Chapter 30
Dante
T he morning sunlight streaked through the penthouse windows, too bright, too intrusive, cutting across the polished floors like a blade. I stood by the bar, the bottle of whiskey in my hand, pouring a generous glass. Ten in the morning wasn’t exactly the time for this, but after the week I’d had, it didn’t matter.
Emilia and her reckless stunts. The Russians circling like vultures. I was one misstep away from losing the one thing I couldn’t afford to lose—control.
And control? Control was everything.
The elevator chimed, and I turned just as Luca and Rafe strolled in. Luca, ever the pragmatist, was already scrolling through his phone, his tailored suit impeccable as always. Rafe, on the other hand, looked like he’d just rolled out of bed—hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and a smirk that practically screamed trouble.
“Morning, sunshine,” Rafe drawled, plucking an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. Let me guess—Ricci drama?”
I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I downed the whiskey in one smooth motion and set the glass down with a sharp clink. “We have an errand to run before lunch. ”
Luca raised an eyebrow, slipping his phone into his pocket. “An errand? What kind of errand?”
“You’ll see,” I said, grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair. “Let’s go.”
Rafe exchanged a look with Luca, his smirk widening. “Oh, this should be good.”
The car ride was mercifully quiet, save for the occasional hum of conversation between my brothers. I kept my focus on the road ahead, my thoughts a tangled mess of strategy and temptation. Emilia had been on my mind far more than I cared to admit. The way she’d looked at me last night—defiant, vulnerable, and utterly intoxicating—had been seared into my memory. And the lingerie...Christ. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to lock her away somewhere safe or burn the world down just so no one else could see her like that.
“We’re here,” I said, pulling into the private lot of a nondescript building. The exterior was unassuming—brick walls, no signage—but the security was anything but. Cameras tracked our movements as we approached, and the heavy steel door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek, modern interior.
“Okay, now I’m intrigued,” Rafe said, glancing around as we stepped inside. “What is this place?”
“A luxury weapon manufacturer,” I replied, my tone clipped. “I need something custom.”
Luca frowned, his gaze sharpening. “For who?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I walked up to the counter, where a man in a crisp black suit greeted us with a polite nod. “Mr. Conti. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Show me the daggers,” I said, ignoring the curious looks from my brothers.
The man led us to a glass display case, where an array of intricately designed blades gleamed under the soft lighting. Each one was a work of art—sleek, deadly, and impossibly beautiful. But none of them were quite right.
“Something custom,” I said, my fingers brushing over the glass. “Elegant but practical. And I want this engraved on the blade.” I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket and handed it to him.
He read the words aloud, his brow furrowing slightly. “ Stulta, sed viva . Foolish, but alive.”
I didn’t answer right away, my eyes still trained on the daggers in the case. The phrase had been circling my mind for days, refusing to leave me in peace. I wasn’t sure why it stuck, why it felt so...her. It wasn’t just that she was reckless—though she was. It was the way she thrived in her chaos, how she rushed headfirst into situations without a second thought, and yet somehow always made it out alive.
It infuriated me. It fascinated me. And no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The inscription was more than words. It was a truth she needed to understand, a reminder she would carry with her every time she held the blade. Because in our world, foolishness wasn’t a luxury—it was a death sentence. And yet, she defied that rule at every turn.
“And a crown, a queen's crown.” I added. “Something intricate. Elgeant.”
The man nodded, already scribbling notes on a pad. “Understood. It will take a couple days to complete.”
“Make it a priority,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
"It's smaller...We can have it tomorrow?"
"Whatever it will cost." I said nodding.
As he walked away, Rafe let out a low whistle, leaning against the display case with a shit-eating grin. “A dagger with a Latin inscription and a crown? Let me guess—it’s for the Ricci girl.”
I ignored him, but that only seemed to encourage him.
“Oh, it is,” he said, his grin widening. “Dante, Dante, Dante. You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“Shut up, Rafe,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the display case .
Luca crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “You did something, didn’t you?”
The question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, I considered lying. But what was the point? They’d figure it out sooner or later.
“Yes,” I said finally, my voice low. “I claimed her.” I rubbed my hand over my face and through my hair. "To the Russians."
Rafe let out a bark of laughter, clapping me on the shoulder. “Oh, you are so screwed.”
“Not helping,” I said through gritted teeth.
Luca, ever the voice of reason, studied me carefully. “And what’s your plan now? You can’t just claim her and leave it at that. The Riccis are going to expect something concrete. So will the Russians.”
“I was hoping you’d have some ideas,” I admitted, my tone sharper than I intended.
Rafe snorted, shaking his head. “Ideas? Sure. Here’s one—talk to Vincent Ricci. Strike a marriage deal. You know, like a normal mafia boss.”
I shot him a glare, but Luca nodded in agreement. “He’s right. If you’re serious about this, you need to make it official. Otherwise, you’re just painting a target on her back.”
I clenched my jaw, the weight of their words settling over me like a lead blanket. They weren’t wrong. Claiming Emilia had been an impulsive decision, one driven by equal parts anger and...something else. Something I wasn’t ready to name. But now, I was in too deep to back out.
“I’ll handle it,” I said, my voice firm. “But not yet.”
“Not yet?” Rafe repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Dante, you’re playing with fire here. You can’t just—”
“I said I’ll handle it,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Drop it.”
Rafe held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face. “Whatever you say, big brother. Just don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”
Lunch was a tense affair, the conversation shifting between business and family matters, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept replaying the events of the past few days—the way Emilia had looked sneaking out of the house, the fire in her eyes when she challenged me, the way her lips had parted ever so slightly when I’d leaned in close.
