Chapter 24
Dante
As I hold my wife in my arms, her bare skin flush against mine, her scent invades my lungs, drowns my senses. I almost groan.
Fucking vanilla. It’s everywhere, wrapped around me, clinging to my skin, filling my head until she’s the only thing I can breathe in. My grip tightens, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I stride toward the edge of the yacht. Every movement presses her closer, every shift of her body igniting something raw, that coils low in my stomach.
“Hold your breath.”
I murmur, my voice low.
Harlow stiffens instantly.
“Don’t you dare—”
The words are ripped from her lips as I plunge into the water. She takes a sharp inhale, her body tensing against mine, but it’s too late. A muffled scream is swallowed by the ocean as we hit the surface, the cold rushing around us, a violent splash expanding outward, sending ripples across the endless blue.
The moment we break through, her arms clutch tighter around my neck, her nails digging into my skin as if she thinks I might let her go. Like I ever would.
Mattia’s laughter echoes around us, bright and carefree, his small form bobbing in the water nearby.
“That was amazing!”
My attention is locked on the wild panic in my wife's eyes, the way she clings to me in something dangerously close to fear.
It should have been obvious. How the fuck did it escape me that she can’t swim?
The thought twists my insides. Harlow never asks for help, never admits weakness, never clings to anything but her own pride. And yet, right now, her legs are locked around my waist, her nails pressing into my shoulders, her breath unsteady against my throat.
“Don’t let go.”
She murmurs, barely above a whisper.
A plea.
A stabbing ache settles in my chest.
My arms tighten around her, steady and unyielding, making damn sure she knows I’m the only thing keeping her above the surface.
“Never.”
I promise, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
Her fingers curl into me, her exhale soft against my skin.
This maddening woman is making me want to know every single thing about her. Every hidden thought. Every guarded secret. Every part of her that she refuses to give. I want to unravel her. Strip her down, not just her body, but everything she keeps locked away.
Her thighs squeeze at my sides, her warmth pressing against my cock, which is already painfully hard. The thin barrier of her bikini does nothing to stop the slow, torturous drag of her body against mine, and the moment she shifts even slightly, my teeth clench.
I could take her like this. Right here in the water.
I could push inside her, make her sob my name, feel her walls tighten around me as she gasps and writhes, holding onto me like I’m the only thing keeping her from drowning. The thought alone makes my breathing tighten.
She shivers, still pressing herself against me, completely unaware of the effect she has on me.
Mattia swims past, still laughing, splashing around us. I force myself to look at him, at my son, happy and carefree, at my wife, wrapped around me like she belongs there.
It elicits an unexpected response in me, foreign yet insistent.
This moment, this fleeting, fragile sense of ease, feels almost natural.
Me. My wife. My son.
The realization grates against me, an intrusion I neither expected nor wanted. I was never meant for this. A life weighed down by vulnerabilities.
Mattia was inevitable, not a vulnerability I chose, but one I embraced the moment I held him in my arms. He is mine, my blood, and I would kill for him without hesitation.
But now, Harlow is becoming just as dangerous.
What happens if I lose them? If someone tries to take them from me?
I push the thought away before it can settle.
No one would fucking dare.
Because if they did, I’d kill them all.
I’d burn cities to the ground. I’d raise the fucking earth.
I’d carve a path of blood so wide they’d wish they were never born.
***
The day passes in a blur of water and sun. I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed something that wasn’t killing, breaking, or making an example of someone.
By the time we return to the estate, the sun has begun its descent, casting long shadows across the grounds.
Mattia disappears to his room, eager to shower and change. I follow my wife upstairs, watching as she steps inside our bedroom.
The words sink into my mind.
Our bedroom.
A slow, possessive heat burns beneath my skin.
She disappears into the bathroom first, the door clicking shut behind her.
When she emerges minutes later, her hair damp, wrapped in that maddening silk robe, I don’t move.
She doesn’t look at me as she heads for the closet, but she knows I’m watching. She always does.
I step into the bathroom next, leaving the door open.
The shower hisses as I let the scalding water wash over me, dragging my hands through my hair.
But my dick, hard and aching since the moment I saw her in that tiny fucking bikini, demands satisfaction. I need to take the edge off before I lose my goddamn mind.
