Chapter 19
Dante
T he car’s engine purred beneath me, a steady, muted growl that matched the restless energy coiled tight in my chest. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a slow, deliberate rhythm meant to distract me from the view in front of me. It wasn’t working.
She was standing in the boutique’s window, her reflection caught in the full-length mirror as she turned slightly, inspecting the dress she’d chosen. The pale blue fabric clung to her like sin, shimmering under the soft lights and emphasizing every curve, every dip, every line of her body. It was a modest dress, by most standards—elegant, even. But on her? It was a goddamn weapon.
I shifted in my seat, the leather creaking faintly beneath me as I tried to redirect my thoughts. It didn’t help. Not when she kept smoothing her hands down the sides of the dress, her palms brushing over her hips in a way that made my mouth go dry. The dress was fine—perfect, even—for whatever the hell a bridal shower was. But all I could think about was how much better she’d look in something else. Something slinkier. Silk, maybe. Something that would drape over her body like water and leave nothing to the imagination.
What were those dresses called? The ones that looked like they were made for sin?? I’d have to ask one of my brothers’ flings. They’d know. Whatever it was called, it was designed to make men lose their goddamn minds. And on her? It would be lethal .
Hell, I’d probably have to kill everyone who so much as glanced at her in it.
She turned slightly, her profile catching the light, and her gaze flicked toward the window. Toward me. Our eyes met, just for a moment, and I saw the faintest flicker of something in her expression—something that made my grip on the wheel tighten. She turned away just as quickly, but it was too late. The damage was done. My pulse was already pounding in my ears, and the image of her in that dress was seared into my brain.
I leaned back in my seat, dragging a hand through my hair as I exhaled slowly. This was getting out of hand. She was getting out of hand. And the worst part? She didn’t even realize it. She had no idea what she was doing to me, standing there in that dress, her lips curving into the faintest smile as the boutique attendant fussed over her. No idea how many times I’d had to remind myself that she was off-limits. Untouchable. Forbidden.
And yet, here I was. Watching her like a goddamn predator, my thoughts far from innocent and my self-control hanging by a thread.
Sometimes I like being bad.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder, breaking the dangerous spiral of my thoughts. I grabbed it without looking at the screen, swiping to answer as I brought it to my ear.
“What?” I barked, my tone sharper than I intended.
“Nice to talk to you too, brother,” Luca’s voice drawled on the other end, his tone laced with amusement. “Let me guess—she’s driving you insane already?”
I glanced back toward the boutique, my jaw tightening as I watched her laugh at something the attendant said. “You have no idea.”
Luca chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Oh, I think I do. You’ve got that tone in your voice. The one that says you’re two seconds away from doing something stupid.”
“Like what?” I shot back, my voice low. “Killing someone? Or worse?”
“Worse,” Luca said, his amusement growing. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The silence was enough.
“Jesus, Dante,” Luca said, his tone softening just slightly. “You know this is a bad idea, right?”
“Don’t start,” I warned, my grip tightening on the phone. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender—or at least, I assumed he was. “But out of curiosity...what’s she wearing?”
I hesitated, my gaze flicking back to her as she turned toward the mirror again, the dress shifting with her movements. “Something blue. Fancy. Like she’s going to prom or something.”
“Prom?” Luca repeated, laughing. “What the hell kind of bridal shower is this?”
“Don’t ask me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know what a bridal shower is.”
“It’s like a pre-wedding party for women,” Luca explained, his voice smug with the satisfaction of knowing something I didn’t. “They give the bride gifts, drink champagne, gossip about the groom. That kind of thing.”
I grunted, unimpressed. “Sounds pointless.”
“Most things are, brother,” Luca replied, his tone light. “But I doubt you’re calling it pointless while you’re sitting there watching her.”
I didn’t reply, my jaw tightening as I glanced toward the boutique again. She was still standing in front of the mirror, the blue dress shimmering as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A boutique attendant fluttered around her like a moth to a flame, fussing with the hem and smoothing out invisible wrinkles.
“She’s wearing something…” I paused, searching for the words. “Thin. Clingy. It’s one of those dresses that shouldn’t work for something high-class. On the wrong person, it would lo ok cheap. But on her…” I trailed off, my throat tightening.
“But on her,” Luca prompted, his voice full of amusement.
I exhaled sharply, my jaw flexing. “It looks elegant. She makes it elegant.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “What kind of dress are we talking about? Be specific, brother. I need to picture it.”
