Chapter 31
Emilia
T he dagger felt heavier than I’d expected, its weight a constant reminder of the man who had insisted I carry it. Dante’s words echoed in my mind as I adjusted the leather straps around my thigh, the cool steel pressing against my skin. You’re going to wear it. Every time you leave this house, it stays with you . He had said it with such finality, like it was a command etched into stone. And now, as I stood in front of my vanity, curling the last strand of my hair, I couldn’t help but glance at my reflection and wonder if the blade made me look dangerous—or just foolish.
The green dress Dante had chosen hung on the back of my door, a shimmering pool of silk and temptation. I’d tried it on again earlier, marveling at the way it hugged my curves and made me feel like a queen and a target all at once. It was bold, daring, and entirely too much, but I couldn’t deny that it made me feel...powerful. And maybe that was the point. Dante had a way of making me feel like I could conquer the world, even as he made me want to throttle him.
The party was in a few hours, and the house was already buzzing with activity. My brothers were downstairs, no doubt not ready yet, and my father was in his study, likely finalizing some deal that would keep the Ricci name at the top of the food chain. As for me, I was left to my own devices, as usual. No stylists, no entourage—just me, a curling iron, and a makeup bag that had seen better days.
I leaned closer to the mirror, carefully applying a thin line of eyeliner. The dagger shifted slightly against my thigh, a subtle reminder of its presence. Dante had been insistent, practically strapping it to me himself after showing me how to wear it. I’d protested, of course, but he’d silenced me with that infuriatingly calm tone of his, the one that made it clear arguing was pointless. If you’re going to sneak out again, you damn well better know how to protect yourself.
I hated that he was right. And I hated even more that I’d probably end up sneaking out after the party, just to spite him.
A knock at the door jolted me out of my thoughts. I frowned, setting down the eyeliner and turning toward the sound. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and there he was. Dante Conti, in all his maddening glory. He was dressed in a dark suit that fit him like a second skin, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar just enough to hint at the tanned skin beneath. His hair was immaculately styled, the faintest shadow of stubble lining his jaw. He looked every bit the devil he was rumored to be, and the way his dark eyes locked onto mine made my pulse quicken.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “Shouldn’t you be intimidating someone somewhere or something?”
Dante smirked, holding up a small velvet box. “The sales associate insisted this was necessary. She called me to pick it up.”
I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What is it?”
“Open it and find out,” he said, stepping closer and handing it to me.
I took the box, my fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I quickly looked away, focusing on the box as I flipped it open. Inside was a necklace—a delicate gold chain with a single emerald pendant that matched the dress perfectly. It was understated yet stunning, the kind of piece that whispered elegance rather than screamed it .
“Dante…” I trailed off, unsure what to say.
“It’s just a necklace,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying something deeper. “Don’t overthink it.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing over the pendant. “Thank you,” I said softly, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
He nodded, his smirk softening into something almost resembling a smile. “You should finish getting ready. We don’t want to keep your admirers waiting.”
I rolled my eyes, but the faint flush on my cheeks betrayed me. “Get out, Dante.”
He chuckled, stepping back toward the door. “Don’t take too long, princess.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with the necklace and the lingering scent of his cologne—smoky, spiced, and edged with leather. It was familiar now, intoxicating in a way that made my chest tighten, as if he were still there, watching, waiting. No matter how much space he put between us, he always left a piece of himself behind.
The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived. The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate was a sea of opulence—crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors, tables adorned with towering floral arrangements, and waiters gliding through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, a symphony of wealth and power that felt as suffocating as it was dazzling.
I stepped into the room, the emerald-green dress clinging to me like a second skin, and immediately felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Whispers followed me like shadows, and I could feel the speculative glances of men and women alike. I hated it. And yet, a small, defiant part of me relished it. Let them look. Let them talk. I wasn’t just Vincent Ricci’s daughter tonight—I was something more. Something dangerous.
