The Proposal

11. Dante

Chapter 11

Dante

I hand out the new phones I purchased for the men. “Any business we do between each other, from here on out, must be done using these devices and only these,” I state.

“Why?” Edoardo asks, and his question immediately gets my back up. He’s always been one to challenge every single fucking decision. I don’t know how Papa put up with him for as long as he did. Just the sound of his voice is starting to grate on my last nerve.

“Because I said so.”

“Are they special phones or something?” he asks, picking up his and turning it over in his hand. “Because they look like ordinary phones to me.”

“They are ordinary phones, but with a difference,” I bite back.

When I was in Sydney recovering from the shooting, my brother met with Spencer Prescott, the owner of Prescott Enterprises, one of the country’s biggest IT companies. He had created an encrypted accountancy program for our businesses, and I was so impressed with his work that I asked him to design something specific for me.

I had this program ready a few weeks ago, but when my suspicion of Edoardo grew, I asked Spencer to make a few changes.

“Any message you send on these phones will be sent via an encrypted algorithm, scrambling it into a completely unreadable format. The individual codes I give you will be able to decrypt and unscramble the messages.”

Edoardo nods his head. “Impressive.”

“I know,” I reply. “Now we can stay in touch without worrying about anyone tracking us or knowing our business.”

I’ll also closely monitor Edoardo and his movements, which I’m not about to disclose to anyone. I’ve searched this entire house for that photo of Arabella, which he claims my father showed him. I haven’t found it yet, which only makes me more sceptical. If I find out he’s up to no good, I’ll fucking end him.

I glance towards the entrance as Arabella steps in. The mere sight of her raises my heart rate a notch.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, her cheeks flushing a soft pink, which I find unexpectedly endearing. The way she carries herself is a perfect blend of soft and meek, but I know there’s a fire beneath the surface, which is something I can’t help but admire. She can be feisty when needed, challenging me with nothing more than a sharp look or a pointed word, reminding me she’s not one to be easily tamed. “I made some espressos for you and your men.”

“Thank you, Bellezza .”

I should feel uneasy with her hovering while I’m doing business, but for some reason, I don’t. She’s grown up around this world and is familiar with the protocols and risks involved with betrayal. Besides, she hates her father, so I doubt anything that happens here will ever make its way back to him.

My greedy eyes follow her as she moves through the room with a quiet grace. I find myself grinning when I see she’s added a plate of freshly baked biscotti to the tray. She tends to my men and me efficiently, never demanding attention but always anticipating our needs.

This woman never fails to surprise me. Initially, I dreaded bringing her back to Australia, but she’s settled into my life far better than I could’ve imagined. She’s also become the perfect distraction from the things that haunt me daily.

Our marriage isn’t traditional, but I feel like I’m making progress with her every day. It’s a slow burn, and there is a part of me that’s eager to push things forward—to reap my ultimate prize—but on the flip side, there’s something exhilarating about the anticipation of what’s to come. The more I get to know this woman, the more depth and mystery I uncover, which only seems to draw me in further.

A few hours later, my men leave, so I go in search of my wife. When I don’t find her in the kitchen or the main room, I head down the corridor towards our bedroom.

“Arabella,” I call softly when I find her sitting in the middle of the bed with her legs pulled up to her chest. She’s absently biting the fingernail of her thumb as she stares off into the distance, seemingly lost in thought. There’s something captivating about how she holds herself in those quiet moments. She’s vulnerable yet calm.

Arabella has finished redecorating our bedroom and has now moved on to the main room of the house. One day, I came in here and almost burst an artery when I found her up a ladder painting. She called me ridiculous when I told her it was reckless and dangerous, so I promptly hired someone to complete the job.

After I put the word out, it only took minutes to learn that one of my foot soldiers had a brother who was a painter. Within the hour, he was on site .

I’m impressed by the subtle touches of warmth Arabella added to this space. Our room feels peaceful and inviting, a stark contrast to its previous dark-and-moody vibe. Every detail seems designed for calm and comfort, which I welcome, especially after a stressful day.

