Chapter 17
17
EMILIA
I woke up sore.
Not just a little sore—aching, bone-deep sore, the kind that seeped into every muscle and reminded me of the night before with vivid, unrelenting clarity. Dante didn’t know the meaning of restraint. Or maybe he did, and he simply chose to ignore it.
I groaned, rolling onto my side, wincing as the movement sent fresh waves of soreness through my body. The sheets were cool against my skin, but they still carried Dante’s scent—dark spice, something rich and masculine that seemed to wrap around me even in his absence.
The other side of the bed was empty.
Somehow, that didn’t surprise me. Dante wasn’t the type to linger.
I exhaled slowly, the memory of last night flickering to life behind my closed eyes. It started in the bathroom—his hand in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to watch him in the mirror. It was overwhelming, consuming, and left me trembling by the time he was done.
But that wasn’t the end. He’d scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing, whisked me to the bed, and took me again. And again. And again. Each time rougher, deeper, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember my own name—only his. His hands were everywhere, his voice low and commanding as he pulled me apart over and over, leaving me wrecked and clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering me to reality.
Even now, I could still feel him—his fingerprints lingering on my skin, the ache between my thighs, and the way he’d looked at me like he wanted to ruin me completely. And maybe he had.
Shoving the thought aside, I pushed myself upright, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. My thighs protested the movement, a dull ache settling deep as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I reached for the robe draped over the chair beside the bed, slipping it on and tying it loosely at my waist.
The penthouse was quiet, eerily so, as I padded barefoot toward the kitchen.
The smell of coffee hit me first—strong, rich, and inviting.
Then the sound of something sizzling.
I slowed as I approached, leaning against the doorway.
Dante stood at the stove, his back to me, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his forearms. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his movements precise as he flipped something in the pan. He looked impossibly out of place yet completely at home, like he could command a room just as easily as he could cook breakfast.
It was disarming.
I let myself watch him for a moment, the tension in my chest easing slightly despite myself.
He must have sensed me because he turned, his dark eyes locking onto mine like he’d been waiting for me. He didn’t say anything at first, just lifted his coffee to his lips, taking a slow sip before nodding toward the table.
I followed his gaze.
A plate of food was already waiting for me—eggs, toast, fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee. My coffee. Made exactly how I liked it.
The thoughtful detail caught me off guard, suspicion immediately creeping in to replace the momentary warmth. Dante wasn’t exactly known for his generosity.
I shifted my gaze back to him, narrowing my eyes.
Dante’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made my skin prickle with equal parts irritation and anticipation. “I didn’t poison it, Emilia. Sit down.”
My stomach growled loudly, betraying me. I rolled my eyes but made my way to the table, sliding into the chair. My robe parted slightly as I moved, but I ignored it, more focused on the man leaning so casually against the counter, his eyes never leaving me.
I picked up my fork and took the first bite, still watching him like he might pull something. The food was good. Annoyingly good.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Dante tilted his head slightly, studying me as he raised the coffee cup to his lips again. “You think I can’t?”
I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent despite the fact that I was still eating. “You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”
His smirk deepened. “You’d be surprised.”
I didn’t respond, focusing on my plate instead. The silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Dante sipped his coffee, watching me with that unreadable expression that always made me feel like he could see straight through me.
After a few minutes, he pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving over the screen with practiced ease. “We have an errand to run.”
I paused mid-bite, raising a brow. “ We ?”
He glanced up, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Yes, we. Unless you’d rather stay here again?”
The memory of being left alone in the penthouse—trapped, restless, and stewing in my own thoughts—flickered through my mind. I set my fork down, leveling him with a look. “I don’t want to be left here again.”
Dante nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “Then be ready in an hour.”
I studied him for a moment, trying to read between the lines. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something about the way he said it that felt… different. Like he wasn’t just ordering me around but including me in whatever was coming next.
I couldn’t tell if that was progress or just another one of his games.
“Fine,” I said finally.
“Good.”
He turned his attention back to his phone, his focus shifting seamlessly as if the conversation was already over.
An hour later, I slid into the passenger seat of Dante’s car, the leather cool against my bare thighs. I’d opted for a simple black dress, something comfortable but still sharp enough to match the world he lived in.
Dante started the engine, the low purr of the car filling the silence as he pulled out of the garage.
I glanced at him, then at the sleek dashboard, the polished interior. “So, as your wife, am I allowed to drive your car?”
Dante laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “Not this one.”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “Why not?”
He smirked, shifting gears smoothly as we merged onto the road. “Because I like this one too much.”
I rolled my eyes. “So what, I’m not allowed to touch your toys?”
Dante glanced at me, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “If you’d like a car, wife, that can be arranged.”
I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Pick one.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with me. “You’re just going to buy me a car?”
Dante smirked. “Would you rather steal one?”
I scowled, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
He nodded, satisfied, and we drove in silence for a while, the city passing by in a blur of steel and glass.
