16. Dante
Chapter 16
Dante
Reese grips the edge of the boat rail, as if she’ll topple over with one sudden movement. Ramsey looms beside her. After much protest, the Volto mask I got him hangs ridiculously on his face. Around us, the beautiful and the damned drink champagne behind their masks, safe in their anonymity.
Crater Lake sleeps, or pretends to. Tonight, it belongs to people who bend reality with black cards and backroom deals. But this party isn’t about money—it’s about knowing which doors to knock on, which palms to grease. The cave’s location passes through whispers in penthouses, traded like currency. Wizard Island looms ahead like a dark promise. Our boat cuts through black water, prow slicing past pines.
Music pulses somewhere beyond the dock, while water runs down cave walls like tears of light. Each droplet catches the lanterns’ glow.
My eyes flit to the gorgeous gown hugging every curve of her body. Did she dare put on the lingerie? My fingers itch to find out.
“You didn’t tell me there was going to be water,” she groans.
“Almost over, sweetheart.” The endearment feels dangerous in my mouth as I wrap my arm around her shoulder. She doesn’t bristle at my touching her. A win.
“I hate you,” she lies.
“Too bad you’re stuck with me for the next couple hours. Unless you’d like to swim back to shore.” She shakes her head profusely, like I asked her to eat a worm. “You did get up to twenty-five seconds tonight.”
“You seriously are the worst,” she lies again.
“The only other suggestion I have for you would be to ask Rams to swim you back,” I say and face Ramsey, who glares at me. “What do you think, buddy? Think you can handle something out of The Scorpion and the Frog ?” No response. I turn back to Reese. “I think he’s warming up to me.”
She gives me a scolding look—the one that makes me feel seventeen again, stripped of everything I’ve built. The one that makes me feel a little bad about being bad. Yet she’s still here, solid and real beside me.
“I don’t think so.”
My hard chuckle fills up my chest. This bit of bite from her is worth it, because I’m taking Reese fucking Sinclair to the most exclusive party of the year, and no one will know but me. Tonight, I’ll show her what freedom tastes like, what it means to belong to no one but yourself.
“If I’d told you there was a boat involved, you would’ve never agreed to come. And I couldn’t risk that.” I lean close enough to breathe her in, testing both our limits. “Trust me. And now that I’ve distracted you long enough, give me your arm.” The boat clanks against the dock as the captain secures us to the wooden planks. “We’re here.”
Around us, there are dozens of glamorous guests bustling off of their tiny boats, walking down the dock toward the cave.
Reese shifts closer, all wide-eyed as she takes in the masked strangers. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call intimate.”
“Numbers were never my strong suit.”
Her nails dig crescents into my bicep as I help her off the boat and onto the dock. “Drop me in the water, and I’ll destroy you during training,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Looking forward to it.”
The boat lists under Ramsey’s weight as he attempts to take Reese’s other arm. “Maybe you should let me—”
“I got her, big guy.” The words come out harder than intended. Or maybe exactly as intended.
She quiets Ramsey with a look. He retreats, radiating disapproval.
“Here, since heels and planks don’t mix.” In one fluid motion, I step off the boat and sweep her into my arms. Her body curves into mine like muscle memory. Ramsey’s glare burns between my shoulder blades.
She flicks her brown eyes to mine. “You orchestrated this whole thing to carry me, didn’t you?”
“A boat, a Balenciaga, a genuine Venetian mask, all to carry you down ten meters of dock?” I adjust my grip, drawing her closer to my chest, letting Ramsey see. “Sounds like me.”
She laughs against my collar, a private sound. Mine .
The ceiling’s crystalline formations catch the light just so. Murano orbs house colonies of bioluminescent creatures. The guests—all properly vetted, of course—drift through the space in their inherited masks and bespoke silks. Near the back, where the cave opens into a natural alcove, a bartender crafts cocktails using spirits older than most small nations.
The fog machine’s haze mingles with cigarette and weed smoke, layering the air with memories of places that would make Reese flinch.
