Chapter Three #2
“I have no intention of marrying Marco,” I continued. “But refusing outright didn’t accomplish anything except making Papa more determined. He sees my resistance as a character flaw that needs to be corrected. Possibly violently.”
That got a flicker of something in Dante’s eyes. Interest, maybe. Or calculation.
“So, I need an alternative,” I said. “Someone with enough power that Papa can’t simply dismiss him. Someone whose claim on me would be stronger than Marco’s. Someone who makes the political alliance Papa wants look insignificant by comparison.”
“Someone like me.” His voice was flat, giving nothing away.
“Exactly like you.” I met his gaze, refusing to look away even though it felt like staring into a dark abyss.
“The De Lucas have more territory, more influence, more fear attached to your name than the Vitales could ever hope for. Papa might be furious, but he’s not stupid.
He won’t throw away a potential alliance with your family just to maintain one with Marco’s. ”
After all, having the most lethal family on our side would be a good thing. Even my papa couldn’t deny it.
Dante picked up his bourbon again but didn’t drink. Just held it, the amber liquid catching the low light. “What exactly are you proposing?”
Here it was. The terms I’d spent what felt like hours crafting, revising, trying to make airtight enough that I wouldn’t end up in a worse situation than the one I was trying to escape.
“A contract marriage,” I said. “Legally binding, with prenuptial agreements that protect both our interests. We present a united front publicly -- attend events together, maintain the appearance of a legitimate relationship. Privately, we keep separate residences. Separate lives. You get access to Lombardi social circles and the legitimacy that comes with marrying into an old family. I get protection from Papa’s plans and the freedom to live my life on my own terms.”
“Separate residences.” He repeated the phrase like he was testing the weight of it.
“Yes. We’d need to be seen together regularly enough to preserve the illusion, but there would be clear boundaries. This would be a business arrangement, not a real marriage.”
“No conjugal expectations.” Still that flat tone, but something had shifted in his posture. A tension that hadn’t been there before.
“No conjugal expectations,” I confirmed, ignoring the heat that spread through my chest at the word.
“We’d both be free to pursue other relationships discreetly.
The contract would include terms for dissolution after a set period -- five years, perhaps.
Long enough to establish the alliance, short enough that we’re not trapped indefinitely. ”
I was proud of how steady my voice remained. How businesslike. Like I was negotiating a merger instead of offering myself up as a solution to a problem that made my stomach churn.
Dante was quiet for a long moment. His fingers rested against the bourbon glass, not gripping it, just touching. Long fingers. Scarred knuckles. The hands of someone who did violence personally rather than delegating it.
“And what do I gain from this?” he asked finally. “Be specific.”
“Access to the Lombardi network. Every connection my father has spent forty years building. Social legitimacy with families who still care about bloodlines and tradition. A wife from an established house, which matters to the old guard more than any of us want to admit.” I leaned forward slightly, warming to my pitch now.
“The De Lucas are feared, but fear only gets you so far. You’re still viewed as outsiders by the families that have been here for generations.
Marrying me changes that. It makes you acceptable. Respectable, even.”
“I’ve never particularly cared about being respectable.”
“No, but you care about power. And power in our world comes from more than just the ability to hurt people. It comes from access. From being invited to the right tables, included in the right conversations. My name opens doors that would stay closed to you otherwise.”
Something flickered in his eyes again. Not anger. Something closer to amusement, but darker. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve thought about nothing else since that disastrous dinner.” The honesty slipped out before I could stop it. Not part of the professional pitch. Just truth.
His gaze intensified, and I felt it like a physical weight. This was what Papa must feel like when he was evaluating a deal, measuring all the angles, looking for the trap.
I swallowed. Tried to maintain eye contact. Failed and glanced down at my nearly untouched scotch instead.
When I looked back up, Dante’s gaze had been on my throat. On the movement of my swallow. His gaze lifted back to my face slowly, deliberately.
My pulse kicked up again. Fuck.
“You mentioned separate sleeping arrangements,” he said, his voice still controlled but with something underneath now. Something that made my skin prickle.
“Yes. We’d maintain separate --”
“I heard you the first time.” His fingers tightened around the bourbon glass. Just slightly. Just enough that I noticed. “I’m clarifying the terms. No physical relationship. No expectation of intimacy. A marriage in name only.”
“Exactly.”
He was quiet again. The silence stretched between us, heavy with things unspoken. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
This was taking too long. He should have agreed or refused by now. The extended consideration meant he was finding problems with the proposal, poking holes in my logic, preparing to walk away.
I’d miscalculated. Fuck, I’d completely miscalculated, and now I was going to end up married to Marco anyway and this whole desperate play would have been for nothing.
Dante took a slow sip of his bourbon. Set it down with the same precision as before. When he looked at me again, something had changed in his expression. A decision made.
“I’ll agree to your terms, Caterina Lombardi.”
Relief flooded through me so fast it made me dizzy. “You will?”
“With one condition of my own.”
