31. Cassie
CASSIE
T he thing about being raised around chaos? You can smell a setup a mile away.
Tina practically shoved me down the hall, whispering something about “go put that dress on and brush your damn hair,” which is suspicious on its own. The rain’s beating down so hard outside, I thought the roof might blow off, but no—apparently, I’m supposed to dress up like I’m crashing a gala.
I slip into the dress—the deep red one, silky, slinky, sinful, the slit cutting high up my thigh, the fabric hugging me like it was made for nights like this. Nights where everything changes.
My hands shake as I smooth the fabric down my sides, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
“What’s going on, Tina?” I pretend to grumble because where my mind is going. It could leave me disappointed. Better to imagine this isn’t what I think this is. “We can’t really go out in the rain, you know?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, bitch.” She reaches for my lips with bright red lipstick. “Besides, you’ve got to trust me. You wanna look good for this.”
So, I do.
My nerves? Shot. My heels? Higher than my self-confidence. But I go ahead and do what Tina asks with a fluttering heart.
Once she’s all done, she rushes me out the door. “Go wait in the living room,” she tells me. “I’ll be right there.”
Downstairs, the house is dark—except for the glow of candles. Roses everywhere. No guards, no Aria, no housekeepers. Not a soul. Just the storm pounding against the glass and the flicker of firelight.
And him.
Dante stands by the fireplace, all dark suit and danger, watching the flames like he could outburn them. When he hears me and turns, the air leaves my lungs.
“Christ, Cass.”
His eyes burn straight through me, lingering on the dress, the legs, the bare shoulders. His mouth curves in that slow, lethal smirk I hate loving.
I already know what this is. My pulse races for all the right, terrifying reasons.
He walks toward me, unhurried, the storm rumbling outside like even the sky knows what’s coming.
My knees nearly buckle when he takes my hand.
Then he drops to one knee.
The room tilts.
No ring. Just him. Dangerous, gorgeous, wrecked for me.
“I don’t have a ring as yet,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges. “But I’ve got a promise.”
My throat tightens.
“You’re mine, Cassie,” he murmurs, thumb skimming my wrist. “Always have been, always will be. You’ve lived in my head even when I was half a world away.
Fighting this? Fighting us? It’s the only mistake I refuse to keep making.
You gave me the one thing I never thought I’d have—a child, a family.
I’ve failed you before, but I’ll spend every damn day proving I won’t fail you again.
I’ll love you. Protect you. And as long as you’re by my side, no one touches what’s ours. ”
The storm cracks overhead.
“Marry me, Cassie. Not because you have to. Not because you’re afraid. But because I want to build something with you that’s stronger than all the shit that’s tried to break us. What do you say?”
The world blurs around the edges.
And me? I stare at him, this man who’s torn my world apart more times than I can count, and realize I can’t live without him.
His eyes are locked on mine, burning with that intensity that makes my knees weak and my pulse race. His grip on my wrist tightens just enough to remind me he’s waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I whisper as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks, the word punching out of me like it’s the first time I speak truth. “I’ll marry you.”
He stands, pulling me against him, mouth ghosting over mine.
“Want champagne?” His voice is teasing, cocky, and dangerous.
I look at the champagne, then back at him, heat pooling low in my belly. “I can think of better ways to celebrate.”
His eyes darken with understanding. “Is that right?”
I nod, stepping closer, my hands reaching for the collar of his shirt. “Much better ways.”
I yank him down into a kiss that’s messy, desperate, hungry.
Needless to say, we don’t celebrate with champagne.
Because that shit? It’s basic. Dante and I? We make our own fucking rules.
“I am going to get you a rock, you know? The biggest the world’s ever seen,” he whispers against my lips.
“For God’s sake, shut up.” I bite his lower lip, grazing my teeth against it. “I’ve never been the diamonds and white picket fence type anyway.”
His mouth curves into that devastating half-smile. “I’ll get you one anyway. Something that tells the world you’re mine.”
“I am, you know,” I whisper, my hands sliding up his chest. “Yours.”
He growls, and his fingers slide into my hair, pulling my neck up, only for him to slide his tongue in through my mouth. When he licks the ridges of my mouth, my toes fucking curl.
He’s hungry, carnal, like he’s been starving for years and tonight’s the first bite.
