Chapter 28
Emilia
T he bar was dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows clung to the walls and secrets whispered between strangers. It wasn’t my usual haunt, but that was the point. After the whirlwind of shopping with Dante—his smirks, his infuriating comments, the way his eyes lingered on me in the green dress—I needed to escape. To breathe. To remind myself that I was still my own person, not some accessory orbiting around Dante Conti’s gravitational pull.
So here I was, perched on a barstool in a place I’d never been before, sipping a whiskey sour and scanning the room for a distraction. The air was heavy with the scent of spilled beer and old wood, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint strains of a bluesy guitar from the overhead speakers. It was the perfect setting to lose myself, to forget the way Dante’s voice had wrapped around me like a noose, pulling tighter with every word.
I had called my Uber, met the driver down the road - a very nice lady who told me I looked stunning in my outfit. I tipped her twice as much as I usually did just for that alone.
I spotted him near the pool table—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sharp jawline and an easy smile. He wasn’t bad-looking, and he had that casual confidence that suggested he either didn’t know or didn’t care how attractive he was. Perfect.
Sliding off my stool, I ran my hands down my jeans and made my way over, my heels clicking softly against the worn wooden floor. His eyes flicked to me as I approached, and I saw the spark of interest there, the way his posture shifted slightly as he straightened.
“Hi,” I said, my voice light and warm, the kind of tone that invited conversation without seeming desperate.
“Hi yourself,” he replied, his smile widening as he set down his pool cue. “What brings you here tonight?”
“Oh, you know,” I said with a shrug, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “Just needed a change of scenery. And you?”
“Same,” he said, his gaze flicking over me in a way that was appreciative but not lecherous. “Name’s Ryan.”
“Emily,” I lied smoothly, the fake name rolling off my tongue like second nature. It was safer that way—less chance of someone connecting me to the Ricci family.
We fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing effortlessly as we exchanged pleasantries and flirted in that harmless, surface-level way. He was charming, funny even, and I found myself relaxing slightly, the tension from earlier beginning to fade.
And then I felt it.
A prickle at the back of my neck, like a warning.
"I didn't realize you had such... interesting taste in company these days," a low, familiar voice cut in smoothly, sending a jolt through me.
I spun around, my stomach dropping. Dante.
He was standing just a few feet away, dressed casually in dark slacks and a crisp button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Despite the more relaxed attire, he still carried himself with the same commanding presence, a predator among prey. His dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch, and the way his jaw tightened as his gaze flicked to Ryan made it clear he wasn’t happy.
“Friend of yours?” Ryan asked, his tone light but curious as he followed my gaze .
“Not exactly,” I muttered, my pulse quickening.
Dante moved toward us with the kind of deliberate, unhurried stride that made people instinctively get out of his way. By the time he reached us, the air between us was crackling with tension, and I could feel the weight of his presence like a physical force.
“Emily,” he said, his voice low and sharp, the fake name dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Ryan beat me to it.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his tone polite but firm as he stepped slightly closer to me, like he was ready to intervene if necessary.
Dante’s eyes flicked to him, and I saw the faintest hint of a smirk curve his lips. It wasn’t friendly.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Dante said, his tone cold and dismissive.
“Actually, it does,” Ryan said, his jaw tightening. “She’s here with me.”
Oh no.
I stepped between them quickly, placing a hand on Ryan’s arm in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “He’s just—”
“Leaving,” Dante interrupted, his gaze cutting to me like a blade. “Now.”
“Excuse me?” Ryan said, his voice rising slightly.
Dante didn’t even look at him. Instead, he reached for my arm, his grip firm but not painful as he pulled me away from the pool table.
“Dante!” I hissed, trying to twist out of his grasp. “Let go!”
“Not here,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous.
Dante’s grip on my arm was unyielding as he steered me through the crowded bar. I could feel the curious stares of strangers burning into my back, but no one dared to intervene. It wasn’t just his size or the sharpness in his features—it was the aura he carried, a warning that radiated from him like a storm cloud.
“Dante, stop!” I snapped, yanking my arm back. He didn’t let go, but he slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes flashing with barely contained fury.
“Keep walking, Emilia,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Unless you want to make a scene.”
