CHAPTER TWELVE #2
It was untouched. It was undisturbed. A microscopic layer of dust had settled over the embossed gold crest, as if it had never even registered to her as an object worth acknowledging, let alone throwing in the trash. It was just an irrelevant piece of paper taking up space next to her spare change.
Dante stared at the card, and a rich, deep wave of amusement washed over him. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. He commanded an empire that spanned continents, and to this woman, his golden ticket wasn't even worth the effort required to walk it to the garbage bin.
Cassia paused, slipping off her coat and hanging it on a hook. "I can make coffee. If you want."
"No, thank you," Dante waved the offer off. He turned his attention away from the ceramic tray and focused on her, stepping further into the living room.
He leaned against the back of the grey sofa, crossing his ankles, feeling the tension of the day finally beginning to bleed out of his shoulders.
"Can I ask you a question?" Dante asked, his voice dropping into a smooth, curious register.
Cassia walked over to the kitchen island, leaning her hip against the cool marble as she faced him. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest. "You're already in my apartment. You might as well."
"The name Fazzari," Dante said, holding her gaze. "It usually clears rooms. It makes grown men sweat. Why aren't you intimidated by us?"
Cassia looked at him as if he had just asked why the sky was blue. "Intimidated by what?"
"Me. My family. The reality of what we are."
Cassia gave a small, dismissive shrug. "You bleed red, Dante.
Same as the guy who tripped on the curb outside the bakery this morning.
When they cut you, tissue tears. When they shoot you, your blood pressure drops.
You are fundamentally the same as every other human being walking the streets of Rome.
There is nothing in that biological reality that warrants fear. "
"It isn't biology that makes people tremble," Dante countered softly, pushing off the sofa and taking a slow step toward the kitchen.
The evening light filtered through the tall windows, catching the pale, icy green of his eyes.
"It’s the power. The wealth. The fact that I can ruin a life or elevate it with a single word. That is what inspires the reaction."
Cassia listened to him, her expression remaining perfectly even. She looked at the expensive fabric of his shirt, the customized luxury car parked downstairs, the entire weight of the criminal empire he carried on his shoulders.
"That only works if the person you're talking to actually wants something from you," Cassia said, her voice clear and ringing with truth.
"I pay my own rent. I buy my own groceries.
I save lives with my own two hands. I have no need for your wealth, and I have no use for your power.
You have nothing I want, Dante. So, no. None of it intimidates me in the slightest."
Dante stopped walking. He stood in the center of her living room, arrested by the sheer devastating clarity of her logic.
He had spent his entire life surrounded by parasites.
People who wanted his money, people who feared his wrath, people who sought his favor to elevate their own pathetic lives.
He had never, in thirty-eight years, stood in front of a human being who was so fiercely whole on their own.
She was a fortress. She required nothing from him, which meant he had no power over her.
He looked at the fierce intellect burning in her pale blue eyes, the unapologetic strength in her posture, and the lethal grace she possessed.
"You are magnificent," Dante said softly. The words slipped from his lips without conscious thought, carrying the unvarnished weight of truth.
Cassia blinked. Her brow furrowed deeply.
The professional composure cracked as she looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
She studied his face, searching for the punchline, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out if the Don of the European mob was actually attempting to flirt with her in the middle of her kitchen.
"Have you hit your head recently?" Cassia asked, her voice laced with deep, clinical skepticism.
Dante let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. The sound filled the apartment, warm and genuine.
He stepped up to the opposite side of the marble island, resting his hands flat on the cool surface, leaning in slightly. The amusement danced in his eyes, but beneath it was a steady, unyielding determination.
"Cassia," Dante pressed forward, refusing to let the moment slip through his fingers. "Would you mind if we stayed in touch?"
Cassia stared at him. The skepticism warred with a sudden spark of amusement in her own chest. She looked at the man who commanded armies, standing in her kitchen asking to stay in touch like a normal person.
"Why?" Cassia asked, a dry, half-teasing smirk finally pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Is that because you have no friends?"
Dante threw his head back and laughed again, the sheer joy of her unfiltered banter lighting a fire in his veins.
"No," Dante admitted, his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her. "I genuinely do not have any doctor friends to speak of. It seems like a glaring oversight in my social circle."
Cassia looked at him. She knew, with the analytical certainty of a surgeon, that agreeing to this was a terrible idea. It was inviting the chaos permanently into her life. It was a violation of every rule she had ever set for herself.
But as she looked at his smile—the genuine, unguarded smile that she was somehow responsible for—she found her pragmatic resolve crumbling just enough to let him in.
Cassia let out a long, weary sigh, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out her cell phone, unlocked the screen, and slid it across the marble counter toward him.
"Fine," Cassia agreed, her voice carrying a reluctant, concession. "But I work double shifts, Dante. Do not expect immediate replies."
Dante picked up the phone, his long fingers swiftly typing his personal, encrypted number into her contacts. He handed it back to her, his pale green eyes locked onto hers, blazing with a triumphant heat.
"I look forward to it, Doctor," Dante murmured softly.
And with that small, reluctant concession, in the sanctuary of a minimalist apartment above a Roman bakery, their casual, unlikely relationship quietly began.