I whimper into the kiss, knees wobbling as his other hand slides down, gripping the curve of my ass through the slinky fabric. His fingers flex, bunching the silk up higher along my thighs, and I now start to wish the slit didn’t exist. The dress didn’t exist.
I want him, skin to goddamn skin.
We stumble back, knocking into the side table, sending one of the damn champagne glasses clinking to the floor. Neither of us cares.
He kisses me like I’m oxygen, lips bruising, teeth scraping, tongue slick and claiming, tasting every part of me like he paid for the privilege, which, honestly? He probably did with all this candlelight bullshit.
His hand snakes lower, gripping behind my knee, hitching my leg up along his waist. My heel digs into his back, and he groans, low and wrecked, grinding against me so hard my brain short-circuits.
I break the kiss, gasping, my lips swollen, my dress halfway to my hips. “Pool table?” I suggest, breathless, eyes wild.
His eyes spark, wicked and knowing, and before I can say another word, he walks me backward, step by step, toward the table. His mouth finds mine again, all tongue and heat, his free hand sliding up under the dress, fingers teasing higher with every pace.
We crash into the edge, my back arching, his body pinning me down.
“Celebration starts now,” he growls against my mouth—and I’m so ready to be unwrapped like his favorite fucking gift.
He growls like a beast fresh off the forest before yanking me back to him, his hands sliding down to grab my ass, lifting me onto the edge of the pool table like I weigh nothing.
Mama always said aim high—guess I landed myself six-foot-two of killer Bratva royalty with hands built for sin and a face I could stare at for the rest of my damn life.
Lucky me.
“Fuck civilized,” he mutters, lips grazing my neck, teeth teasing the spot beneath my ear. His voice is pure sin, vibrating straight through me.
I laugh breathlessly, the sound snapping into a gasp as his hands slide up my thighs, shoving my dress higher, fingers grazing naked skin, lingering where I’m already hot and aching.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I whisper, watching the heat darken his eyes.
His mouth crashes to mine—ravenous, messy, bruising. The taste of whiskey and Dante. The taste I never get enough of.
I shove his jacket off his shoulders, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud, my fingers working his buttons, desperate now, frantic for skin.
When I finally get his shirt open, my palms slide over hard muscle, the sharp lines of his chest, and the tattoos inked across his scarred skin like a warning—violent, dangerous, his story written right there for anyone stupid enough to question his power.
“My turn,” I breathe, sliding off the table, feet hitting the floor, heat coiling in my gut as his eyes track every move.
I push him back, slowly but deliberately, until he’s sitting on the edge of the table, that predator stare locked on me, daring me to keep going.
Never break eye contact. Not with him.
I sink to my knees, hands working his belt, teasing the zipper down, loving the way his jaw tightens, the muscle ticking like he’s barely holding it together.
His cock springs free—hard, heavy, leaking at the tip—and fuck, my mouth actually waters.
Big. Thick. Veins running the length of him, the kind of cock that ruins you for anyone else—like he was built to wreck me and only me.
I wrap my hand around him, feel the weight of him in my palm, the heat, the skin stretched tight over steel. His whole body tenses, abs flexing, chest rising, those lethal eyes dark and hungry.
But it’s the way he’s looking at me that undoes me—wild, possessive, completely wrecked—and for one sharp, dangerous heartbeat, I feel fucking powerful.
He’s this controlled, brutal man, feared by the world—yet here he is, standing over me, shaking, ready to snap for my mouth.
I lick my lips slowly, teasing the head, smirking up at him, never breaking the stare.
“Cassie…” His voice is a low, strained warning.
“Shhh,” I murmur, leaning in, taking him between my lips, swallowing him down, loving how his eyes darken, his hand tightening in my hair as I own every filthy second.
The storm outside crashes harder, thunder rolling through the walls, lightning flashing across his wrecked expression.
But inside? Just us. Just heat. Just the wet sound of my mouth taking him deep, working him slow, teasing the head, hollowing my cheeks as I swallow him down, loving the way his thighs flex under my hands.
“Fuck,” he groans, hips jerking slightly, his grip tightening, just holding on like I’m the only thing tethering him to the ground.
I pop my throat around him, swallowing deep, the vibration ripping another curse from his lips, his hand fisting tighter in my hair.
“Fuck, Cassie…”
I flatten my tongue along the underside of his cock, dragging him in deeper, until I feel the thick weight of him pushing past the back of my throat. My eyes water, jaw stretching wide, spit slicking my lips—messy, filthy, perfect.