My greatest joy comes from seeing her satisfaction when she finishes one of her projects. She is slowly making this place our home and seems eager for my praise. Her pretty face lights up whenever she receives it. That constant need she has to please me is undeniably gratifying, but it also tugs at my black heart. Being starved of affection has made her almost greedy for approval … it’s tragic. Her father has a lot to answer for.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and place my flattened palm on the small of her back. “Are you okay? Has something happened?”

Her eyes dart to me, and I don’t miss the slight tremble of her bottom lip before she bites down on it. “Have you spoken to my father since we arrived here?”

My eyebrows pinch together into a frown. “Yes, why?”

“Did Papa mention Lucia at all? I’m desperate to know how she’s doing.”

“Why don’t you call her and find out for yourself?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

She doesn’t? Why did I not know that?

I slide mine out of my pocket, handing it to her. “Use mine.”

She cringes slightly as she stares down at it. “I don’t know how?”

Her words have me rearing back. “You don’t know how to use a phone?”

“Not that type,” she says, nodding to the one in my hand. “I’ve used a landline before … many years ago, but Papa no longer has one of those. He was worried someone would bug it.” That’s the same reason we no longer have one here .

“I’ll get you a phone tomorrow and teach you how to use it.”

Her emerald-coloured eyes widen in surprise. “You will.”

“Of course. It’s important you have one … for safety reasons, if nothing else.”

“Thank you.”

I drag her onto my lap when she leans over to hug me. “I’ll give you your first lesson now. Push that green icon down there … the one with the phone image in the middle. Good girl,” I praise when she does as I ask. “Now click on contacts … see it down at the bottom?”

“This one?”

“Yes. These letters listed down the right side of the screen are in alphabetical order,” I say, pointing with my finger. “Click on R for Rossi. Scroll down with your finger until you find your father’s name in the list.”

“Who’s Rachel, Rebecca, and Roxanne?”

“Just some women from my past.”

She shoves the phone back towards me. “Delete them.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are my husband, so it’s disrespectful to have other women’s numbers in your phone.”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Are you jealous, Arabella?”

When she releases a tiny growl and tries to stand, I slide my hand around her waist and hold her in place. “I’ll delete all of them after you call your father.”

I’m grateful she only saw the R’s. I have countless numbers on my phone, but I’m no longer interested in any of those women. My wife runs rings around them all, so I have no problem seeing them go.

“Fine, but I’m going to sit here and ensure you do it when we are done.”

I turn my face and place a soft kiss on her cheek. “I like this possessive side of you, Bellezza . ”

“Would you not be upset if I had other men’s numbers in my phone?”

“Technically, you don’t have a phone, so that’s kind of a moot point.”

“Hypothetically,” she snarls.

“Hypothetically, I’d hunt them down and kill them all.”

She gasps as her wide eyes lock with mine. “You would kill a man because his number was in my phone?”

“Truthfully, if I thought he was a threat, then yes, I would.”

“A threat?”

“You’re mine, Arabella. I refuse to share you with anyone.”

I’m half expecting her to go on a tangent and tell me how barbaric that sounds, but she does something completely unexpected. She leans in and places a chaste kiss on my mouth. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You think killing a man is sweet now?”

“No, not that part. But I like this possessive side of you as well.”

I pause and study her for a moment as I try to make sense of this clusterfuck that rages inside me.

This sudden shift in me is unsettling. These feelings I have for this woman are creeping up fast—too fast—and I’m unsure how to handle them. They are pushing me to a place I’m not sure I’m ready to go, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.

I eventually manage to tear my gaze from her and glance down at my phone. I tap Stefano’s number, effectively cutting our conversation short.

I clear my throat when the phone starts ringing. “Dante,” Arabella’s father says the moment it connects. “How is that heir of mine coming along?”

My lips purse as I glance at his daughter and roll my eyes. I could tell him we’re working on it, but even if that was true, our sex life—or lack thereof—is none of his business.

“I’m actually calling to ask you a favour.”

“And what would that be?”

“My wife is missing her sister. Would it be possible for her to talk with Lucia?”

“That’s your favour? I expected something more along the lines of the head of one of the Mortelli brothers on a platter. Sounds like my daughter is making you soft, Mancini.”

I tighten my grip on my wife’s waist, my tone cold but steady. “Making your wife happy doesn’t make you less of a man, Stefano. It’s only natural she would feel homesick. She left her family and moved to the other side of the world with a man she barely knew … cut her some slack.”

