Chapter 10
Dante
The sight of Sofia's hand on Marco's arm hits me harder than it should, and the intensity of my reaction surprises even me.
This is just professional, I tell myself.
She's making a scene, embarrassing herself, making me look like I can't control my assignment.
That's all this is. It has nothing to do with the way she's looking up at him with those green eyes, or how she's leaning in just close enough that any man with a pulse would notice.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I want to be the one she's looking at like that.
Bullshit. Even I'm not buying that line of reasoning.
Marco looks like he'd rather be getting a root canal, but from where I'm standing, all I can see is Sofia touching another man and smiling that smile—the one that's been driving me crazy for the past week. The one that made me nearly lose control at breakfast this morning.
The rational part of my brain knows Marco isn't interested. Hell, the guy looks like he's about to break out in hives. But rationality isn't exactly driving the bus right now.
I'm across the room before I fully realize I'm moving.
"Excuse us." The snarl in my voice takes us both by surprise as I wrap two fingers around her elbow and drag her toward the balcony. "Now."
"What the hell is your problem?" she demands, pulling her arm free the moment we're outside. The wind whips around us, cold and sharp against the heat of my anger.
She takes a step back until she's pressed against the railing, and something primal in me snaps.
I follow her, planting a hand on either side of her, effectively caging her in.
She's several inches shorter than me, her head roughly level with my chin, and I can smell that floral shampoo again mixed with the wine on her breath.
"What the hell is my problem?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous. "What the hell are you doing, Sofia?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She answers smugly, crossing her arms and bringing them practically flush against my chest. The contact sends electricity shooting through me, and I have to grit my teeth to maintain control.
She knows exactly what she's doing. And it's working.
"Whatever you're planning—it's not going to work. There are only so many places you can run before I'll find you."
"We'll see about that."
"No." A growl escapes from the back of my throat as I lean in another inch, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "We won't. I'm trying to protect you, got it? Quit screwing around when your life may very well be on the line here."
The wind picks up, sending her hair across her face. Without thinking, I reach up and brush it away, my fingers lingering against her cheek longer than they should.
"Whose life are you more worried about, Dante?" she questions, tilting her head innocently. Her voice is soft, almost breathless, and it does things to me that I absolutely cannot afford to feel right now. "Mine? Or yours, if I successfully slip out of your grasp?"
Her hand comes to rest on my chest, fingers toying with the collar of my shirt. The simple touch burns through the fabric like she's branded me.
I should step back. I should put distance between us, maintain my professional boundaries, remember that she's Vito's sister-in-law and I'm supposed to be protecting her, not fantasizing about what it would feel like to—
"You're playing with fire, princess."
"Maybe I want to get burned."
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with invitation and challenge and something that feels dangerously close to a promise.
The wind howls around us, but all I can focus on is the way she's looking at me, the way her body feels pressed against mine, the way her fingers are still tracing patterns on my chest.
This is insane. This is everything I shouldn't want and can't have. She's eighteen, she's my assignment, she's off-limits in every possible way.
But Christ, the way she's looking at me right now makes me want to throw caution to the wind and show her exactly what getting burned feels like.
"Sofia..." My voice comes out rougher than I intended, and I see something flicker in her eyes—triumph, maybe, or satisfaction at finally getting under my skin.
"Yes?" she whispers, and the single word is like a match thrown on gasoline.
I lean in closer, so close that our breath mingles in the cold air, so close that all I'd have to do is tilt my head and—
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sound of gunfire cuts through the night, and every trace of heat, desire, and tension evaporates in an instant. My body shifts into pure survival mode, fifteen years of training kicking in before my brain even processes what's happening.
"Get down!" I bark, grabbing Sofia and pulling her away from the railing. The romantic moment is obliterated, replaced by cold, deadly focus.
Her eyes go wide with shock and fear, the wine-induced confidence disappearing as reality crashes over her. "Dante—"
"Stay low, stay quiet, and do exactly what I tell you," I command, already scanning the surrounding buildings for muzzle flashes, calculating angles and escape routes. The shots came from street level, maybe two blocks south.
Inside the penthouse, I can hear shouting, glass breaking, the controlled chaos of people who know this drill. Vito's men will be moving to secure the building, but my only job right now is keeping Sofia alive.
"We need to get inside. Now." I keep my body between her and the direction of the gunfire, one hand on her back, guiding her toward the door.
"Are they—is this about me?" Sofia asks, her voice small and shaking.
"I don't know, and I don't care. Move."
All the games, all the flirtation, all the sexual tension—none of it matters now. There's only the mission: keep Sofia Gallo breathing.
And I'll be damned if I'm going to fail.