Chapter 19
19
DANTE
T he private dining room of the Conti estate was dimly lit, the heavy oak table polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was the same table we’d sat around since we were kids, the same table where our father had once ruled with an iron fist. Every scolding, every lesson, every decision that shaped us had taken place at this table. Now, it was ours.
Rafe sat at the head, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. He’d inherited our father’s composure—a quiet, calculating presence that commanded respect without needing to demand it. Luca lounged in his chair across from me, one boot propped on the edge of the table, a smirk playing on his lips like he was waiting for the perfect moment to stir shit up.
The weight of our family’s empire sat on this table—every decision, every problem, every enemy waiting in the shadows for a chance to strike.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as I leaned forward, my knuckles brushing the glass of whiskey in front of me. “I told Emilia.”
Rafe arched a brow, his gaze sharpening. “Told her what?”
“That I know she didn’t take the money.”
A faint flicker of surprise crossed his face before he leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “About damn time.”
Luca snorted, his smirk widening. “You accused your wife of stealing twenty million dollars. What did you expect? A thank-you card?”
I ignored him, my focus on Rafe.
“She’s not the thief,” I said firmly. “But someone is. And I want them found.”
Rafe nodded once, his expression giving nothing away. “And you think it’s the Russians.”
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. “Aleksander Romanov has been too quiet. Too careful. He’s up to something.”
Luca stretched, cracking his knuckles as he let out a low chuckle. “The Russians are always up to something. It’s their default setting.”
Rafe exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the table. “We’ve been watching them, but they’re careful. No obvious moves. No mistakes. If Romanov’s involved, he’s covering his tracks well.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re innocent,” I said, my voice flat.
“No,” Rafe agreed. “But if we move without proof, we risk starting a war we’re not ready for.”
I clenched my jaw, the thought of sitting back and waiting making my skin crawl. “Then we get the proof.”
“And how do you propose we do that, big brother?” Luca asked, his tone laced with amusement. “Walk up to Aleksander and ask nicely?”
I shot him a look, my patience already wearing thin. “We keep pushing. We keep watching. Someone knows something, and I intend to find out who.”
Rafe nodded slowly, his sharp gaze meeting mine. “And the ports?”
I turned to him. “What’s the latest?”
His expression darkened, the faint lines on his face deepening. “They’re testing us. Small shipments coming in light. Delays. Excuses. It’s not just the Russians—it’s others too. They’re watching, waiting to see how far they can push before we push back.”
I exhaled sharply, setting my glass down with a muted thud. “And we’re letting them?”
Rafe’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We’re pushing back. Hard. But they’re not backing down.”
Luca let out a low laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “They think they can play us. Fucking idiots.”
“They’ll learn,” I said, my tone cold as steel.
Rafe arched a brow, watching me carefully. “You want to escalate?”
I met his gaze head-on. “I want them to understand that we don’t tolerate disrespect. Not from the Russians, not from anyone.”
Rafe nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ll handle it.”
I leaned back, satisfied. “Good.”
For a moment, silence settled over the room, heavy and suffocating. The weight of everything unsaid hung between us—the threats circling our family, the enemies waiting for a misstep, the fractures that had begun to show beneath the surface.
Then Luca grinned, breaking the tension like only he could. “So, about this charity auction.”
I sighed, already regretting bringing it up. “What about it?”
Luca’s grin widened, the mischief in his eyes unmistakable. “You and the wife are going, right?”
I took a slow sip of my whiskey, refusing to rise to the bait. “Yes.”
“Your first public appearance as a married man,” Luca continued, his tone dripping with mock reverence. “Dante Conti, a devoted husband, parading his blushing bride in front of the elite. Who would’ve thought?”
I shot him a warning look, my patience with his antics officially gone. “Shut up.”
Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s a good move. Show strength. Show unity. Put the rumors to bed before they start.”
“Show off your wife,” Luca added, his smirk turning wicked. “Let everyone know she’s yours.”
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the glass. “It’s business.”
“Sure it is,” Luca said, his grin never faltering. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure Valentina doesn’t get the wrong idea when she sees you and Emilia together.”
I slammed my glass onto the table, the sound cutting through the room like a gunshot.
Luca raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. “Relax, Dante. I’m just saying."
“I don’t need advice from you,” I said, my voice low and steady.
“No,” Luca said, his smirk fading slightly. “But maybe you should listen anyway. You’ve got a lot to prove, big brother. To her. To everyone.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us. I didn’t respond, but the truth of it gnawed at me.
The silence hung heavy in the room, Luca’s words still gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. I didn’t respond, my jaw tightening as I swirled the whiskey in my glass.
Rafe, ever the peacemaker, broke the tension with a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, enough. What charity are we even supporting at this thing?”
Luca’s grin returned, sharp and mischievous. “Ah, you’ll love this one, Rafe. It’s for the St. Gabriel alumni fund. ” He extended his arms in an exaggerated gesture, like he was presenting a prize on a game show.
Rafe’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, his dark eyes narrowing. “The alumni fund?”
“Yup,” Luca said, his tone brimming with mock enthusiasm. “For all the poor, struggling heirs of crime families who didn’t inherit enough empires to buy their way into a better future. Truly a noble cause.”
Rafe snorted, shaking his head as he leaned forward to grab the whiskey bottle. “Sounds like a room full of assholes trying to outbid each other for bragging rights. What’s next? A silent auction for who has the biggest yacht?”
Luca grinned, pointing at him. “Exactly. And knowing Dante, he’ll probably end up buying half the shit just to keep the peace.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s not about the auction.”