Gripping my cock, I stroke slow at first, picturing my wife beneath me, those fucking lips parted, eyes dark with need, body open and ready for me to ruin. My breath deepens, muscles tensing as pleasure coils sharp and deep, twisting in my gut.
“Fuck, Harlow.”
I groan, coming hard, my release coating my palm, spilling down my fingers as my body jerks with the force of it.
When I look up.
She’s standing in the doorway. Like I knew she would. Clad in a delicate summer dress and towering heels, her damp hair cascades down her back in silken waves. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her wide eyes, fixed on me, betraying everything she refuses to say. She just had the privilege of a front row seat to my performance.
A slow, knowing smirk curves my lips.
“Did you enjoy the entertainment, Mrs Salvatore?”
Her throat bobs with a forced swallow, but she recovers quickly, masking whatever flustered reaction lingers beneath the surface. With a scowl, she turns sharply on her heel, vanishing into the room without another word.
I let out a low, dark chuckle, dragging a hand through my wet hair, utterly unbothered.
“There’s nothing more satisfying than unsettling my wife.”
The words leave my lips with a quiet smirk as I step out of the shower, dragging a towel around my waist. Water drips down my chest, trailing over defined ridges before disappearing into the thick fabric sitting low on my hips.
I don’t rush as I move into the closet, selecting something appropriate for the evening. I settle on a crisp black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled to my forearms, paired with dark tailored slacks.
As I step out of the closet, I glance back.
Harlow is still getting ready, seated before the vanity, slowly dragging a brush through her damp hair. The dress clings to her, pooling around her thighs like liquid temptation, a vision she doesn’t even try to weaponize, because she doesn’t have to.
I hold her gaze in the mirror.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
She gives a small nod, barely acknowledging me, but I catch the way her fingers falter against the brush. Satisfied, I leave, making my way towards the kitchen.
As I step inside, the room hums with quiet efficiency. Maids move swiftly, offering simple nods but keeping their gazes lowered, trained on their tasks. The scent of roasted meats and aged wine lingers in the air, mingling with the faint ocean breeze slipping in through the open terrace doors.
Bianca approaches with her usual grace.
“Sir, I’ll have the dining table set shortly.”
I stop her with a look.
“We’ll be dining outside, Bianca.”
She nods.
“Of course, Don Salvatore.”
Because that’s what my wife apparently loves. Yet, I keep that to myself.
As I step onto the terrace, the evening air greets me, crisp, salted with the sea, laced with citrus.
A few feet away, Mario and Piero stand in quiet conversation, their postures easy yet sharp. At my approach, he smirks.
“Boss. Enjoy your day off?”
I roll my shoulders, exhaling slowly.
“Didn’t know I needed one.”
Piero remains silent, his posture as rigid as ever, presence controlled, the perfect soldier.
Mario chuckles, low and knowing.
“Married life softening you already?”
I exhale again, dragging a hand over my jaw. A slight shift in Piero’s stance at the mention of my marriage.
“Not in the fucking slightest.”
The conversation moves to business. Mario updates me on the latest shipments, detailing logistics with practiced efficiency before segueing into the ongoing situation with the Albanians. His tone is edged with the quiet brutality of a man accustomed to solving problems with blood.
Piero remains silent, his presence watchful.
I turn my focus to Mario.
“Any updates on the fucker?”
He knows exactly who I mean.
His jaw clenches slightly.
“Nothing yet. The bastard is good. He knows how to disappear, how to blend into the background. Covers his tracks well.”
Not fucking good enough.
“I don’t want excuses.”
My voice drops lower, deadlier.
“I won’t let some faceless coward think he can threaten my wife and still fucking breathe.”
Mario nods once.
“We’re doing everything in our power.”
I fix Mario with a cold, unyielding stare. “Do more.”
A flicker of discord passes between us. He knows I trust him, but he also knows I don’t tolerate failure. Not when it comes to this.
A beat of silence, then Piero finally speaks.
“We’ll find him, Boss.”
My gaze flicks to him. His face remains impassive, his tone steady. I incline my head slightly.
“See that you fucking do.”
Without another word, he nods and steps away, vanishing into the depths of the estate. Mario moves to leave as well, but I stop him with a glance.