Dante’s presence beside me was both a comfort and a curse. He walked with the kind of confidence that turned heads, his dark suit tailored to perfection, his every movement deliberate and commanding. He didn’t touch me, but his proximity was enough to make it clear to anyone paying attention that I wasn’t here alone. And judging by the way the whispers grew louder as we passed, plenty of people were paying attention.
“Relax,” Dante murmured, his voice low and smooth as he leaned toward me. “You look like you’re ready to bolt.”
“I’m fine,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “Just...not a fan of being on display.”
His lips curved into a faint smirk, and he straightened, his dark eyes scanning the room. “You’ll get used to it.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip, letting the crisp bubbles settle my nerves. Dante led me further into the ballroom, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back—a gesture that was as possessive as it was protective. I hated how much I liked it.
The first half hour passed in a blur of introductions and polite conversation. Dante was the perfect picture of charm, his deep voice and sharp wit disarming even the most skeptical of my father’s associates. I played my part, smiling and nodding at the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dagger strapped to my thigh, the cool steel pressing against my skin, a secret reminder of the man standing beside me.
It wasn’t until I felt a hand on my arm that I snapped back to reality.
“Emilia,” a voice purred, smooth and unctuous. “You look stunning tonight.”
I turned to find Romero standing far too close, his dark eyes raking over me with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. He was handsome in a way that felt calculated, his sharp features and perfectly styled hair giving him the appearance of a man who spent more time in front of a mirror than was strictly necessary. I’d never liked him, and his reputation as a womanizer only made him more insufferable.
“Romero,” I said coolly, taking a step back to put some distance between us. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here,” he said, flashing me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you, after all.”
I forced a tight smile, my grip tightening on my champagne flute.
Romero chuckled, his gaze lingering on the neckline of my dress. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Emilia. That dress...it’s almost criminal.”
Before I could respond, Dante’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade.
“Romero.”
The single word was enough to make Romero stiffen, his smile faltering as he turned to face Dante. The tension between them was palpable, the air charged with an unspoken challenge. Dante’s dark eyes were cold, his jaw tight, and the faint smirk that played on his lips was anything but friendly.
“Dante,” Romero said, his tone losing some of its earlier confidence. “I didn’t see you there.”
“You weren’t looking,” Dante replied smoothly, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, a storm rolling in, and I could feel the shift in the room as people began to take notice.
Romero’s gaze flicked between us, and I saw the moment he realized his mistake. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile returning but with none of its earlier bravado. “No harm meant, of course. Just catching up with an old friend.”
Dante didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for my champagne flute, plucking it from my hand and taking a deliberate sip before handing it back to me. The gesture was casual, almost lazy, but the message was clear.
“She’s not your friend,” Dante said finally, his voice low and deliberate, each word slicing through the air like a dagger. His dark eyes never left Romero’s, and the tension between them was thick enough to suffocate .
Romero’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his charm slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. “Of course not,” he said smoothly, his tone oozing false sincerity. “I only meant—”
“You meant to overstep,” Dante interrupted, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace that made my pulse quicken. “And now you’re done.”
I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and anger bubbling to the surface. This wasn’t happening. Dante wasn’t about to turn a minor annoyance into a full-blown spectacle in the middle of Adrianna’s engagement party. Not here. Not tonight.
“Dante,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the tension like a whip. “That’s enough.”
His gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore me. But then something shifted in his expression—just a flicker of restraint, like a leash being yanked taut. He stepped back, his posture still radiating dominance, but the storm in his eyes had dimmed slightly.
Romero took the opportunity to retreat, offering me a tight smile before disappearing into the crowd. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my shoulders sagging with relief. But the reprieve was short-lived.
“What the hell was that?” I hissed, turning to Dante. “You can’t just—”
He cut me off with a sharp look, his voice low and controlled. “He was disrespecting you.”
“I can handle myself,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “I don’t need you swooping in like some kind of knight in shining armor.”
Dante’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “You didn’t look like you were handling it.”
