15. Dante
Chapter 15
Dante
T he castle has been transformed into something unrecognizable.
Golden candelabras line the grand hall, flames flickering and casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The wax from the hundreds of flickering candles permeates the air with a soft, floral scent.
And everywhere—everywhere—there are masks.
Feathered, jeweled, laced. Some are delicate, veiling only the eyes, while others are elaborate works of art, obscuring the faces of the nobles and socialites who have come to play this game.
It’s all theatrics, all pretense, a world where identity is both hidden and on full display. And tonight, I am meant to be playing the lead role.
If only it were a tragic romance, I could meet my untimely demise before the night's end.
I lift the simple, black mask in my hand and fasten it over my face, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.
No. I made a promise; I have to see this through. If only to prove to myself that I am capable of selflessness. If I manage to prove that to Carmen in the process, that would only be a good thing.
Women draped in silk and satin watch me from across the hall. Their laughter is soft and calculated, and their movements are designed to be seen. They glance my way, waiting for me to approach, waiting for me to choose. I try not to wince.
My mother is somewhere among them, undoubtedly pleased with the performance unfolding before her. Evelina is above emotions as common as smugness, but I’d wager she was very close.
Especially when I force myself to smile and acknowledge her gaggle of bachelorettes.
I agreed to this. Not because I wanted to, not because I care, but because of Carmen. Because she knows me well enough to push my buttons. Because I care enough to let her.
I feel her absence keenly, like a missing piece, a note gone silent in the middle of a song. Carmen isn’t here, and suddenly, no mask in this room is enough to hide the fact that she’s the only one I want to see.
So here I am, standing at the center of a world I don’t want, surrounded by people vying for a future I never wanted to accept.
I take a deep breath, straighten my jacket, and step forward, slipping into the role they expect of me. If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it right.
I barely make it three steps before I hear the familiar click of heels against marble. A moment later, my mother appears beside me, her presence commanding even in the midst of the swirling decadence around us.
Evelina Grasso does not need a mask to make an impression—she is the mask, the force that keeps this castle standing and this family together. And yet, as she looks at me now, there’s something softer in her gaze.
“You look…how they say…dashing, amore mio, ” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear over the low hum of conversation before leaning in. “Your smile could be a little less strained.”
I smirk, offering my arm, and she takes it without hesitation. “Is looking the part not enough?”
She laughs—a real laugh, warm and knowing. “Perhaps I have simply gotten so used to your happiness these last few weeks. I find that I miss it now.”
I narrow my eyes. There’s something in her tone, something teasing, but before I can pry, she squeezes my arm lightly.
“Thank you, Dante,” she says, and this time, it’s without any edge. “For this. For humoring me.”
For a second, I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve spent years keeping my distance, resisting every attempt she’s made to bring me home. And yet, here she is, asking for nothing but my presence—and oh, how I hate that Carmen was right.
But I don’t get the chance to reply.
“Dante.” The voice is smooth, practiced, and unmistakably confident.
Rina Roma stands before us, her dark hair pulled into an elegant twist, her mask adorned with gold filigree. Her smile is deliberate, her gaze playful as she dips her head in greeting, her attention solely fixed on me.
“I was beginning to think I’d have to fight for a moment of your time,” she says, her lips curving in amusement. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny me a dance?”
I glance at my mother, who arches a brow, her expression unreadable. Odd…she’d been so eager for me to indulge Rina before. But perhaps the older woman was frustrated that the bachelorette had imposed on our moment.
Not wanting to cause a scene, I turn back to Rina and offer my hand.
“Of course,” I say smoothly, easily slipping into the performance. “It would be my pleasure.”
But as I lead her onto the dance floor, a strange unease settles in my chest. My hand rests lightly at her waist, guiding her through the measured steps of the dance, but my focus is slipping.
“I was hoping you’d be more delighted to see me,” Rina says softly, not bothering with the preamble. “Hosting a ball after all this time…I thought you might have had a chance to consider my proposal from the beginning of the summer.”
“Is this not the face of a delighted man?” I reply, pointedly refusing to address the latter part.
She quirks her head slightly. “Usually, men are slightly more…enthralled when I make an effort to dress up for them.”
Belatedly, I note the gown of deep emerald silk that clings to her every curve with scandalous audacity.
“You look lovely.”
She huffs at my mechanic tone. “Perhaps you could save me the embarrassment and simply tell me what will enthrall you the most.”
Sun-kissed skin, caramel eyes, biting humor. Italian insults primed on the tip of your tongue.
I bite my own tongue as Rina leans in close. “Is the color not to your satisfaction? I could be enticed into a shorter cut…better yet, I could forgo the dress entirely. Perhaps the sight will remind you just how much you worshipped me the last time.”
“That was a long time ago,” I respond stiffly.
Rina smirks. “I bet you remember it, though.”
It happens suddenly.
A ripple of awareness spreads through the ballroom, a shift in the air that turns heads and stills conversation. The musicians don’t falter, but even the melody feels different, as if it is bending to the presence that has just entered the hall.
The hairs prickle on the back of my neck, and I’m infinitely grateful for the excuse to look away from Rina. From having to indulge her relentless flirtations a moment longer.
And then I see her.
She stands at the top of the marble staircase, illuminated by candlelight and the shimmer of a thousand reflections in the chandeliers.
Carmen.