“Stay. Have dinner with us tonight.”
He lifts a brow, smirking.
“Didn’t realize you were getting sentimental on me. I don’t want to intrude.”
I let out a slow, amused exhale, the sound laced with darkness.
“Since when have you given a shit about intruding?”
He chuckles.
“Fair point.”
We make our way toward the elegantly set table as maids begin placing dishes before us. I glance at one of the servers.
“The wine will do.”
I say smoothly.
With a subtle nod, she retrieves a bottle from the waiting selection, pouring the deep crimson liquid into crystal glasses, before setting it down and retreating without a word.
A new presence joins us, effortlessly inserting himself into the gathering. Leonardo steps onto the terrace, his usual smirk lingering like a well-practiced signature.
“I do hope you weren’t planning to dine without me.”
I allow a faint smirk of my own, watching as he claims a seat near Mario with all the nonchalance of someone who has never had to ask permission for anything in his life.
Mario chuckles, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip.
“Well, if it isn’t the heir apparent. I should’ve known you’d materialize the moment the food was served.”
Leonardo reaches for a crystal glass, pouring himself a generous measure of wine.
“You wound me, Mario. Perhaps I simply longed for my uncle’s company.”
His tone is smooth, but his eyes gleam with mischief.
I let out a quiet scoff, draping an arm over the back of my chair.
“Highly improbable.”
He smirks, idly swirling the deep liquid in his glass, watching as it catches the light.
“Fair enough. I came for the meal, though I must admit, I was also curious to witness this newfound, gentler side of you. Domesticity rather becomes you, zio.”
Mario smirks, amusement flickering in his gaze.
“It does, doesn’t it? Never thought I’d live to see the day.”
Leonardo tilts his head.
“There’s something almost disturbing about it.”
He exhales a dramatic sigh, feigning a shiver as he says the words.
I take a slow sip of my wine, letting the silence hang heavy as I fix them both with a stare.
“If you intend to keep your tongues, I’d suggest putting them to better use before I decide they’re wasted on you.”
Mario chuckles, low and knowing.
“That’s more like it.”
Leonardo smirks over the rim of his glass, taking a sip before setting it down with ease.
“Oh, don’t worry, zio. My tongue is put to exquisite use, some might even call it a refined skill.”
His smirk deepens, laced with wicked amusement.
“But out of deference to your wife, I’ll forgo the more… salacious details.”
I arch a brow, my gaze turning frigid, but before I can speak, I follow his gaze, just as Harlow steps onto the terrace. The moment she appears, my attention is hers.
It’s not just the way she moves, it’s the effortless command she holds over a room, the way she bends space and attention to her without even trying. The soft glow of light dances over her skin, catching in the dark waves of her hair, gilding every strand. The dress she wears drapes over her figure like it was made for her, flowing over her curves with an elegance that borders on sinful.
I should be accustomed to it by now, the way she draws every gaze, the quiet gravity she possesses.
But I’m not.
And when I catch Mario’s glance flicking toward her, Leonardo’s smirk curving at the edges of his mouth, something sharp coils in my chest. Possessive. Primal. Dark. Irrational.
She is mine.
And the fact that I have no control over this visceral reaction she evokes in me? That is what unsettles me most.
I rise as she approaches, the soft scrape of my chair against stone punctuating the moment. Harlow barely has time to register the movement before I pull out her seat, waiting as she lowers herself into it. Her gaze lifts to mine, and I hold it, as I push her chair in slowly.
Mario smirks over the rim of his glass, amusement flickering in his eyes. Leonardo exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. I level them both with a look that would send lesser men to an early grave.
Harlow doesn’t miss the exchange. Her sharp gaze flicks between us, laced with curiosity.
She leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
“What exactly have I just walked into?”
Leonardo smirks.
“Nothing of concern. Merely business.”
Harlow lifts a brow, unimpressed. She doesn’t call him out on the lie, just lets the silence stretch.
I reach for the bottle, pouring wine into a glass before sliding it in front of my wife. She inclines her head in acknowledgment, fingers wrapping around the delicate stem as she takes a sip, the deep red staining her lips before she speaks.
“Oh?”
She exhales softly, tilting her head.