When I set her down, her pulse jumps visible at her throat. Behind her mask, her eyes dart around, taking everything in.
“What is this place?”
“Impressed?” I try to sound casual.
“You want me to be impressed that you’re disturbing sacred ground?” Her hip juts to the side as she crosses her arms across herself.
“The organizers preserve this place, protect it. Nothing illegal happens here—at least, not to the environment. We leave it better than we found it.” I give her a wink. This isn’t rebellion, it’s sanctuary.
“And you come to places like this often?”
“When the opportunity arises.”
I need her to see it.
There’s something untamed in both of us. Her fire forged into steel, mine left to burn. I want to watch her discipline crack, at least for a night. Let her taste what she’s denied herself.
After years of keeping everyone at a clinical distance, showing her this side of me—the one people usually see first, before they piece together the mess underneath, before the drinks blur their judgment—feels like stepping off a ledge.
And fuck, I want to fall.
“Then I want to see it. See you.” She flinches. “For my research, of course.”
“What other reason is there?”
There’s so much unsaid, and every inch of me screams in desire. I’ve never been with someone like her before, never hung out with someone so casually. I want to kiss her. I want to undress her and devour her right in front of everyone.
But that’s the old Dante.
Patience . The best things in life are worth waiting for.
Her fingers twitch at her side. Is she thinking the same things I am? Then a sequined woman careens toward us like a meteor of glitter. Her face locks onto Reese’s, and my protective instincts spark up. My pulse races, my body her shield.
Headlines scroll through my mind: America’s Darling Caught in the Undertow of the Underground Scene.
My scene.
“I love you!” The stranger laughs and embraces Reese as time suspends. Fuck, I promised her this wouldn’t happen. Reese’s careful composure fractures. Then the stranger turns to me. “I love you too.” And she drifts off, rubbing the leaves of an innocent potted plant against her face.
I exhale, and so does Reese.
“Oh heavens, I thought—”
“Your cover was blown?” Me too , I don’t add. “Don’t worry, she seems to be experiencing some chemical-induced enlightenment.”
“Right, uh.” Reese shifts, her fingers worrying a strand of hair, her eyes wide with discovery. “I don’t—I don’t want to do that.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “Say the word, and we’re gone.”
I’ve had my fair share of nights dissolved into altered consciousness, but being here with Reese fills me with unease, like I have to stay alert, to stay focused.
To make sure she’s safe.
“No, I trust you. I can’t see anyone’s face; I doubt they’ll see mine. This is a lot.”
Maybe it’s too much too fast?
“I knew you were a good girl, but you’re from New Orleans. You never go down to Mardi Gras?”’
“My parents never let me go downtown when the parades were happening. We did the sanitized version—St. Charles early in the morning, church bells, Mom’s store-bought king cake.” Her hand moves to her pearl necklace. “But I was also out of town a lot. Left at eleven to shoot Clubhouse .”
So much of her childhood was taken away. “When they clipped your wings.”
“I’m not some caged bird.” But her voice wavers. “Just…inexperienced.”
I lean close enough to catch her perfume. Cedar. Magnolias. All Reese. “Don’t worry. Tonight we’ll break every rule you never knew you wanted to break. Safely.”
I want to show her everything. The violence of surrender, the sweetness of defiance, but I want to do it right.
Tonight, she’s in my world, and I want to ensure it doesn’t swallow her.
“This is hardly a place for fairground rides.”
“Better. It’s a place for pure fucking transcendence.”
Tonight isn’t exclusive—it’s forbidden. And that makes all the difference.
“Show me,” she says. Her smile turns feral, unscripted. This is what I’ve been chasing—not the high, but this moment of watching someone step off the edge of themselves. “I said I wanted to get into character, and that’s what I’m going to be doing. And I feel like Robyn would go for a drink in this situation.”
“Follow me.”
We head to the bar. I order and grab the drinks, but not before grabbing the bartender’s wrist.
“Clean?” I ask.
“Clean.”
They better be. I know drugs all too well, and the last thing we need is laced decadence. I nod, releasing him as Ramsey gives me an approving glance from across the room.
