my eye. The rain had started, a light mist that blurred the windshield and softened the harsh glow of the signs.
“A sandwich?” Emilia’s voice broke the silence, laced with disbelief. “The great Diavlo needs a sandwich?”
I shot her a look, my lips twitching despite myself. “Even the devil needs to eat, princess.”
The devil.
The word rolled around in my head, sharp-edged and too familiar. It wasn’t the first time someone had called me that, but hearing it from her lips made it sound different—softer, almost teasing. In my world, the name carried weight, fear, and power, but the way she said it made me think she wasn’t afraid of me at all. And maybe that was the problem.
Her scoff was soft, barely audible, but I caught the faintest trace of amusement in her tone. “Didn’t peg you for the type to stop at a place like this. Thought you’d have a private chef or something.”
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head as I opened the door and stepped into the rain. “Usually, I do. But even the best chefs get a day off. And sometimes, simplicity is underrated.”
The truth was, I didn’t give a damn about the sandwich. I just needed the excuse—to breathe, to think, to get a grip on the chaos spiraling inside me.
Getting out of the car the rain hit my face like a shock of cold reality, grounding me for a moment. I inhaled deeply, letting the cool mist settle over my skin, a reprieve from the fire that had been burning in my chest since she stepped into my car earlier.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the way she’d said it. The devil. It wasn’t just a nickname. It was a reminder. A label I’d earned through years of calculated ruthlessness. A name whispered in fear by enemies and, sometimes, in awe by allies.
But when she said it, it wasn’t fear or awe. There was challenge in her voice, defiance sparkling in her dark eyes. And damn it, if it didn’t make me want to prove to her exactly why I’d earned the title.
I glanced back through the rain-streaked window. Emilia sat in the passenger seat, her arms folded across her chest, her lips pursed like she was trying to convince herself she didn’t care where we’d stopped. But I knew better. She was watching me. Even when she was trying to look unimpressed, her gaze followed my every move, like she was trying to figure me out.
And for some reason, that made me smile.
Pulling out my wallet I leaned back into the car, handing her my black card with a smirk. “Get me a turkey sandwich. No mayo. And don’t spend all my money in one place.”
Her eyes narrowed as she snatched the card from my hand. “You’re kidding?”
“You’re stalling,” I shot back, stepping away and closing the door before she could argue.
As she disappeared into the shop, I leaned against the car, letting the rain soak through my hair and cool the fire raging beneath my skin.
The kiss replayed in my mind, unbidden and relentless. The way her lips had felt against mine—soft, warm, and utterly consuming. The way her breath had hitched when I deepened it, her hands clutching at my jacket like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.
It wasn’t just the kiss itself that unsettled me. It was the way it made me feel.
Out of control.
I’d built my life on control—on discipline, precision, and the ability to outthink and outmaneuver anyone who dared to cross me. But with her...
With her, all of that went out the window.
Well, fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair, the rain slicking it back as I stared at the misty glow of the streetlights. She was dangerous, not because of who she was, but because of what she made me want.
And yet, the thought of walking away from her—of letting her slip through my fingers—was unbearable.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice her returning until she was standing in front of me, her arms crossed and her expression guarded.
“Here,” she said, holding out the sandwich wrapped in its crinkling paper.
I took it, but my attention was immediately drawn to her tense posture, the way her shoulders were hunched and her gaze darted toward the shop behind her.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly.
“Emilia.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, and I saw the hesitation there, the way her teeth worried her bottom lip. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”
I stepped closer, my free hand brushing against her arm. “Tell me.”
She hesitated for a moment longer before finally sighing. “The cashier...he made a comment. Something about how I could ‘pay another way’ if I didn’t have money.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, my grip tightening around the sandwich wrapper. “What did you say?”
“I told him to go to hell,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Can we just drop it? It’s not a big deal.”
But it was a big deal.
It was a fucking huge deal.
My jaw clenched as I processed her words, my vision narrowing as a cold, familiar rage settled over me.
“Stay here,” I said, handing her the sandwich, my voice low and steady, the calm before the storm.
“Dante—”
“Stay. Here.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I turned and strode toward the shop, the bell above the door jingling as I stepped inside.