I turned to him, watching the way his hands gripped the wheel, the way his jaw tightened like he was already thinking three steps ahead.
“What’s this errand?” I asked.
Dante didn’t look at me. “You’ll see.”
I sighed, leaning back against the seat. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me.
The car glided through the gates of an exclusive neighborhood, the kind where the streets were lined with towering trees and the houses sat behind walls too high to see over. It was the kind of place where money didn’t just buy luxury—it bought secrecy.
Dante didn’t even slow as we approached the security checkpoint. The guard barely glanced up before waving us through, like he already knew who was behind the wheel.
I shifted in my seat, my fingers curling around the hem of my dress. “Where are we?”
Dante didn’t answer.
The road curved, leading us deeper into the neighborhood, where the houses weren’t just houses—they were estates. Massive, sprawling properties with manicured lawns and driveways long enough to land a small plane.
Finally, Dante pulled up to another set of gates, these ones taller, more imposing. He rolled down his window and punched in a code, the metal doors sliding open with a quiet hum.
I swallowed hard as we drove through.
The house—no, the estate —was breathtaking.
A sleek, modern masterpiece of glass and steel, it sat on a wide stretch of land, the kind of property that screamed power and wealth without needing to say a word. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the afternoon sun, and beyond the house, I could see the faint shimmer of water—maybe a private lake or a pool.
Dante parked in the circular driveway, cutting the engine before turning to me.
I stared at him, then at the house, then back at him. “What is this?”
He unbuckled his seatbelt, his expression unreadable. “Come inside.”
I hesitated.
Dante sighed, pushing open his door. “Emilia.”
I exhaled sharply, unbuckling my seatbelt and stepping out of the car. The driveway was smooth beneath my heels, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and something else—something clean, crisp, like the promise of a storm.
Dante was already at the front door, unlocking it with a key instead of a code. That small detail made my stomach twist, though I wasn’t sure why.
I followed him inside.
The interior was just as stunning as the exterior—high ceilings, open spaces, a seamless blend of modern design and warmth. The living room stretched out before me, a wall of glass offering an unobstructed view of the water beyond.
It was beautiful.
He studied me for a moment, then turned, walking further into the house. "Come on."
I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to stay put, to demand answers before following him any deeper into whatever game he was playing. But curiosity—or maybe something worse—won out.
I followed.
Dante led me through the open living space, past the sleek kitchen with its marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances, past the dining area that looked like it had never been touched. The house was fully furnished, but it didn’t feel lived in. It felt like a model home, waiting for someone to claim it.
We stopped in front of a massive set of glass doors that led to the backyard. Beyond them, a terrace stretched out toward a private pool, the water shimmering under the afternoon sun. Beyond that, a stretch of green led down to a small, secluded lake.
Dante turned to me, his expression unreadable. "How do you picture your future?"
I frowned. "What?"
"Your future," he repeated, his voice quieter this time. "Where do you see yourself? What kind of life do you want?"
I swallowed, caught off guard by the question. "I don’t—" I shook my head. "Why are you asking me this?"
Dante leaned against the glass railing, watching me. "Because I need to know."
I folded my arms, my nails digging into my skin. "Why? So you can decide it for me?"
His jaw tightened. "No."
I let out a breath, turning away from him, staring out at the water. "I don’t know," I admitted. "I never really thought about it."
"Try."
I hesitated, then sighed. "I guess… I always imagined something small. A place that was mine. Quiet. Safe."
Dante was silent for a long moment. "And do you think you’ll ever have that?"
I turned to him, my chest tightening. "Not with you."
His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Shame?
He pushed off the railing, closing the distance between us in slow, deliberate steps. "You think I can’t give you that?"
I swallowed hard. "I think you don’t know how."
Dante reached out, his fingers brushing against my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "I can give you anything, Emilia."
I searched his face, my pulse hammering. "Then why does it feel like I have nothing?"
His grip tightened slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. "Because you keep fighting me."
I exhaled shakily, my body betraying me as I leaned into his touch. "Maybe I don’t want to stop fighting."
His smirk was slow, dangerous. "Good."
I turned to Dante, crossing my arms. “What is this?” I repeated, my voice sharper this time.
He walked further inside, his hands in his pockets, like he was giving me time to take it all in. “It’s a house.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “No shit. Whose house?”
Dante turned to face me, his dark eyes steady, unreadable. "Ours," he said simply.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He took a slow step toward me, his presence filling the space between us. "This house. It’s ours."
I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Ours? Since when?"
"Since I bought it."
I stared at him, my arms tightening around myself. "You bought a house?"
Dante’s lips curled slightly. "I buy a lot of things, Emilia."
I exhaled, shaking my head. "Why?"
"I bought it because I see the future here. With you."
I stared at him, my pulse thudding in my ears. The words hung between us, heavy and unshakable.
With me.
Dante wasn’t the kind of man who said things he didn’t mean. Every word was deliberate, every action calculated. And yet, hearing him say it—seeing the certainty in his dark eyes—made something twist deep in my chest.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a battle, a war of teeth and tongues and unspoken words. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him, and I let him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing in my world.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against my lips. "This house is ours," he murmured. "And whether you fight me or not, you’re staying."