His laughter echoes down the line, and I feel my irritation flare. What would he know about being a man? He gets off on intimidating women. He burnt his fucking wife alive in front of his young daughters because she wanted to leave him.

“Can they talk or not?” I bite.

“Alright. I’ll give them a few minutes. Arabella ought to be more focused on fulfilling her duties to her husband rather than fretting over her sister. It’s up to you to see that happen.”

His words come out clipped, with that familiar edge of superiority, as if he’s reminding me of some unspoken hierarchy. I am this man’s equal, so he doesn’t get to lecture me about my wife … or anything for that matter.

When I don’t reply, he calls out, “Lucia.” I wait until she’s on the line before handing the phone to Arabella. I’m not risking him upsetting my wife.

“Lu-Lu,” she cries when she hears her sister’s voice. That is my cue to leave. I lift her off my lap and stand, leaving the room to give her some privacy.

I take a large bite of the salami sandwich I just made when Arabella comes barrelling into the kitchen, flinging herself into my arms.

“Easy there, Bellezza ,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her waist as I stumble back a few steps.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she replies, peppering kisses over my face.

The smile she gives me when she pulls back hits me right in the chest. It’s a kind of happiness I’ve never seen on her before. It’s bright, genuine, and entirely unguarded. The type of smile I wish was reserved just for me, but deep down, I know her joy has more to do with her talking to her sister.

“How is Lucia doing?”

“Okay,” she says as I place her back on her feet.

“It’s her birthday next week … I wish I could afford to get her something. She’ll be turning eighteen, and I know Papa won’t do anything special for her. I’m not even certain he knows when our birthdays are. It is something he never acknowledged.”

I glance down at her bare feet. “Go put some shoes on.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you shopping.”

“Why?”

“To buy Lucia a present and get you a phone.”

“Really?” she asks, and there’s that damn smile again.

It spreads an unwelcome warmth through me. I spent my life trying to please my father, rarely getting recognition for any of it, but even the small amounts of pleasure I can bring this woman do something for me. It seems to light me up from the inside out.

My eyes gravitate to her arse when she turns to leave the room. But when she pauses and spins back around, my gaze snaps back to her face.

She takes the few steps that separate us and holds out my phone. “Delete those women’s numbers while I get my shoes,” she grumbles, and I chuckle when her eyes narrow.

Possessive Arabella is red hot.

I’m lying on top of the covers in my underwear, with my hands folded behind my head, when Arabella exits the bathroom. The soft glow from the lamp catches the pink satin nightgown I handpicked for her on our shopping expedition earlier today.

She looks like a damn goddess, and my cock instantly begins to swell at the sight.

It hugs her curves just right, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. I wasn’t sure if she’d wear it, but I’m pleased she did. She’s my queen, and she deserves all the pretty things.

I don’t exactly hate the practical cotton pyjamas she usually wears to bed. They’re the kind of thing someone more interested in comfort would wear, but I’m confident she’d look beautiful in a paper bag.

She stops at the edge of the bed as her eyes flicker between my face and the growing tent in my boxers. “Don’t be shy,” I tell her, tapping the space beside me. “I won’t bite … unless you want me to.”

Heat rises on her neck as she climbs onto the bed and lies down beside me. I roll onto my side and drag her closer, the second she does.

It’s been over a week since she experienced her first orgasm, and although I’ve been itching to revisit that with her again, I’ve been letting the tension stretch between us, because she knows exactly what she’s missing now. My reasoning is that the longer I hold back, the more she’ll crave what she knows is within reach .

There are times when the lust … the want , is clearly visible in her eyes. I’m confident that deep down she wants this as much as I do. Well, I hope that’s the case. She’s been my wife for nearly a month, and we still haven’t consummated our marriage.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve spoken with your sister?” I ask, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear for no other reason than I want to touch her.

“I do,” she replies, a smile tugging on her full lips … lips I’ve been aching to kiss all day.

Shopping with Arabella this afternoon was a strange experience. It’s been years since I’ve done that, and never with a beautiful woman on my arm.

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to walk through the aisles of a store, surrounded by the hum of everyday life. But with my wife by my side, it felt different.