I know it’s her before my brain can form a single rational thought.
It doesn’t matter that her face is half-hidden behind a delicate mask of black lace—a perfect match to my own. Her hair has been swept into a loose, elegant knot, and the deep crimson of her gown is something I’ve never seen her wear before.
I know. My body knows. My breath leaves me in a sharp exhale, my pulse hammering against my ribs in protest.
The dress clings to her, sculpted silk and whispered temptation, the color a beautiful compliment against the warm glow of her skin. The fabric moves like liquid when she steps forward, the slit at her thigh parting just enough to make men forget their manners.
And they are forgetting. I can hear the murmurs and see the way eyes are drawn to her like moths to a flame.
Heat licks at the base of my spine, something possessive and undeniable curling in my chest.
She isn’t just beautiful. She’s stunning, a force to be reckoned with, whether she realizes it or not. And right now, every bastard in this ballroom is staring at her like she’s a prize they suddenly want to claim.
I release Rina without a second thought. She makes a soft noise of protest, but I barely hear it. My feet are already moving, cutting across the dance floor with a singular purpose.
I don’t care about the curious looks, about the whispered speculation in my wake. The only thing I care about is reaching her before someone else does.
Because I may have agreed to play this game tonight.
But Carmen Rubio belongs to me.
I reach her before anyone else can. Before some idiot with more bravado than sense makes the mistake of thinking she’s available.
I step into her space, letting the heat of my presence announce me before my voice does. “ Balla con me, princesa. ” Dance with me.
She turns her head slightly, just enough for her gaze to meet mine. Her expression gives nothing away, but I don’t miss the way her breath catches. She recovers quickly, of course. She always does.
“What makes you think I’d be interested?” she muses, tilting her head. “From what I hear, you intend to court your future wife this evening.”
I smirk. “And if you don’t save me from such a horrendous fate, I’ll be forced to leave you to your other countless admirers.”
Her eyebrow quirks up, not denying the envious looks thrown our way. “Has it not occurred to you that perhaps that’s exactly why I’m here?”
“Not at all,” I reply easily, calling her bluff.
She doesn’t move at first and doesn’t immediately accept my extended hand. Instead, she watches me, searching for something in my expression. Probably looking for the apology she thinks she’s owed.
Fair enough.
I step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You were right.”
That gets her attention. Her brows lift slightly behind the mask like she wasn’t expecting me to admit it. “About what?”
“You know what.”
She doesn’t respond immediately. She just studies me for another long moment before finally, finally , she places her hand in mine.
I lead her onto the floor, and as I pull her close, something tight inside my chest eases.
“You clean up nice,” I tell her, my hand resting on the small of her back, fingers brushing the silk of her dress.
“So do you.” She exhales slowly, her gaze flickering downward like she hates to admit it.
The music swells around us, the rest of the ballroom fading as I focus on her weight in my arms. The rhythm of her breath. The way her body moves against mine, hesitant at first, but then instinctual.
I lean in slightly, my lips brushing her ear. “I meant it, you know.”
She shivers, but her voice stays steady. “Meant what?”
“That you were right.” My grip on her tightens just enough to pull her closer. “I’ve been ignoring my responsibilities for far too long.”
She swallows, her fingers flexing slightly where they rest against my shoulder. “Damn right, you have.”
Carmen’s gaze flickers away before she forces herself to meet my eyes again.
There’s something different about her now—something quieter. I can feel it in the way she moves, in the way her body no longer holds tension like a blade ready to strike.
“I’m not used to this,” she murmurs.
I tilt my head. “Dancing?”
She exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “No. Thinking about what I want.”
I don’t speak. I just let her lead the conversation in her own time.
“For as long as I can remember, my life has belonged to the Cartel. To my father. To whatever future he’s carved out for me. I was always supposed to be a gift,” she says, her tone carefully neutral. “A symbol of loyalty. Of purity.”
That word— purity —makes something dark curl in my stomach. Carmen was meant to be someone’s possession.
She must see the shift in my expression because she smirks, though there’s no real humor in it. “Not really the picture of innocence now, am I?”
No. She’s not. She’s fire and defiance, reckless and untamed.
And fuck, I want her.
“What changed?” I ask.
Her smirk fades, replaced by something softer. Thoughtful. “Your mother.”
That surprises me. “What?”
She nods, hesitating before she speaks again. “She…made me feel like I could be more than just a pawn in my father’s game. Like I should be something more.”
A realization crashes over me like a wave.
She’s considering it. A different life. A different future. One where she’s free.
One where she’s not tied to the Cartel.
One where she’s not tied to him.
Something hot and desperate claws at my throat. “Carmen?—”
But before I can say anything else, the music slows to a stop, and the illusion breaks.
The moment we were suspended in dissolves, and applause ripples through the ballroom. Other couples separate, and Carmen takes a step back, leaving a distance between us that wasn’t there before.
She blinks up at me as if coming back to herself. Then, too quickly, she turns.
I should stop her.
I should grab her hand, pull her back into my arms, and tell her that if she’s looking for another life, she doesn’t have to do it alone.
That I’m right here.
But I don’t.
For so long, Carmen has operated under the scrutiny of others. If she wants something now, something from me , a voice within me begs, it’s not for an audience to spectate. And there are far too many people watching me now.
No. This is far too precious for that.
But I do want her all to myself.