“Everything okay?” Reese asks.
“Yes. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Her face tilts down, but I see the shadow of a smile on her lips. She takes the drink, inhales, and sips, eyes widening. “My goodness—what is this?” Her face sours as her southern drawl slips out.
“Easy there,” I warn. “Absinthe. The good stuff. Strong enough to make you see stars, but not strong enough for you to turn all van Gogh and cut an ear off.”
She takes another sip. “Tastes like licorice and hellfire had a love child.” Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “I think I want more.”
“One’s enough. Training tomorrow, remember?”
“I can handle it,” she shoots back, swaying closer. “Isn’t that what tonight’s all about?”
Yes, it is, darling.
Before I can answer, she grabs another drink from the bartender and tilts the cup back in one smooth motion. “That’s enough.”
“You’re not allowed to be bossy in the gym and out of it.” She pauses, and I recognize that look—it’s the same calculated recklessness she gets in training before attempting something bold. Her shoulders drop, tension melting. “Why don’t I give the commands tonight?”
My cock hardens at the words. She moves closer, tongue darting across her lower lip, and desire hits me like a physical blow. She lets her fingers dance in the silver chain along my neck.
Her hand drops lower, pausing at a pearl button on my shirt, unfastening it with a tortuous slowness.
Fuck.
“You’re so buttoned-up, Mr. Hastings. We’re meant to be letting loose.”
“Fucking hell, Reese.” My pulse thunders beneath my starched collar, her fingers electrifying my chest. Absinthe’s sweet sharpness lingers on her breath.
Rising to her tiptoes, swaying, she whispers hot against my ear, “Let’s see if you move as well here as you do with your sword.” Her words slur at their edges.
The bass drops. Tonight, Reese finally lets go. Inhibitions dissolving with each beat.
She throws her head back in wild abandon, joy erupting from her throat like it’s her first taste of freedom. That smile could topple dynasties. She spins through the kaleidoscope of bodies, stumbling yet catching herself with a giggle.
Otherworldly. Untouchable.
I can’t look away.
A masked couple tries pulling me into their orbit. I growl them off, irritated. Normally, I’d be hunting my next meaningless distraction. But this isn’t another night, another willing body.
This is Reese Sinclair crashing into my world, her cheeks flushed with one drink too many.
She grips my hand with startling force. “Don’t leave me,” she hiccups.
Her red dress teases me with each sway. When she traces her clavicle, I forget to breathe. I spin her into my arms to steady her wobble, and the heat of her back against my chest nearly shatters me.
She reaches for another drink, fingers unsteady.
“Easy, Reese,” I warn as she sways dangerously, my hand instinctively finding the small of her back.
“Join me,” she challenges, eyes flashing with mischief. “Aren’t you made for this kind of fun?”
“I’m watching you,” I counter, my voice rougher than intended.
She invades my space, her lips barely brushing my ear. That innocent contact ignites a current down my spine, scorching everything in its wake. “Why? Afraid I’ll see the real you?”
Something honest splinters right behind my ribs. Part of me wants to dull this feeling with a pill, a shot, anything to keep myself floating in this perfect moment without having to face what it means.
“You’re drunk,” I say firmly, but there’s hesitation in my voice.
“I know,” she says proudly. “Isn’t it nice? Everything’s…softer.” She gestures vaguely. “Do you ever feel that way? Like the edges aren’t so sharp anymore?”
“That’s what people look for here,” I admit. But from my own experience, you rarely find what you’re looking for at the bottom of a glass. I steady her as she tilts too far.
“Maybe I’m not looking for anything,” she says quietly, her voice cutting through the noise.
“Maybe you’re just tired of being looked at?”
“You need to get out of your skin,” she teases, throwing my words back at me with devastating precision. “Dance with me.”
“I shouldn’t,” I say, though my body follows hers. “You’re not…not in a state to—”
“To what?” she interrupts, suddenly lucid. “To make decisions? To feel something? I’m just drunk enough to be honest, Dante. Are you brave enough for that?”
