3. CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
Alina
Alina’s hands went through the motions—checking a chart, adjusting an IV drip—but her mind was stuck in the steel-box silence of the elevator.
The way he’d said her name wasn’t a question; it was a claim.
Each time the memory surfaced, a flicker of something sharp and unfamiliar ran through her.
It wasn’t fear, exactly. And it wasn’t exciting.
It was the unnerving sensation of standing on an edge she hadn’t known was there.
Jess saw it instantly. Sliding up beside Alina at the nurses’ station, she leaned in with the smug confidence of someone about to call out a scandal. “You’re distracted,” she said, her voice low and knowing. “And don’t even start with ‘tired.’ You’re always tired. This is different.”
Alina kept her eyes on the chart. “I’m fine.”
Jess snorted. “You’re lying. And you’re bad at it. Which is weird, because you lie to patients all the time.”
“I do not.”
“You do. ‘This won’t hurt.’ ‘A little pressure.’ ‘The doctor will be right in.’ All lies.”
Alina sighed. “Jess—”
“Is it about the guy?”
Alina froze. “What guy?”
Jess’s grin spread wider. “The café guy. Tall, dark, and looks like he commits tax fraud recreationally.”
Alina pinched the bridge of her nose. “There is no guy.”
“Oh, there’s a guy,” Jess said, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “And you’re into it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Alina’s protest felt weak before she even said it. “I don’t know him.”
“That’s how you make terrible choices,” Jess countered cheerfully. “It’s called having fun. Okay, but hear me out. You’ve been single since Evan—for a while.”
“Don’t say it.”
“—a while,” Jess repeated.
Alina groaned. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Jess waved her off. “And I’m right. Emotional monk mode was the healthy choice after Evan, but you’re allowed to look at a man again.”
“I didn’t combust.”
Jess raised an eyebrow. “You’re blushing.”
Alina slapped a hand to her cheek. “I hate you so much.”
Jess’s laugh softened. “Look, I’m not saying dive in headfirst. But you deserve something good. Or at least something… exciting.”
Alina shook her head. “He’s intense.”
“Intense-hot or intense-dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Jess cackled. “Girl, that’s the best kind of problem. That’s a trope.”
Alina shot her a deadpan look. “I don’t live in your romance novels.”
“You should. The men are way hotter.”
Alina couldn’t help the reluctant smile that tugged at her mouth. “I don’t have time for this.”
Jess folded her arms. “No time for joy? For flirting? For a guy who looks at you like he’s never seen another woman in his life?”
Alina’s pulse stuttered. “He doesn’t—”
“He does,” Jess said firmly. “I was sitting right there. The rest of the room could have caught fire, and I don’t think he would have noticed.”
Alina swallowed, the memory of his focused gaze making her skin prickle. “He’s not normal.”
Jess shrugged. “Neither are you.”
Alina blinked. “Wow. Rude.”
“True,” Jess said. “But it's true.”
They both laughed. Jess gave her arm a squeeze. “Just… be open. You don’t have to marry him or even like him. But don’t shut down before anything starts.”
Alina exhaled. “I’ll think about it.”
Jess beamed. “Good. Now I’m going to lunch before I pass out and die dramatically in the hallway.”
“Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
Jess wandered off, leaving Alina’s thoughts to churn. The relentless energy of the hospital—beeping monitors, urgent calls, the squeak of cart wheels—pressed in. Needing an escape, she pushed through the heavy door to the stairwell, desperate for a moment of quiet.
She pushed the door open and froze.
Dante stood at the bottom, unmoving. Not pacing, not leaning; just waiting—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Their eyes met, and something heavy and electric crackled between them.
She swallowed. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Showing up.”
“I’m not showing up,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.” His voice was low, unwavering. “It isn’t.”
Her mouth went dry. “What do you want?”
He climbed the stairs, each step deliberate, predatorily calm. When he reached her, heat radiated off him in waves.
“You,” he said.
Her lungs forgot how to function for a moment. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“For me, it is.” His gaze was impossible to look away from.
She shook her head, searching for rock-bottom certainties. “I’m not doing this.”
“You already are.”
She hated how right he sounded. She backpedaled toward the door. “I have to get back to work.”
He didn’t move to stop her, didn’t say another word. He just watched her walk away, and somehow that felt worse than any confrontation.
Luca found him an hour later, eyes narrowed at the flickering security feed of Alina drifting through the halls. “You’re still here.”
Dante didn’t look away. “I’m aware.”
“You’re supposed to be at the docks.”
“I rescheduled.”
Luca shook his head. “Boss, this isn’t like you.”
Dante finally tore his gaze from the screen. “I know.”
“You can’t leave her.” It wasn’t a question.
He didn’t answer. He had no tidy explanation—only the messy truth that he couldn’t tear himself away. Not when war was on the horizon, not when the Vescari were on the move, and especially not when Alina Hart had unexpectedly stepped into his life, throwing every calculation off balance.
He wasn’t sure if she was the worst possible distraction—or the only thing that made sense. But he wasn’t leaving. Not yet.