“It’s silk,” I said before I could stop myself. “Thin straps. It clings in all the right places.” And then, quieter, almost to myself, “All the wrong places.”
Luca let out a low whistle. “I think I know what you’re talking about. What’s it called…?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, frustrated. “It’s one of those dresses that looks like lingerie.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then I heard Luca’s voice muffled as he spoke to someone else. “Hey, babe—what’s the name of those dresses that look like lingerie? You know, the ones made of silk?”
I froze, my grip tightening on the phone. “Are you seriously asking one of your Tinder hookups right now?”
“Why not?” Luca replied, completely unfazed. “She’s here.”
“Another one?” I muttered, shaking my head. “Do you ever take a break?”
“Not when they keep swiping right,” he shot back, smug as ever. Then, muffled again, “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks, babe.”
He came back on the line, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Slip dress. You’re welcome.”
I didn’t respond, my mind already racing with the image of Emilia in that dress. The way the silk draped over her curves, the way the material shimmered under the light, leaving just enough to the imagination while still being utterly indecent. It was the kind of dress no one should wear to something like this—but on her, it worked. It more than worked. She made it look effortless, sophisticated.
And I wanted to tear it off her.
“You there, brother?” Luca’s voice broke through my thoughts, irritatingly smug. “Or are you too busy imagining her in it?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, though the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.
“Let me guess,” he continued, undeterred. “You’re also thinking about murdering every man who looks at her in it?”
My jaw tightened as I glanced back toward the boutique. She was laughing now, her smile radiant as the attendant adjusted the hem of her dress. A smile like that wasn’t for me. It wasn’t for anyone.
“Shut up, Luca,” I said again, my voice low.
Luca chuckled. “You’re in deep, brother. Admit it.”
I ignored his jab, the image of Emilia in a silk slip dress flashing unbidden in my mind. The way the fabric would drape over her curves, the way it would shimmer under the light, the way it would leave just enough to the imagination while still being utterly indecent.
Luca’s laugh was warm, but it carried an undercurrent of something else. Concern, maybe. Or pity. “Be careful, Dante. Women like her...they’ll ruin you.”
“She’s not like anyone,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Exactly,” Luca replied, his tone softening. “That’s what makes her dangerous.”
Before I could respond, the boutique door swung open, and Emilia stepped out, the blue dress catching the sunlight as she walked toward the car. My breath hitched, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just her—the sway of her hips, the curve of her shoulders, the way her hair caught the light like a halo.
“I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly, ending the call before Luca could say another word.
I got out of the car, circling around to meet her as she approached. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. There was something in her gaze—something defiant, something vulnerable—that made my chest tighten .
“Need help?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
She hesitated, her hands clutching the garment bag. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
“Let me,” I said, stepping closer.
I moved without thinking, stepping into her space so quickly that she gasped, her wide eyes snapping up to meet mine. My hand shot out, gripping her waist firmly as I spun her toward the car. The movement wasn’t rough, but it was deliberate—demanding. Her back hit the cool metal of the car door, and her breath hitched, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet night.
“Caught, huh?” I murmured, my voice low and edged with something dark, something dangerous.
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she stared up at me. My hand still rested on her waist, the heat of her body bleeding through the fabric of her dress, and I felt her tremble beneath my touch.
“Dante—”
The way she said my name, soft and unsure, sent a jolt of electricity through me. My free hand braced against the car beside her head, caging her in. I leaned closer, my chest brushing against hers, and her breath quickened, her gaze darting between my eyes and my mouth.
“You’re testing me, Emilia,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think you realize how dangerous that is.”
Her chin tilted up, defiance flickering in her wide, dark eyes. “I’m not doing anything,” she shot back, though her voice wavered slightly.
I smirked, my fingers flexing against her waist. “Oh, you’re doing plenty.”
Her breath hitched again, and I could feel the rapid beat of her pulse where my thumb brushed against her side. She was trying so hard to appear unaffected, but I could see it—the way her resolve crumbled every time I stepped closer.
“How did I look in the dress?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.
I tilted my head, studying her. A small smirk tugged at my lips. “You looked fine,” I said, my tone teasing. “But you’d look better in something else.”
Her brow arched, and I could see the flicker of defiance in her expression. “Something else? Like what?”
“Sleek. Silk. Maybe a slip dress,” I said, my gaze dropping to the curve of her waist. My voice dipped lower, rougher. “Something that clings to you. Something that shows off everything that dress is hiding.”
