Chapter 22 Dante
DANTE
The water runs hot, steam blurring the mirror as I brace my hands against the tile.
I let it scald my back, hoping it will wash away the restlessness, the frustration that’s been building for days.
My shoulders ache. My jaw feels tight. Everything in this apartment is too clean, too quiet, too careful.
I haven’t touched Adriana in almost a week.
I know she felt it when I told her I couldn’t love her.
She closed off, shrank into herself, stopped looking for me at night.
I thought I wanted the space—told myself it was better this way.
No expectations. No complications. Just two people waiting out a sentence our families wrote for us.
But every day it gets harder. I catch myself staring when she isn’t looking—at the way her hair falls down her back, the way she moves through the kitchen in the mornings, always quiet, always guarded.
I see her hunched over her laptop at the table, lost in thought, pen tapping against her lips.
Even now, the memory of her mouth, her thighs, the sound she makes when she comes—fuck, it’s enough to make me hard in the shower, even when I try not to think about her.
I clench my fists, resting my forehead against the tile.
She was never supposed to mean anything.
The only reason I married her was because my father wanted it.
Adriana Petrova was supposed to be part of his twisted revenge, his way of settling old debts and humiliating her family. I agreed because it was expected.
But somewhere along the way, the obligation faded. I don’t want her to pay for things she never did. I don’t want to keep playing my father’s game.
My cock throbs, aching with want, but I force myself to breathe slow, to let the water beat down on me until the edge of hunger softens, until I can trust myself not to lose control.
I turn at the sudden sound of the door opening, to find Adriana standing there, her eyes roaming up and down my naked body. At first, neither of us moves, and her breath starts to come faster, chest rising and falling as she stands just inside the door, frozen. Steam curls around us, heavy and hot.
Then I step out of the shower, water running down my skin. I barely give her a chance to step back—I just reach for her, hands finding her waist, and pull her against me. She gasps, startled, but doesn’t resist. Her eyes are wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink.
“Dante,” she whispers.
I can see the pulse beating fast in her throat, feel the electricity in the air as I lean in. I brush my lips over hers, slow at first, waiting for any sign of hesitation. She doesn’t pull away.
I kiss her deeply, tasting her surprise and her hunger.
Her hands tangle in my wet hair, holding me there.
I break away only to drag her shirt up, over her arms and head, baring her to the humid air.
Her bra is thin, already damp from the steam, her nipples peaked against the lace.
I remove it too, then bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth, letting my tongue circle the sensitive skin until she arches into me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.
I slip my hands lower, sliding her leggings and panties down in one smooth movement, leaving her bare. She steps out, her eyes never leaving mine. I take a second to look at her—how perfect she is, the flush on her skin, the way her breath trembles between parted lips.
I lift her, her legs coming around my waist as naturally as breathing. She clings to me, trusting, her lips finding my jaw, then my mouth. I carry her into the shower, pressing her back gently to the warm, wet tiles. The spray hits my shoulders, water running down both our bodies.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, one hand braced above her head, the other exploring every inch of her.
My fingers skim her ribs, her sides, then slide between her thighs.
She’s slick and hot, hips bucking into my touch as I rub slow circles over her clit.
She moans, quiet and desperate, muffling the sound against my mouth.
“You feel so good,” I murmur, my voice low and raw. Her hands roam my chest, my neck, hungry and searching.
I take my time, stroking her, watching her fall apart in my arms. The steam rises around us, every sense heightened.
When I slide two fingers inside her, she gasps, head falling back against the tiles.
I watch her face, every flicker of pleasure, every little shiver.
She tightens around me, legs trembling, toes curling at my back.
When she’s close, I slow down, savoring the way she arches into my touch, the way her mouth finds my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin. I want her to come apart for me, right here, lost in the water and the heat.
I press my thumb against her clit, curling my fingers just right. “Let go,” I whisper. “Come for me, Adriana.”
She does, shuddering against me, her body tensing and then unraveling. Her cry is swallowed by the shower, by my kiss. I hold her through it, never letting up until she slumps against me, boneless and spent.
I press kisses along her jaw, down her neck, whispering her name against her skin. I don’t wait—I need her too much now. I shift her weight, line myself up, and sink into her in one long, aching thrust. She gasps, nails biting into my back.
I move slow at first, letting her adjust, her body still fluttering around me.
The feeling is almost too much. I bury my face in her shoulder, breathing her in, water pouring over my back, our bodies slick and sliding together.
I thrust deeper, filling her, rocking into her until she moans again, hips meeting mine in rhythm.
Her legs tighten around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, urging me to go harder. I give in, setting a steady, relentless pace, fucking her into the wall, lost in the heat and slickness and the way she says my name.