The relief evaporated. “What condition?”
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Not touching, but near enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell his cologne mixed with bourbon and something darker. His voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that made every nerve ending I had stand at attention.
“Behind closed doors, you belong to me completely.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath caught. I felt my eyes widen, felt heat and ice chase each other through my veins in equal measure.
“What?” The word came out barely above a whisper.
“You want protection from your father and Marco Vitale.” His eyes held mine, and there was no mistaking the hunger in them now.
No hiding it. “You want my name and my power and my reputation. Fine. You’ll have all of it.
But in private, you’re mine. Not a contract. Not a business arrangement. Mine.”
“That’s not… that wasn’t…” I couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence. My brain had short-circuited somewhere between “belong to me” and the way he’d said “mine” like it was a promise and a threat combined.
“Those are my terms.” He leaned back again, giving me space I desperately needed and simultaneously missed. “You accept them or you walk away and take your chances with Marco. Your choice.”
My hands were shaking. I gripped the edge of the table to hide it. “You’re asking me to…”
“I’m not asking anything.” His voice remained maddeningly level.
“I’m stating my condition. You come to my bed when I want you there.
You give me access to your body, your pleasure, your submission.
In exchange, I’ll give you everything you asked for.
Protection. Freedom. A way out of Papa’s cage.
But you don’t get to dictate all the terms, Caterina.
This is a negotiation, and I’m negotiating. ”
The word “submission” made something clench low in my belly. Fear. Had to be fear. Couldn’t be anything else. Definitely not the heat that was spreading through me like wildfire, making it hard to think straight.
“That’s…” I swallowed again, his gaze tracking the movement. “That’s not what I offered.”
“No. It’s what I’m demanding.”
The certainty in his voice, the complete lack of apology or hesitation, should have terrified me. Did terrify me. But underneath the terror was something else. Something I absolutely refused to acknowledge or name.
I thought about Marco. About the way he’d smiled when Papa announced our engagement, like he’d won a prize. About the girl he’d put in the hospital and the others who’d probably suffered at his hands.
I thought about Papa’s face when I’d thrown wine at my future husband, about the promise of consequences in his voice.
I thought about three months. Twelve weeks. Ninety days counting down to a wedding that would end with me trapped in a marriage where I had no power and no escape.
And I thought about Dante’s offer. His demand. The cage I was in versus the one he was offering. At least with Dante, I’d chosen it. At least with Dante, there was an endpoint. Five years instead of forever.
At least with Dante, something in my body was responding with heat instead of revulsion.
I picked up my scotch. Drained half of it in one long swallow. Set it down harder than I meant to. Lifted my chin and met his eyes.
“Define completely,” I said.
His smile was slow and absolutely predatory. “Everything, Caterina. Your body. Your pleasure. Your obedience behind closed doors. You don’t refuse me. You don’t negotiate in the moment. When we’re in private, what I say goes.”
“And publicly?”
“Publicly, you have exactly what you asked for. Separate residences when we’re not required to be together.
Freedom to live your life. I won’t control your friendships, your activities, your choices -- except when it comes to other men in your bed.
That ends now. You want this deal, you accept that you’re mine in every way that matters. ”
The possessiveness in his voice should have made me run. Instead, I found myself leaning forward. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”
“You don’t.” He didn’t soften it, didn’t offer false comfort.
“But you know Marco will. And you know your father will marry you off to someone, whether it’s Marco or the next ambitious bastard who makes him a good offer.
At least with me, you know what you’re getting.
At least with me, you have some control over when this ends. ”
He was right. I hated that he was right, but he was. This was the best offer I was going to get. Maybe the only one.
“I need time to think --”
“No.” He cut me off. “You decide now. Here. You walk out of this bar either as my future wife or as Marco Vitale’s problem. Those are your options.”
My heart was racing so fast I felt lightheaded. This was insane. Completely insane. I was about to agree to terms that gave a man I barely knew complete control over my body in exchange for -- what? Protection? Freedom? The illusion of choice?
But it was more than I had with Marco. More than I had with Papa controlling every aspect of my life.
I looked at Dante De Luca, at the hardness in his eyes, the scars on his knuckles, the predatory patience in every line of his body. This was a man who’d built his reputation on violence. Who’d earned his place through blood and brutality.
This was a man who’d just told me I’d belong to him completely.
And I was about to say yes.
“Fine.” The word came out steadier than I felt. “I accept your terms.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Triumph. Hunger. Satisfaction. All of it and more.
“Then we have a deal, Caterina.” He lifted his bourbon in a mock toast. “Welcome to the De Luca family.”
I lifted my scotch with a hand that was absolutely not shaking. “Try not to make me regret this.”
His smile was all teeth and darkness. “I make no promises.”
We drank. Sealed the deal. And I tried very hard not to think about what I’d just agreed to or the way my body had responded when he’d said “mine.”
I’d escaped one cage. Time would tell if I’d just walked into another.