The moment we exited the limousine surrounded by guards, we garnered the attention of the locals. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us, a mix of curiosity, whispers, and recognition. My family is well-known, even infamous, around here, so I’m used to being a figure people either admire or fear. Today, though, it was Arabella who held their attention.

People couldn’t help but glance at us, trying not to stare, but their inquisitiveness was palpable, especially when it came to the exotic beauty by my side. Arabella drew their attention effortlessly, like a rare gem in a place filled with the ordinary. Respect for the Mancini name was thick in the air, an invisible force that followed us as we moved through each store.

By the time we left to head home, my men were laden down with bags. Arabella’s no stranger to money—she’s a Rossi, after all—but I enjoyed spoiling her today. She arrived in Australia with her worldly possessions stuffed into four suitcases. I’m sure she left a lot of things behind. I want her to be comfortable here … to make this place her home .

“Lucia’s going to love all the things we got for her,” Arabella says excitedly. “I’ve always tried to make her birthdays special since …”

Her words die off, but she doesn’t need to finish that sentence. They no longer had a mother to make a fuss. I get it. Papa still acknowledged Alexander’s and my birthdays and would give us a wad of cash to mark the celebration, but even that lacked the special little details only a mother can provide. The love she poured into the cake she baked, the warmth of her smile as she watched us open gifts, or how she’d make the day feel like magic with her presence alone.

“Once you’ve wrapped them and written on her card, I’ll mail them.”

“I appreciate that.”

We also bought Lucia a phone, which made sense since she’ll likely be the only person Arabella calls. The less my wife deals directly with her father, the better.

“It may not arrive by her birthday, but once she gets her gifts, you can talk with her whenever you want.”

“That’s if Papa doesn’t confiscate it.”

“He better not,” I growl.

“Thank you again for today. You have no idea how much it meant to me.”

“Like I’ve told you countless times, you don’t need to keep thanking me.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, so I lean in and place my lips on hers, effectively cutting her off. That’s enough talking; I have more important things to do.

My hand moves from her hip to that peachy round arse of hers, slipping under the nightgown. A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as I palm her arse cheek over her underwear.

It doesn’t take long for our kiss to heat up, and fuck I love the way this woman kisses me. She puts her whole heart into it .

I lift her leg, draping it over my hip. My cock is hard as stone as I begin to rock my hips forward, hitting her right in the sweet spot … over and over again. I need inside this woman so fucking bad, but I have to constantly remind myself that I’m playing the long game here.

My movements are limited in this position, so I eventually roll her onto her back and settle between her spread legs.

She moans into my mouth as I start thrusting against her; each move seems to be more desperate than the last. Even through my boxers, I feel her wetness, and it’s such a fucking turn-on.

Her hand is curled around my hip, and her fingers move to dip beneath the elastic of my underwear, tugging them down slightly and exposing the head of my dick.

“I need to feel you here,” she pants, wrapping her dainty hand around my dick and dragging it down towards her opening. Fuck, I need to feel that too. If we keep going at it like this, I’m going to end up with friction burn.

“You want my cock inside you?” I ask, partly excited and a little terrified, that the time has finally come. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know that’s inevitable … especially in the beginning.

I was fifteen years old the first time I took someone’s virginity, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us. Although the girl was a few years older than me and begged me to fuck her, she ended up crying through the entire ordeal despite my asking her numerous times if she wanted me to stop. I’m surprised I even managed to blow in the end. It put me off virgins, and I avoided them at all costs going forward.

Arabella isn’t just anyone, though; she’s my wife, and I understand the importance of this. I’m honoured I get to be the first man inside her, and if I have my way, I’ll be the last.

“No. Through my underwear,” she answers. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for anything more yet.”

I love that she’s not afraid to ask for what she wants, but again, I feel mixed emotions. Partly relieved but also incredibly disappointed.

Pushing up onto one elbow, I wrap my hand around my dick, stroking it a few times. I glance down between us and line myself up with her wet spot.

She whimpers when I roll my hips forward, and a small fraction of my cock pushes inside her, but the fabric of her underwear stops me from going any further, and fuck me, she’s tight. I want to rip that underwear aside and drive all the way home, but I know I can’t.