Every sound she makes, every shiver, drives me closer to the edge. She clings to me, hands fisting in my hair, breath hot and desperate in my ear.
“Dante—” Her voice breaks, high and pleading. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”
I don’t. I thrust harder, faster, the sound of skin on skin lost in the roar of the shower.
She meets every movement, her body taking me deeper, tighter, wetter.
I reach between us, thumb finding her clit again, rubbing fast little circles until she cries out, coming again, body pulsing around my cock.
That’s all it takes. I press her harder to the wall, hips snapping, every muscle drawn tight.
I feel her squeeze me, clench and flutter, and I lose control, spilling into her, growling her name against her mouth.
The world goes white, and I hold her through it, shuddering, until my legs nearly give out.
We slide down the wall together, sinking to the floor of the shower, tangled in arms and legs and breathless laughter. I pull her into my lap, kissing her softly, over and over, letting the water wash away everything else.
I press my forehead to hers, both of us still gasping, her hands on my chest. I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek, and for a long moment, I just look at her.
There’s nothing between us but heat and steam and the proof of how much I want her, how much I need her, how impossible it is to pretend otherwise.
It’s much later, when we’re dry and clothed and getting ready for bed, when my phone vibrates against the bedside table. I glance at the name and take the call, stepping away from Adriana, pressing the phone to my ear, my voice low. “What is it, Remik?”
Remik’s voice comes through tense and quick. “We have a problem, Dante. A girl washed ashore out by the freight docks. The one who went missing from the club. Cops just found her body. I got it confirmed through a friend on the force.”
My jaw tightens. My pulse hammers in my ears. “What did you do, Remik?” I growl. “I told you to stay off this, to keep everything clean.”
“I did, I’m not involved in that shit,” he says. Believe me, I’m not stupid enough to go hunting on my own grounds. I haven’t touched a thing. This isn’t me, Dante. But now the cops are involved, and people are going to start asking questions.”
I run a hand over my jaw, already reaching for my keys. “Jesus. I’ll be right there.”
“What’s wrong?” Adriana asks from behind me, her voice tentative, worry in it.
“Nothing important,” I say, forcing my tone flat. I grab my keys and shove my phone in my pocket, already moving for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
I don’t look at her as I go, afraid that if I do, she’ll see the truth written all over my face. The last thing I need is to drag her any deeper into this. As the door closes behind me, I hear her call my name, but I’m already halfway down the hall.
I jog down the stairs, heart pounding, the cold city air hitting me as soon as I step outside. I knew getting involved with Remik could be bad business, but it was a calculated risk. That’s how you move up in this world. That’s how you become ruler of the city. Nobody rises clean.
Even us Volkovs—my family crawled out of the dirt with our own hands and feet, scraping for every inch of ground. I’m not the one who gets squeamish when things get messy. I never have been.
The city rushes by in a blur of lights and rain-slicked streets as I drive toward the docks. My mind is already calculating—what I’ll say, what Remik might be hiding, who else could be watching.
When I pull up to the edge of the shipping yards, Remik is already waiting in the shadow of a cargo crate, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his coat collar turned up against the wind.
He doesn’t look up as I approach, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way he keeps glancing over his shoulder.
“Well?” I demand.
He finally lifts his head. “It’s bad,” he mutters, voice low. “They pulled her out of the water just before sunrise. Police tape everywhere. She’d been in the river a couple days at least.”
I step closer, my voice harder. “Who was she?”
He swallows, eyes darting. “Cops aren’t releasing a name yet, but my contact showed me a photo. It’s the girl that went missing from the club, allegedly. I pulled some strings and found her name was Anya Kozlova.”
“Allegedly?” I ask. “How did she end up in the water, Remik?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this.”
“Well, I have to,” I say coldly.
“I told you, I’m not stupid,” he insists. “I didn’t even see her that night. This is bad for everyone, especially me.”
I take a slow breath, forcing myself to think. The police won’t care about the truth. They’ll take the simplest story and run with it.
I take out my phone, already dialing a number I hoped I wouldn’t need. “We’re going to find who did this, and we’re going to make them pay. No one uses my name to clean up their mess. Not even you, Remik.”
He exhales, relief and terror in the same breath. “What now?”
“Now you keep your head down and your ears open. And if you hear anything—even a whisper—you bring it to me. Understand?”
He nods, eager to please.
As he disappears into the dark, I linger for a moment, looking out over the water. I’m not here to save the world, but I’ll be damned if I let innocent girls disappear while men like Remik hide behind my name.
One way or another, whoever did this will pay. And I’ll be the one to make sure of it.