The cashier—a lanky man with greasy hair and a name tag that read “James”—looked up from his phone, his bored expression morphing into one of confusion as he took me in.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone laced with indifference.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I stepped closer, my movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
“You made a comment to the woman who was just in here,” I said, my voice low and even. “What was it?”
James blinked, his confusion giving way to unease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
The words were quiet, yet they carried enough weight to make him flinch. My tone wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. It was the calm before the storm, and James could feel it brewing.
“I—look, man, it was a joke, okay? No harm meant.”
“No harm?” I repeated, my tone deceptively calm, tilting my head slightly as I studied him. “You think you can say whatever you want to women and call it a joke?”
James took a step back, his hands raised defensively. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear.”
“Swearing won’t save you.”
Before he could react, my hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the counter. The impact rattled the register, the sound echoing through the empty shop. James let out a strangled yelp, his wide eyes darting around as if someone might come to his rescue. No one would.
“You chose the wrong woman to harass,” I said, my voice cold and steady, each word cutting like a blade. “And now, you’re going to learn what happens when you cross a line.”
James stammered, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as panic overtook him. But I didn’t give him a chance to plead. My fist connected with his jaw, the force of the punch sending him sprawling to the floor.
He groaned, his hands fumbling weakly to shield himself, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
Every punch, every blow, was a release—a way to channel the storm of rage burning inside me.
This wasn’t just about James. It wasn’t even about his disgusting comments. This was about her . About Emilia. About the way she made me feel—vulnerable, exposed, and completely out of control.
By the time I stepped back, James was a crumpled heap on the floor, his face bloodied and bruised. He let out a weak groan, his body trembling as he tried to crawl away.
I loomed over him, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt with deliberate care, as if I hadn’t just beaten him into the floor. “Consider this your only warning,” I said, my voice low and final. “The next time you even think about disrespecting a woman, I won’t stop.”
James whimpered, nodding frantically, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I—I swear, man. I won’t. I swear.”
I turned away, my gaze scanning the shop. It was eerily quiet now, the sound of James’s labored breaths the only thing breaking the silence. My eyes landed on the security cameras mounted in the corners of the room, the little red lights blinking steadily.
Of course, there were cameras. Idiot.
I strode toward the counter, where the monitor and DVR sat tucked beneath the register. James watched me, his swollen face contorting in confusion as I crouched down and yanked the device free.
“W-what are you doing?” he slurred, his voice barely audible.
I shot him a dark look that made him immediately shrink back. “Cleaning up your mess,” I said flatly, holding the DVR in one hand as I scanned the shop for anything I might have missed.
James didn’t dare say another word.
I pulled the hard drive free and grabbed the bundle of tapes stacked beside it—backup recordings, no doubt. Tucking them under my arm, I straightened, giving James one more cold glance.
“If anyone asks,” I said, my tone calm but laced with warning, “this didn’t happen. Understand?”
He nodded weakly, blood smearing across his chin as he wiped at his face.
Satisfied, I turned and walked out of the shop, the hard drive and tapes tucked securely under my arm. The rain greeted me as I stepped outside, the cool droplets hitting my face and washing away some of the lingering heat from the encounter.
But even as I walked to my car, my mind wasn’t on James. It was on Emilia.
Her name lingered in my thoughts like a whisper, a shadow I couldn’t shake. She had no idea what kind of chaos she stirred inside me, the way she unraveled pieces of me I didn’t even know were loose.
Emilia was waiting by the car, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at me with wide eyes .
“Dante, what did you—”
“Get in the car,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument.
I opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I stared out at the rain. It wasn’t just James’s words that had set me off tonight. It was the thought of anyone thinking they could look at her that way, speak to her that way. She didn’t belong to them.
She belonged to me.
I exhaled sharply, trying to push the thought away, but it clung to me, wrapping itself around my mind like a vise. Emilia was a complication I didn’t need, a distraction I couldn’t afford.
But she was also mine.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.
She hesitated for a moment before finally climbing into the passenger seat. I slid into the driver’s seat, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I started the engine.
The drive was silent, the tension between us thick and suffocating.
But as I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, I knew one thing for certain.
She wasn’t just a distraction anymore.
She was an obsession.