My spine straightened, defiance sparking in my chest. “You gave me a dagger for a reason, didn’t you?”
The words hung between us, sharp and cutting, daring him to challenge me. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a split second, I thought I’d won. But then, slowly, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating in the most maddening way.
“And where is it now?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.
The heat of him was almost unbearable as he closed the space between us, his hand reaching out deliberately. My breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the fabric of my dress, skimming the outside of my thigh. He didn’t stop there, his touch sliding higher, up the slit of my dress, until his hand met the cool steel of the dagger strapped to my leg.
“Right where it should be,” I said, my voice steady despite the way my pulse raced.
Dante’s gaze darkened, his fingers lingering over the hilt of the dagger, his thumb grazing the edge of the sheath like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “But don’t forget how to use it.”
My body felt like it was vibrating, every nerve on edge as his hand stayed there, pressing lightly against my skin. I hated how easily he could do this—how he could make me feel both cornered and electrified, like I was teetering on a knife’s edge.
“I don’t need to be saved,” I said, my voice softer now but no less firm.
His lips curved into a shadow of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Who said anything about saving you, princess?”
And just like that, his hand slipped away, leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. He stepped back, his gaze still fixed on mine as though daring me to say more. ”At least now I know you’re armed.”
My jaw tightened, and I took a step closer, my anger flaring. “You don’t get to decide how I handle things. You don’t get to treat me like...like I’m some possession you have to guard.”
His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. “I’m not treating you like a possession, Emilia. I’m protecting you.”
“From what?” I shot back, my voice rising. “A harmless flirtation? A man who was barely even—”
“From men like him,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Men who see you as a prize to be won. Men who don’t know when to stop.”
The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the words to argue. There was something raw in his expression, something that went beyond anger or jealousy. It was possessive, yes, but it was also...vulnerable. Like the thought of me being hurt—by anyone—was unbearable to him.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “You can’t just...claim me like that,” I said quietly, my voice losing some of its edge. “I’m not yours, Dante.”
His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his dark eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice breaking on the edges of a whisper. “You’ve been mine since the moment you walked into my life. And I’m not letting you go.”
The air between us crackled with tension, the space between our bodies shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating off him. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and the weight of his words settled over me like a storm cloud, heavy and inescapable.
Before I could respond, the music shifted, a slow, sultry melody filling the room. Dante’s gaze didn’t waver as he extended a hand, his fingers steady and commanding. “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command, wrapped in velvet and laced with steel. And despite every instinct screaming at me to walk away, I found myself taking his hand.
He led me to the center of the ballroom, where other couples were already swaying to the music. The crowd seemed to part for us, like the universe itself was conspiring to put us on display. Dante’s hand settled on my waist, his touch firm but not forceful, and he pulled me closer until there was barely an inch of space between us.
“You’re making a scene,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the music.
“Good,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Let them see.”
“See what?” I asked, my pulse quickening as his hand slid a fraction lower on my waist. His dark eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually say it—that he wanted everyone to see that I was his, that I belonged to him. But instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke in a voice so low it sent a shiver down my spine.
“That you’re untouchable.”
I stiffened, pulling back just enough to look at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Oh, I’m untouchable now?” I said, my voice laced with annoyance. “Because you’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you telling me I’m not. That I think I’m invincible but I’m not.”
His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress with enough force to hold me in place. His jaw flexed as he stared down at me, his dark eyes sharp and unyielding.
“That’s the difference,” he said, his voice cutting through the space between us. “You’re not invincible when you’re alone, running around acting like a fool. But when you’re with me?” He leaned closer, his tone dipping lower, dangerous. “You’re untouchable.”
The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit, and I hated the way they made my chest tighten. There was something in the certainty of his tone, in the way he said it like it was a fact, not a promise, that made it impossible to look away.
But it also pissed me off.
“That’s not protection, Dante. That’s control,” I shot back, my voice sharper now.