I stared at him, my heart pounding. "You don’t get to decide that."
His smirk deepened. "I already did."
"What if I hate it?"
"Then I'll sell it and we'll find another."
He was serious as he stepped away from me. "Here, let me show you the parts I like before you make your decision."
Dante led me through the house with the same quiet confidence he carried everywhere, his steps measured, his presence filling every room before I even stepped inside.
“This house has six bedrooms,” he said, his voice calm, matter-of-fact. “Each with its own en-suite bathroom.”
I arched a brow. “Planning on housing an army?”
Dante smirked, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You never know.”
I rolled my eyes, but I followed him anyway.
The master bedroom was massive, its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, the bed positioned perfectly to catch the sunrise. The space was sleek, modern—dark woods, neutral tones, clean lines. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like me .
Dante watched me as I took it in, his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”
I hesitated. “It’s… nice.”
His lips twitched. “Nice?”
I shrugged. “It’s very you .”
He stepped closer, his presence a slow-moving storm. “And what does that mean?”
I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “It means it’s controlled. Calculated. Everything in its place.”
Dante tilted his head, studying me. “And you don’t like that?”
I exhaled, looking around again. “I don’t know.”
He nodded once, like he was filing that information away for later. Then, without another word, he moved on.
The bathrooms were just as extravagant—marble countertops, rainfall showers, deep soaking tubs that looked like they belonged in a spa. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, the kind of place a professional chef would kill for.
Dante ran his fingers along the edge of the island, his gaze flicking to me. “You cook?”
I snorted. “Not well.”
His smirk deepened. “Good. I like feeding you.”
I ignored the way my stomach twisted at that, turning away before he could see the effect his words had on me.
He led me through the rest of the house, pointing out the things he liked—the open floor plan, the built-in security system, the private office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
When we reached the backyard, he stopped at the edge of the terrace, looking out over the water.
“This,” he said, his voice quieter now, “is my favorite part.”
I followed his gaze. The lake stretched out before us, the water still, reflecting the sky like glass. It was peaceful, untouched, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded Dante’s life.
I glanced at him, surprised. “You like this?”
Dante’s jaw tightened slightly. “I like the quiet.”
I studied him, the way his shoulders held tension even now, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t used to standing still.
I swallowed. “I didn’t think you were the type.”
His dark eyes flicked to me, something unreadable in them. “What type is that?”
“The kind who likes peace.”
Dante exhaled through his nose, a humorless sound. “I don’t get much of it.”
I looked back at the lake, the way the water barely moved, the way the world felt still here.
I understood, then, why he’d chosen this place.
It wasn’t just about the house.
It was about the escape.
I hesitated, then said, “It’s beautiful.”
Dante nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “So, do you hate it?”
I bit my lip, considering. “No.”
His smirk returned, slow and knowing. “Good.”
I turned back to the water, my arms wrapping around myself. “But it needs renovations."
"Name them and they will happen, wife."
I turned back toward the house, taking in the sleek lines, the towering windows, the sheer size of it all. It was beautiful, yes. But it wasn’t mine .
Not yet.
Dante stood beside me, his hands in his pockets, watching me with that quiet intensity that always made my skin prickle. He was waiting—waiting for me to say something, to make a decision.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers tracing the railing of the terrace. “The kitchen needs warmth,” I said finally. “It’s too cold, too sterile. It looks like a showroom, not a place where people actually cook.”
Dante’s lips twitched. “Noted.”
I turned to him, crossing my arms. “And the bedroom? It’s too you .”
His brow arched. “Meaning?”
I gestured vaguely toward the house. “It’s all dark wood and sharp edges. It’s… impersonal.”
Dante hummed, tilting his head slightly. “You want something softer.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
He studied me for a long moment, then pulled out his phone and typed something before slipping it back into his pocket. “Done.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, done ?”
“I mean, I’ll have someone come in and make the changes.” He shrugged. “Pick what you want. It’ll be handled.”
I stared at him, thrown by how easy he made it sound. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a big deal to reshape an entire house just because I wanted it to feel like home .
I swallowed hard, looking away. “And the backyard?”
Dante turned slightly, following my gaze to the lake. “What about it?”
I hesitated. “It’s beautiful, but it feels… empty.”
His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his dark eyes. “What do you want?”
I bit my lip, considering. “A garden.”
Dante’s brow furrowed. “A garden?”
I nodded, my arms tightening around myself. “Something with flowers. Maybe a greenhouse.”
Dante was silent for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Alright.”
I blinked. “Alright?”
He smirked. “Yes, alright . You want a garden? You’ll have a garden.”
I shook my head, laughing softly despite myself. “You make it sound so simple.”
Dante’s gaze darkened, his voice quieter now. “It is simple, Emilia.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.
Because for him, maybe it was simple.
For me? It was anything but.