“So, I assume the three of you have been discussing how best to dispose of someone?”
A brief silence lingers. Then, smirking, she lifts her glass in a toast.
“Please, don’t let my presence dissuade you.”
Mario chuckles, slow and knowing.
“Would it disturb you if we were?”
She leans back in her chair, casually dragging a finger along the rim of her wine glass.
“Not particularly.”
“So, enlighten me, Harlow, what does it take to endure marriage to a man of my uncle’s stature?”
Leonardo inquires, guiding the conversation onto a new course.
Harlow arches a single brow.
“Shall I offer you a palatable answer, or would you prefer the unvarnished truth?”
Mario exhales a quiet chuckle.
“Now this I must hear.”
Leonardo leans in ever so slightly, intrigue flickering in his gaze.
“The truth, of course.”
“You don’t survive a man like Dante Salvatore. You earn your place beside him.”
A flicker of something passes through the air, subtle but unmistakable. Mario tilts his head, intrigued. Leonardo smirks, his gaze shifting between me and my wife like he’s enjoying a private joke.
I say nothing.
But my grip tightens around my glass. My gaze sharpens, locking onto her. Because whether she realizes it or not, Harlow has just uttered something exceedingly dangerous.
The moment is abruptly disrupted by the unrestrained force that is Mattia, who barrels toward the table, laughter trailing behind him, no doubt at something Bianca has said. His presence crackles with uncontainable energy.
“I'm so hungry!”
Mattia exclaims as he plops into his seat without a second thought, immediately reaching for his plate.
Harlow smirks, amusement flickering in her tone.
“You say that every time you sit down to eat.”
She helps him choose what he wants, placing food onto his plate.
A constricting sensation winds through me as I watch my wife tend to my son.
Mattia simply shrugs.
“That’s because I always mean it.”
Leonardo chuckles.
“I’ve heard you took the yacht out today. Did you all enjoy your time on the water?”
Mattia nods enthusiastically.
“It was the best. I even convinced Harlow to get in the water. She can’t swim, you know.”
Leonardo arches a brow while Mario watches, vaguely amused.
Harlow fixes Mattia with a gaze that all but promises retribution.
“You just love exposing my weaknesses, don’t you?”
Mattia grins, utterly unbothered.
“Only because it’s funny.”
“You think drowning is funny?”
she challenges.
“I think watching papa carry you into the water was.”
Leonardo lets out a rich laugh while Mario smirks. I observe Harlow’s irritation, perilously close to amusement myself.
“You’ll learn,”
I say.
“In this family, weakness is just something to be trained out of you.”
Her gaze cuts to mine.
“Then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
I lean forward slightly.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
A brief silence lingers before Leonardo leans back in his chair, stretching out lazily.
“I can teach you to swim. We have the pool, and I’ve got plenty of free time these days.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Like hell you will.”
He smirks, deliberately ignoring me, which only makes my fists tighten.
“Harlow, what do you say?”
Before she can answer, I cut in.
“By the time I’m done with you tomorrow, the only water you’ll see is the sweat dripping down your face.”
I smirk as Leo groans, though laughter rumbles from him.
“Well,”
he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair.
“if nothing else, this dinner has been entertaining.”
Mario chuckles darkly.
“Aren’t they always?”
The meal continues, and soon, dessert is brought out—tiramisu, rich and decadent. The conversation shifts, taking on an easier, more reflective tone.
Leo exhales, settling back in his chair.
“This was nice,”
he admits, almost as if the thought surprises him.
“Yes,”
Harlow murmurs. “It was.”
Later, when we retire for the night, I lay beside my wife in our bed, the dim glow casting soft shadows between us. The air has shifted, calmer now, more settled.
“Tomorrow,”
I begin, my voice low.
“Be ready at seven. We have a gala to attend, so find yourself something appropriate. Indulge.”
I pause for a second, and then add.
“Better yet, take the day, have a spa treatment, buy whatever you please. But understand this, you are not to stray from your security detail. Not even for a moment.”
She arches a brow, a silent challenge.
“Are you asking or telling me?”
A slow, arrogant smirk tugs at my lips.
“You’re free to do as you please leonessa, so long as it’s exactly what I told you to do.”