“Call it what you want,” he said, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. “But either way, it keeps you alive.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat as he spun me gently, the movement pulling me closer until my body was flush against his. The heat of him was overwhelming, his warm, spicy scent wrapping around me like a cocoon. My breath hitched, and I hated the way my body seemed to betray me, leaning into him even as my mind screamed at me to push him away.
His smirk widened, and for a moment, the tension between us shifted, the weight of the moment lightening just enough to make my lips twitch in reluctant amusement. “Admit it,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You like it when I get under your skin.”
I hated that he was right. Hated the way he could read me so easily, like I was an open book he’d memorized every page of. But more than that, I hated the way my heart skipped a beat when his thumb brushed against the bare skin of my back, the touch deliberate and maddeningly light.
“You’re infuriating,” I said finally, my voice lacking the venom I’d intended.
“And yet, here you are,” he replied smoothly, his smirk softening into something that felt dangerously close to genuine. “Dancing with me.”
I didn’t have a response to that, so I looked away, my gaze flicking to the crowd around us. The other couples were blissfully unaware of the storm brewing between us, their movements fluid and effortless as they swayed to the music. But I could feel the weight of a few lingering stares, the speculative glances from those who were undoubtedly trying to piece together the nature of our relationship.
“Let them think what they want,” Dante said, as if reading my thoughts. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I said quietly, my gaze snapping back to his. “I don’t want to be the subject of their gossip.”
“You already are,” he said bluntly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You’ve been the subject of their gossip since the day you were born, Emilia. The only difference now is that they know you’re not alone.”
The words sent a jolt through me, and I hated the way they made my heart ache. He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was a simple truth I should have accepted long ago. And maybe he was right. Maybe I’d always been under their scrutiny, a pawn in a game I hadn’t agreed to play. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
The music shifted, the melody slowing into something softer, more intimate. Dante’s hand slid higher on my back, his fingers splaying against my skin as he pulled me closer. The movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver through me nonetheless.
“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low and laced with something that sounded suspiciously like concern. “Are you cold?”
“No,” I said quickly, my cheeks flushing. “I’m fine.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his dark eyes holding mine, unreadable. And then, to my surprise, he smiled. Not the smug, infuriating smirk I’d come to expect, but something softer, more genuine. It was disarming, and I hated the way it made my chest tighten.
…And just as quickly as that rare, genuine smile appeared, it was gone, replaced by the guarded intensity I’d come to associate with Dante Conti. His hand remained firm on my back, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against the silk of my dress. The room seemed to shrink around us, the music fading into the background as the tension between us coiled tighter and tighter, like a string on the verge of snapping.
“I don’t understand you,” I said finally, my voice trembling, barely louder than a whisper. “One minute, you’re suffocating me, and the next, you’re...this.” I gestured vaguely, frustration bubbling up as the words failed me. How was I supposed to explain Dante? The man who drove me mad, kept me on edge, and yet somehow made me feel safe in a way I didn’t want to admit .
Dante tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing, unreadable. His silence only made the weight in my chest heavier, the air between us tighter. “This?” he repeated, his voice low and laced with something dangerous. “What am I, Emilia? Say it.”
I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening further as I searched for the right words. “You’re infuriating,” I finally said, my voice cracking. “You push me, you corner me, you...you act like everything has to be your way, like you control everything.” My breath hitched, and I shook my head, trying to steady myself. “And then you go and—” I broke off, gesturing helplessly. “You make me feel like I can’t breathe without you.”
His smirk flickered to life, sharp and knowing, but it didn’t last. It faded almost instantly, replaced by something raw, something that made my chest ache. “You think I do this to control you?” he asked softly, his voice low, rough, and threaded with something deeper. “You think I don’t feel every second of this?”