Her lips parted slightly, and I saw the faintest quirk of a smile before she caught herself. “A slip dress? What are you, a fashion expert now?”
I chuckled, stepping closer, the space between us disappearing as her back pressed further against the car. “I know what looks good,” I said, my voice dark and deliberate.
“And what would you do if I wore something like that?” she asked, her tone daring me, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
I leaned in, my hand sliding to her hip as I brought my lips close to her ear. “I’d have to kill every man who looked at you in it,” I whispered, my voice dark and possessive.
Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head slightly to look at me, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “That would be bad for the wedding,” she said, her voice light but tinged with something deeper. “All the guests would be dead.”
I chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, my hand tightening slightly on her waist. “Then don’t tempt me.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and I saw the flicker of something raw and unguarded in her expression. Desire, maybe. Or defiance. Maybe both. She didn’t move away, didn’t push me back, and that was all the invitation I needed.
My body pressed against hers, not enough to trap her, but enough to remind her that I was there, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Careful, Emilia,” I murmured, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.”
Her breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling against mine. “Gentleman?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You? That’s rich.”
“Do you do this to every woman you meet?” she asked, her tone sharp, but there was no mistaking the slight tremor in her voice.
I let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating between us. “No,” I said simply. “Just you.”
She flushed at my words, her cheeks tinged pink in the dim light. I could feel her body tense beneath my hand, but she didn’t push me away. Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly, her gaze locking onto mine with something that looked a lot like a challenge.
“And why’s that?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost breathless.
I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Because you make it impossible not to.”
Her breath caught, and I felt her shiver beneath me. The tension between us was thick, electric, and I could tell she was fighting it, fighting me. But the way her hands rested lightly against my chest betrayed her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, not to push me away, but to anchor herself.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.
“Is it?” I murmured, my lips skimming the curve of her jaw. The scent of her skin—something soft and floral—mixed with the faint rain lingering in the air, and it only pulled me closer.
“You don’t scare me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but holding a note of defiance that made me smirk.
“Good,” I replied, my tone dark and deliberate. “Fear isn’t what I want from you, Emilia.”
Her eyes widened slightly at my words, her lips parting as if to respond, but no sound came out.
“You’re impossible,” she said finally, her voice shaky but still laced with that stubborn defiance that made me want to push her further, to see how far she’d bend before she broke.
“And you’re irresistible,” I countered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Her lips parted slightly, and I saw the flicker of something unguarded in her expression—desire, curiosity, maybe even a hint of fear. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t push me back. And that was all the invitation I needed.
“You play a dangerous game, princess,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a near growl.
Her brows arched slightly, and I could see the flicker of defiance in her eyes. “And what happens if I win?”
I smirked, my fingers tightening on her hip. “Winning isn’t an option. Not for you.”
Her breath quickened, and for a brief moment, the world around us disappeared. Just the two of us, the heat between us, and the growing tension crackling like a live wire.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze dropping to my lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back up to meet my eyes. “Then I guess I’ll have to lose,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with challenge.
The words sent a surge of heat through me, and before I could stop myself, I shifted closer, my body pressing against hers just enough to remind her of the dangerous game she was playing.
“Careful,” I murmured, my lips hovering just above hers. “You might not like what losing feels like.”
Her lips curved into the faintest smile, her expression daring. “I think I can handle it.”
For a moment, all I could do was stare at her, my pulse pounding in my ears as her words hung in the air between us. She was fire and defiance wrapped in silk, and I wanted to burn.
The spell broke with the sharp blast of a car horn from the street. Emilia startled slightly, her eyes snapping toward the sound, and I took a step back, forcing myself to let her go. My hand lingered on her hip for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, my fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of her dress before I dropped it to my side.
I reached for the car door, pulling it open with more force than necessary. “Get in.” I muttered, my voice rougher than I intended.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to mine, and for a moment, I thought she might say something. But then she straightened, smoothing her dress with quick, practiced movements, and slid into the passenger seat without a word. Her composure was back, her walls firmly in place, but I didn’t miss the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusted the hem of her dress.
I shut the door behind her and took a moment to breathe, my hand gripping the edge of the roof like it might ground me. The cool metal beneath my palm did little to calm the fire still raging in my chest. I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair as I tried to steady myself.
She was going to be the death of me.
I was sure of it.