“No,” Luca agreed with a smirk. “It’s about pretending we’re all so civilized while secretly plotting how to stab each other in the back.”
Rafe chuckled, raising a brow at me. “You sure you don’t want to skip this one? Let the wife handle the schmoozing while you stay home and drink in peace?”
I shot him a dry look. “If I let her go alone, half those St. Gabriel assholes will spend the night trying to get her attention. And I’m not in the mood to bury anyone this week.”
Luca laughed, kicking his feet back up on the table. “Ah, the devoted husband. So protective.”
“Shut up, Luca,” I muttered, tossing back the rest of my drink.
Rafe, his amusement tempered with practicality, glanced at me. “So what’s the angle? Why even go? Besides the whole ‘showing off the wife’ thing.”
I set the glass down with a muted thud, exhaling slowly. “It’s business. A room full of people who want to tear my organization apart, and I get to smile, shake hands, and pretend I don’t know what they’re planning.”
Rafe leaned forward, his elbows braced on the table. “And the real reason?”
I smirked, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Because it’s better to keep your enemies close. And nothing brings them all together like an overpriced gala.”
Luca raised his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to charity.”
“Here’s to bullshit,” Rafe added, clinking his glass against Luca’s.
I sighed, pushing back from the table and rising to my feet. “I’ll bring my credit card. Ready to support more rich fucks who want to tear me down.”
“Spoken like a true philanthropist,” Luca called after me, his laughter following me out of the room.Chapter
The house was too quiet.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace—it was the kind that settled over you like a weight, pressing down until you couldn’t breathe.
I was restless.
Dante had been pacing the house for hours, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped as he handled whatever business had decided to ruin my day. He barely looked at me. Barely acknowledged my existence beyond the occasional glance, like I was just another piece of furniture in his perfectly controlled world.
And I hated it.
I hated that he could ignore me so easily. Hated that I wanted his attention.
I hated that I wanted him.
It had been days since our dinner on the rooftop, since the moment where, for a brief second, I thought we might be something other than enemies locked in an endless battle of wills. But that moment had passed, and now we were back to this—him consumed by his business, and me left to stew in my own frustration.
I needed a distraction.
And if Dante wasn’t going to give me one, I’d make my own fun.
I smirked to myself as I stood in front of my closet, running my fingers over the dresses he’d bought me. He had good taste, I’d give him that. But I wasn’t looking for something elegant tonight. I wanted something that would make his blood boil.
Something that would make him snap.
I pulled out a dress that was barely a dress at all—black, tight, and cut so high on my thighs it was practically indecent. The neckline plunged low, the fabric clinging to every curve like a second skin. It was the kind of dress that screamed trouble.
Perfect.
I slipped it on, adjusting the straps before stepping into a pair of heels that made my legs look longer than they already were. A final glance in the mirror confirmed what I already knew—I looked like sin wrapped in silk.
Now, for the fun part.
I walked out of the bedroom, my heels clicking against the marble floors as I made my way toward the front door. Dante was in his office, the door slightly ajar, his voice a low murmur as he spoke in rapid Italian.
I didn’t slow down.
“Going out,” I called, my voice deliberately casual as I passed by his office.
There was a pause. A beat of silence where I knew he was processing what I’d just said.
Then, without missing a step, he responded.
“No, you’re not.”
I smirked, but didn’t stop.
“Bye, Dante,” I sing-songed, my fingers brushing against the doorknob.
I heard the rustle of movement behind me, the scrape of his chair against the floor.
“Emilia.”
I turned the knob.
“I’m leaving,” I said, stepping onto the threshold. “I’m doing it. I’m walking out the door.”
I took one step outside.
Then another.
And then?—
A strong hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me back so fast I barely had time to gasp before I was spun around and pressed against the door.
Dante’s body was a wall of heat against mine, his grip firm but not painful as he pinned me in place. His dark eyes burned into me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”
I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him see how fast my heart was beating. “Out.”
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Try again.”
I huffed, shifting against him, but he didn’t budge. “I’m bored, Dante. I need a drink. I need—” I trailed off, my gaze flicking to his lips before I could stop myself.
His grip tightened.
“You need what?” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.
I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. “I need to get out of this house.”
Dante exhaled sharply, his free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch was deceptively gentle, but his eyes told a different story.
“You think you can just walk out of here dressed like that?” he asked, his voice rough.
I arched a brow. “Why? Afraid someone might look at me?”
His jaw ticked. “I know they will.”
I smirked, pressing my hands against his chest. “Then maybe you should let me go before I cause a scene.”
Dante’s eyes darkened. “You want a scene?”
Before I could respond, he spun me around, pressing my back against the door. His hands gripped my hips, his body flush against mine, trapping me completely.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. “You want to push me. You want to make me lose control.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling against the wood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dante chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Liar.”
His hands slid lower, gripping the hem of my dress, his fingers teasing the bare skin of my thighs. “You put this on for me,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Didn’t you?”
I bit my lip, refusing to answer.
Dante’s grip tightened. “Say it.”
I turned my head slightly, my breath hitching as his lips brushed against my jaw. “And if I did?”
His smirk was pure sin. “Then you got exactly what you wanted.”
He kissed me then—hard, demanding, his hands gripping my waist as he pressed me harder against the door. I gasped against his mouth, my fingers tangling in his shirt, holding on as he stole the air from my lungs.
His hands moved, sliding up my sides, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my dress. “You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he murmured against my lips.
I smirked, nipping at his bottom lip. “Make me stay.”
Dante growled, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, my heels digging into his back as he carried me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.