I’m torn between instincts—to protect her from harm and to revel in her wildness. The selfish part of me hungers to watch her break free, to show her life beyond the pages of a script. Every nerve demands I lose myself completely in her chaos.
But for the first time in my reckless life, I want to savor something—savor her.
“Let me tell you a secret,” Reese whispers as we step into her cabin. She’s very tipsy. Not the kind of drunk that’ll knock her out the minute her head hits the pillow. But the kind where she wants to keep the party going, all night if she could. Even on the boat ride, the drive back to the jet, she didn’t care. Just kept dancing.
She chose this, but I can’t help feeling responsible.
“What is it?”
She kicks off her heels, turns to me, and giggles with a hiccup that’s so sweet it stings. “I’m wearing your gift.”
My spine stiffens, jaw tightening. All night I’ve itched to discover if she chose to put it on, and now she tells me.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say, ignoring her despite how badly I want to find out what all those black lines and lace look like on her.
Her fingers trace over my arm again. “Bold of you to figure out my size. But I like that about you. How you know things about me.”
I inhale. Don’t pay attention, Dante. She won’t remember any of this in the morning. I pull away from her, though every cell in my body screams at me not to, and I find a bottle of water in the fridge.
“Here, drink up. You need to hydrate after all that partying, wild child.”
She ignores my offering and steps closer. Palms on my chest. The smell of absinthe still on her breath. “What I need is for you to kiss me, Dante.” My name leaves her lips like a confession. “Please.”
I press crescents into my palms, needing something to ground me. This is worse than any craving, worse than withdrawal. She’s right here, willing and wanting, but this isn’t how we’re going to do this. I’ve waited weeks for her to warm up to me; I can wait a little longer to melt into her.
“You’re drunk,” I say, barely holding on.
“So?” she teases. “You’re telling me the Dante Hastings never kissed a person who was a little tipsy before?”
“Not if they aren’t sober enough to consent.”
“I’m sober, and I consent,” she insists through another hiccup. She pulls her hand away before winding it into mine. I stiffen at the contact. Holding hands isn’t something I do. Unless there’s a practical reason, like helping someone over a fence or through a crowd. But she’s drawing our joined hands up, tracing my fingers along her jawline, her gaze heavy-lidded as she watches my reaction.
Her skin is soft, flushed from the alcohol, or maybe that’s just her. Her pulse thrums where our wrists cross.
“You’re nowhere close to the definition of sober,” I scold.
She glares at me, her nose scrunching and lips pouting. It can’t be healthy that I get this fucking turned on by her being frustrated with me.
“I can prove it,” she says, glancing around the cabin. To her right, a pile of scripts and pens sits atop the entryway credenza. Reese’s eyes flit back to me mischievously before she reaches over and grabs a pen. “Would a drunk person be able to sign their own name perfectly? I don’t think so.”
“I’m certain you can autograph in your sleep,” I chuckle at her terrible argument.
Ignoring me, Reese nudges the cuff of my sleeve without letting go of my hand, revealing my wrist. She finds a patch of clear skin between my tattoos and presses the pen’s tip into me.
“Who should I make it out to?” she asks with a smirk.
Fucking hell. Is this seriously happening? Is Reese Sinclair about to write her name on my skin? I almost can’t speak. “Your biggest fan.”
She steadies her grip, the sharp point of the pen digging into me. My blood races, the flesh hot as if the black ink is branding me. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck and into the collar of my shirt. I’m so fucking hard I might actually explode.
No. Absolutely not. Don’t come. Don’t you dare come in your trousers while she’s signing her name onto your skin.
There will be nothing more pathetic than that. Fuck.
Once Reese finishes her handiwork, I manage a deep breath. She holds up her neat script for me to see. To my biggest fan, xo Reese Sinclair.
My mouth dries.
“How’s that for having all of my faculties in order?” she quips.
“Reese,” I beg.