She was temptation personified, a perfect storm of innocence and rebellion that left me utterly undone. She made me want to shield her from the world and shatter every piece of her composure, all in the same breath. And the worst part? She was oblivious. Completely unaware of the power she wielded, of the way she unraveled me with a single glance. Every time she looked at me like that—eyes wide, daring yet unknowing—it felt like the ground beneath me cracked, and I was one step closer to free-falling into her.
By the time we left the restaurant, I was more on edge than ever. Luca and Rafe had gone their separate ways, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I drove back to the penthouse. The city blurred past in a haze of lights and shadows, but all I could see was her.
The girl who was quickly becoming my undoing.
When I finally stepped into the penthouse, the silence was deafening. I poured myself another glass of whiskey, sinking into the leather armchair by the window as I stared out at the city below. The dagger would be ready tomorrow, and when it was, I’d give it to her. Not as a gift, but as a warning. A reminder that this world was dangerous, and she needed to be ready for whatever came next.
Because whether she liked it or not, she was mine now. And I would do whatever it took to keep her safe—even if it meant destroying anyone who dared to come near her.
Even if it meant destroying myself.
The dagger was a masterpiece.
It sat on the black velvet in its custom box, the steel gleaming under the soft light of my office. The blade was a perfect balance of elegance and lethality, the Latin inscription Stulta, sed viva etched into the steel with precision, the crown engraved just above it intricate and regal. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the kind that would mold to her grip over time, and the guard was simple yet commanding. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a statement.
Foolish, but alive . It described her perfectly—her recklessness, her defiance, her refusal to bow to the rules of this world. She was chaos wrapped in beauty, and somehow, she thrived in it.
She shouldn’t. She should’ve been chewed up and spit out by this life long before I ever met her. But instead, she’d walked into my world as if she belonged here, as if she owned the chaos rather than merely surviving it.
The words felt heavier now than when I’d first thought of them. They weren’t just a warning—they were a truth. She was foolish, yes, but she was also alive in a way most of us had forgotten how to be. I told myself that the dagger was for her protection, a way to keep her alive in a world that would try to devour her at the first sign of weakness. But if I was honest with myself, it was more than that.
I wanted her to have it because it was a mark of what she was becoming. Of what I was making her.
Mine.
The thought was dangerous, reckless even, but I couldn’t shake it. She’d been a storm since the moment she walked into my life, tearing through my carefully constructed walls and leaving chaos in her wake. And now, I was willingly stepping into the eye of that storm, knowing full well it could destroy me.
The Ricci estate loomed ahead, its gates opening smoothly as my car approached. The guards nodded as I passed, their expressions carefully neutral. They knew better than to question me, especially now. Word of my claim on Emilia had likely spread through the underworld like wildfire.
I parked and stepped out, the box containing the dagger tucked securely under my arm. The weight of it felt significant, like I was carrying more than just steel. I was carrying a promise, a warning, and something I wasn’t ready to name .
The house was quiet when I entered, the faint hum of conversation coming from one of the side rooms. I followed the sound, my footsteps muffled against the marble floors, until I found her.
She was in the sitting room, curled up on the couch with a book in her hands. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing one of those oversized sweaters that made her look impossibly soft and untouchable. For a moment, I just stood there, watching her, the dagger feeling heavier in my hand.
She looked up, her eyes widening slightly when she saw me. “Dante,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I have something for you,” I said, stepping into the room.
She frowned, setting her book aside as she stood. “What is it?”
I held out the box, my expression unreadable. “Open it.”
She hesitated, her gaze flicking between me and the box before finally taking it. Her fingers were delicate as she lifted the lid, and when she saw what was inside, her breath hitched.
“Dante…” she whispered, her voice trailing off as she lifted the dagger from its velvet cradle. She turned it over in her hands, her fingers brushing over the inscription and the crown. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s not just beautiful,” I said, my tone firm. “It’s practical. And it’s yours.”
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. “Mine?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re going to wear it. Every time you leave this house, it stays with you. Do you understand?”
Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, I thought she might argue. But then she nodded, her fingers tightening around the hilt. “Thank you,” she said softly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a leather sheath, designed to be strapped discreetly to her thigh. “This goes with it. I’ll show you how to wear it.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t protest as I took the dagger from her and slid it into the sheath. I knelt in front of her, my hands steady as I secured the straps around her thigh. The air between us felt charged, every brush of my fingers against her skin sending a jolt through me.
When I finished, I looked up at her, my hands still resting lightly on her leg. “There,” I said, my voice quieter now. “It’s a perfect fit.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on mine. “Why are you giving me this?””
“Because you need it,” I said simply. “And because I need to know you’re safe.”
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she reached down and touched the hilt of the dagger, her fingers brushing against mine.
“Thank you,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.
I stood slowly, my hands sliding away from her as I straightened. “Don’t thank me,” I said, my tone hardening. “Just promise me you’ll use it if you have to.”
She nodded, her expression serious. “I promise.”
The weight in my chest eased slightly, but it didn’t disappear. It wouldn’t, not as long as she continued to push the boundaries of this world. But at least now, she had something to protect herself with.
And that dagger would serve as a stark reminder of my claim over her—an unyielding symbol of the danger that surrounded her and the lengths I’d go to keep her safe.
As I drove away from the Ricci estate, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d looked at me—like I was both her savior and her undoing. She didn’t realize it yet, but she was becoming a part of me, a part I couldn’t afford to lose.
And that terrified me more than anything else.