I draw back and do it again and again, each stroke a combination of pleasure and pain. It feels good, but it’s not nearly enough. I need more. I’m always going to need more where this woman is concerned.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” I groan against her skin.

“I want …”

When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I draw back and meet her gaze. “What, Bellezza ? What do you want?”

“I want to feel you rub down there without my underwear in the way, but I don’t want you to push inside.”

“Jesus,” I murmur as I bury my face in the crook of her neck. I’m not sure I can be trusted to do that. It’s like placing a cookie in front of a small child and asking them not to eat it. “Are you sure you want me to move your underwear aside?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay to change your mind.”

“No … I want to feel you against me without a barrier. Skin to skin.”

“Fuck,” I mumble as I glance down between us and tug her pretty pink panties to the side. It’s my first time seeing her pussy, and damn, it’s glistening with her arousal.

It makes what I’m about to do that much harder.

I grasp my cock again, skimming it through her slick heat. The restraint I’m showing in this moment is medal fucking worthy .

I circle the crown of my dick around her clit, trying to stay away from the one place I desperately want to be.

“Move it up and down,” she pleads.

A growl bubbles in the back of my throat. She’s like Satan trying to tempt an angel to the dark side, but the only devil in this scenario is me.

“I can’t guarantee it won’t accidentally slip in if I go down any further, Arabella.”

“It’s aching down there … I need … something.”

What she needs is my fucking cock buried balls deep inside her, but she’s running the show here, not me. I’m taking things at her pace, but I’ll be lucky if I get out of the other end of this unscathed.

I begin to move my cock back and forth, but on my second pass, she bucks her hips at the worst possible moment because a small part of me slips inside her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That was?—”

Her back arches off the bed as her fingernails dig into the skin on my back. “Don’t move,” she replies in a voice so breathy it makes my balls throb.

I go to withdraw, but she slides her hands down until they are resting on each butt cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I can’t stay here like this … unmoving.” Especially when every fibre of my being wants to do just that. “It’s like some sick form of Chinese torture.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

“I don’t know how to give you what you want without giving you what you don’t want … if that even makes sense.”

“Can you touch yourself so it feels good for you, but not go in any further?”

This whole situation is starting to give me a damn headache.

“I’ll touch myself if you do the same. ”

Her eyes widen slightly as her cheeks flush a similar shade of pink as the nightgown she’s wearing.

“Don’t go all shy on me now. Up until this point, you haven’t been afraid to ask for what you want.”

“I’ve never touched myself before.”

“I know.”

I withdraw the tip of my dick from her tight body and sit back on my haunches. I reach over and snatch up the two pillows from my side of the bed.

“Lift up,” I say, slipping my free hand underneath her body and guiding her into position.

I slide both pillows underneath her backside, propping her up. It will be much easier to give her what she wants from this position, plus I’ll be able to watch her make herself come.

“Slide your hand down the front of your underwear, Arabella.” The corners of my lips curve up when she does as I ask. “Good girl.” My fingers wrap around the base of my dick as I jut my hips forward. “Touch yourself,” I command as I begin to rub the tip of my dick through her slick heat again.

“Dante,” she whimpers as the tips of her fingers begin to circle her clit.

“That’s so fucking hot.”

My eyes move down to her pussy as I coat the tip of my cock in her juices. I tilt back my head and groan as I slip the entire crown inside her this time. “Is this okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she breathes as her fingers move frantically and her eyelids flutter shut.

“Open your eyes, Arabella. I want you to watch me watch you.” She’s got an inch of me inside her, and is still very much a virgin at this stage, but one day I’m going to break through that barrier and what a glorious moment that will be. “ Tu senti come paradiso, angelo (You feel like heaven, Angel),” I murmur as I begin to stroke my cock.

It doesn’t take long before I feel her inner muscles begin to contract around the tip of my dick. I’ve never been bareback inside anyone before.

“I’m … I’m?—”

“I know, I feel it.”

It’s so fucking good, and I can’t wait for the day when I get to feel that while I’m buried balls deep inside that snug pussy of hers.

My hand movements quicken. I’m right on the edge. I throw my head back and groan when my balls draw up. I’m going to blow my load inside her. There’s no way I’m pulling out.

She’s my wife.