“You like how that looks, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Well, I like these rings you wear,” she murmurs in her honeyed voice. “I like them so very much.” She grabs my hand, gaze fixed on my pointer finger as she inspects the silver band. When her plush lips press against the metal, a jolt shoots straight down my spine to my already hard cock. The intimacy of it makes my throat tight. Her eyes connect with mine, and she pulls away. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing more I want to do than get carried away with you right now. Pin you against this wall and kiss every smart thing you’ve ever said to me off your damn lips,” I say through a hoarse throat. “You have no idea how little I want to be a gentleman toward you right now.”
“I want that too.”
“Not like this,” I say, lowering my voice. “You want to know what it’s like to be with me? Then I want you to feel everything I do to you.” Reese moves like smoke before me, all heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips. “That means waiting. For both of us. Can you do that?” I exhale hard through my teeth. “You have no idea how easy you are to need, Reese.”
She deserves a clear head and clean memories.
“Can you help me get more comfortable?” She spins in front of me, and her fingers fumble with the dress. “If that doesn’t violate your gentlemanliness ?”
“It does not.”
I hold my breath and brush her hair off her back. The zipper slides down with agonizing slowness. I force my touch to remain clinical—professional, as sober Reese would want it to be—even as the sight of her exposed skin makes the need in my blood burn.
“Your touch feels so nice,” she exhales with a moan.
I’m going to die in this delicious hell she’s put me in.
Once the dress is unzipped, I force myself to turn around and give her some privacy. But in a breath, Reese appears in front of me.
And, fuck, there she is. In my gift, which has transformed into pure torture. Her curves, the untamed waves of hair, the smudged lipstick. I clench my fists, my cock trapped in my trousers. Now this…I don’t know if I have enough self-control left.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your gift,” she says with a slow twirl of her hair and that same lip bite from her little seduction act at the beach. “I don’t want you to think I have terrible manners, Dante.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
She lets a bra strap slip, and the flash of her bare shoulder is enough to shatter my control. I force myself to turn away, even as every muscle screams in protest.
My heart pounds in every artery. Loud and impossible to ignore. Since I met her, she’s been with me, this fixed point in my consciousness. Nights fixed with a smile that triggers some dopamine response I can’t rationalize. As tempting as every perfect curve of hers is, I want that Reese. The woman who snorts when she laughs and gets giddy over fight choreography.
“When I finally have you, Reese”—she blinks rapidly—“and I will have you, I need to know, without a doubt, that you want me as much as I want you. Now, let me take care of you.” I force myself to step away and grab a robe, draping it over her shoulders. The sheets whisper as she sinks into her bed.
I head to the bathroom, gathering up makeup wipes and a hairbrush, and I find sticky notes covering the mirror like confessions. Trust your instincts. Be the leading lady.
This is my Reese.
Back at her bedside, I kneel. “Close your eyes.” She does, making these small sounds that hit me straight in the chest as I gently remove her mascara. I move on to her hair, the famous Sinclair mane.
I grip the brush carefully and work slowly through her thick, golden hair. My body burns with an unspoken need. Then the brush catches, and she groans as I gently work out the knot hiding at the nape of her neck. She leans into my touch, her head heavy in my palm.
I’m in so much trouble.
She’s like nicotine. Like air. Like the first time I held my saber.
“There,” I whisper, brushing the strands behind her ears.
Her eyes open, slow and soft, meeting mine. “I miss that smell of yours. All the smoke.”
“I gave it up,” I reply.
She drifts off to sleep without knowing I’d give up more than cigarettes if she asked. Since she started occupying all my empty spaces, I haven’t needed that vice.
For an hour, I linger, haunted by her cabin. Her world, filled with scripts, sword fighting books, and photos of both her polished celebrity and the laughing girl I’m falling for.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I slip out. The cool air hits my skin like a rebuke.
Ramsey’s eyes find me instantly. Silent, ever-watchful.
“She’s sleeping,” I say, my words falling short.
His gaze narrows, the warning clear: Don’t fuck this up. I nod, but he sees right through me.
Message received.
Walking away feels like ripping out a part of myself. She’s under my skin now, in my blood. And damn it, I want her to stay there.