“Then why?” I whispered, the question slipping out before I could stop it. My voice was trembling now, my frustration threatening to boil over. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as his hand slid to my waist. His grip was firm, grounding, but not rough—like he wasn’t trying to hold me there, but to tether himself. “Because I don’t care if you hate me for it,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against my skin, every word laced with quiet intensity. “ You’re mine, Emilia. And I will protect what’s mine. Whether you like it or not.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated the way they made my chest tighten, my breath hitch. There was no denying the possessiveness in his tone, the raw, unfiltered intensity that seemed to radiate off him in waves. And yet, there was something else beneath it—something that felt almost like...fear .
Fear of losing me.
“Dante…” I began, my voice trembling, but whatever I was about to say was cut off as a sharp, mocking laugh sliced through the air.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”
I stiffened, my head snapping around to see Romero standing a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand and a smirk plastered across his face. His earlier retreat had clearly been temporary, and now he was back, emboldened and ready to stir the pot.
Dante’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His hand dropped from my back, his posture stiffening as he turned to face Romero. The warmth I’d felt from him just moments ago vanished, replaced with a cold, lethal energy that sent a shiver down my spine. His dark eyes sharpened, narrowing into slits, and his lips curved into a dangerous, razor-thin smile.
“Romero,” Dante said, his tone calm, but the kind of calm that made my stomach tighten. “I thought I told you to stay away.”
Romero shrugged, unbothered by the storm brewing in Dante’s voice. He took a lazy sip of his champagne, his smirk dripping with arrogance. “What can I say? I have a weakness for beauty,” he said, his gaze flicking to me, lingering far too long. “And Emilia...well, she’s exceptional. A shame to see her wasted on someone like you.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, a mix of anger and mortification clawing at me. But before I could say anything, Dante stepped forward, his body a wall of tension, cutting off Romero’s view of me entirely. The air around us seemed to shift, heavy with barely restrained violence.
“Careful,” Dante said, his voice low, ice-cold and precise. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure it’s your last.”
Romero chuckled, though I noticed his fingers tighten slightly on the stem of his glass. “Relax, Dante. No need to get so worked up. I’m just admiring her beauty. No harm in that.”
That word—admiring—felt like a slap in the face. The implication in his tone, the way his eyes lingered on me like I was a piece of art for him to dissect, made my skin crawl. Around us, I could feel the stares of the other guests, their curiosity buzzing like static in the air. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard. This was exactly what I didn’t want—a scene.
“Dante, stop,” I said sharply, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. His muscles were coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap, and I could feel the dangerous energy radiating beneath his skin, barely contained. “He’s not worth it.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me. His gaze stayed locked on Romero, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were seconds away from shattering the champagne glass in Romero’s hand—or worse. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I could feel the weight of every single pair of eyes watching him, waiting for him to break.
Then, slowly, Dante exhaled. His shoulders relaxed, though only slightly, and he turned his head just enough to glance at me. His voice was cold, clipped, and utterly final. “You’re right,” he said. “He’s not.”
With that, he turned, his hand finding the small of my back once more as he guided me away from Romero and the prying eyes of the crowd. I could feel the weight of their stares trailing after us, heavy and intrusive.
I pulled away abruptly, stepping out of his reach. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said quickly, hoping to put some space between us.
He moved as if to follow, but I stopped him with a sharp glare. “I don’t need an escort,” I hissed, my voice low but firm.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Five minutes,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Then I’ll come find you.”
I shook my head, letting out a sharp breath, and turned on my heel, weaving through the crowd without looking back. My heart was pounding, my skin prickling with the weight of everything unsaid.
God, why did he always have to do this? Why did he have to suffocate me, to step in like I couldn’t handle myself ?
But the worst part—the part I couldn’t ignore—was the gnawing feeling in my chest. The way he’d put himself between me and Romero without hesitation, like I wasn’t just something to protect but something he had to protect. Whether I liked it or not. Whether I wanted him to or not.
I stepped into the quiet of the hallway, the sounds of the party muffled behind me. I needed a moment to breathe, to think. But as I leaned against the cool wall and closed my eyes, the only thing I could feel was him. The weight of his hand on my back, his voice in my ear…
And the way he’d looked at Romero like he was ready to burn the world down if it meant keeping me safe.