“Are you kidding me? You just dragged me away from—” I stopped myself before I could finish. What exactly had Ryan been to me? A distraction? A mark? It didn’t matter now. Dante had seen to that.
He didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he pushed open the bar’s back door and pulled me into the alley. The cool night air hit me like a slap, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between us. The faint hum of the city buzzed in the background—distant car horns, muffled laughter, the occasional clatter of trash cans—but it all felt muted compared to the pounding of my heart.
Dante finally released my arm, but he didn’t step back. He loomed over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim glow of the streetlights, his expression a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I crossed my arms over my chest, more to steady myself than anything else. “I was thinking I could go out for a drink without being interrogated like a child.”
“In enemy territory? ” he shot back, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea where you are? Who owns that bar?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Enemy territory? What are you talking about?”
Dante let out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you don’t know. Why would you? You’re too busy playing your little games to realize how dangerous this city is.”
“Dangerous?” I repeated, my frustration bubbling over. “The only danger I’ve encountered tonight is you! ”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing. “Do you even carry a weapon?” he asked, his voice low and biting. “Do you have any way to defend yourself?”
I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “I...no,” I admitted reluctantly. “I don’t need—”
“You don’t need one?” he interrupted, his voice incredulous. “Jesus Christ, Emilia. Do you have any idea how reckless you’re being? Walking into a bar owned by the Russians, flirting with God knows who, completely unarmed?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Russians. The word hung heavy in the air between us, and suddenly, the tension in Dante’s posture made sense.
“I didn’t know,” I said quietly, my voice losing some of its edge. “How was I supposed to know?”
“You weren’t supposed to be there at all,” he snapped, his tone softening just slightly. “Do you think this is a game? That you can just waltz into places like that and walk away unscathed?”
I looked away, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “I didn’t ask for your help, Dante.”
“No, but you clearly need it,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “And until you figure out how to stop putting yourself in danger, I’m going to make damn sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
I scoffed, shaking my head.
“You’re reckless,” he shot back, his gaze piercing. “Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”
I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “No,” I admitted reluctantly.
Dante let out a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening. “Of course you don’t,” he muttered under his breath. “Unbelievable.”
I bristled at his tone, my frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need a gun, okay? I’m not some soldier in your mafia war.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re a Ricci, and that makes you a target whether you like it or not. ”
I swallowed hard, the weight of Dante’s words pressing down on me. A target. I hated that he was right, hated that my last name came with strings I couldn’t see and dangers I didn’t understand. But more than anything, I hated the way he said it, like I was some helpless little girl who needed his protection.
“I can take care of myself,” I said, lifting my chin in defiance.
Dante’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the cool night air. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing a pretty shitty job of it.”
My fists clenched at my sides, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Dante. Or your help. So why don’t you just—”
“Stop,” he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath hitch. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there tonight? Do you know who that man you were flirting with works for?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Ryan? He’s just some guy—”
“Ryan,” Dante spat, his lip curling in disdain. “His real name is Romanov. And he’s not ‘just some guy.’ He’s a soldier for the Bratva.”
The name hit me like a slap. Romanov. The weight of it settled in my chest, cold and suffocating. My pulse quickened as the realization sank in. I’d heard that name before—whispers at the edge of conversations I wasn’t supposed to hear. Romanov wasn’t just a name. It was a warning.
“The Romanovs,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, the familiar dread creeping into my veins.
“Yes,” Dante said, his tone clipped. “And if he realized who you were, he wouldn’t have been flirting with you. He would’ve been planning how to use you against your family. Against me.”
I could feel the anger radiating off his body in searing hot waves, his words sinking in like stones. My chest tightened, a mix of fear and shame twisting in my stomach. I’d been so stupid, so reckless. And now, Dante was looking at me like I was a problem he had to solve, a mess he had to clean up.
“I didn’t know,” I said quietly, my voice trembling. “I didn’t—”
“Exactly,” he snapped, cutting me off. “You didn’t know. Because you don’t think. You just act. And one day, Emilia, that’s going to get you killed.”
The harshness in his tone stung, but I couldn’t argue. He was right. I’d walked into that bar without a second thought, completely unaware of the danger lurking beneath the surface. And if Dante hadn’t shown up…
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. “Why do you even care?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his gaze flicking away as if he was searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more measured. “Because I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.”