Chapter Eleven #2
“I’m fine,” I managed. My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“Be careful,” she said softly. To me or Dante or both of us, I couldn’t tell.
Luca finally found his voice. “Cat.” He used my childhood nickname, the one he hadn’t called me in years. “If you need anything. If you ever need --”
“She has everything she needs.” Dante cut him off, not unkindly but firmly. “But thank you for your concern.”
The dismissal was clear. Luca’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and stepped back.
Papa watched this exchange with new calculation in his eyes. He was reassessing the power dynamics and realizing Dante wasn’t going to defer to him, wasn’t going to ask permission, wasn’t going to pretend this marriage was anything other than what it was -- total possession.
“One more thing.” Papa’s voice had hardened slightly, perhaps trying to reclaim some authority. “I hear you’ve signed a contract with Caterina.”
“That’s between me and my wife.” Dante’s tone didn’t invite argument. “But those terms don’t govern how I protect my wife. They don’t limit what I’ll do to anyone who threatens her.”
Papa held his gaze for three heartbeats, then nodded. A concession.
“Then I wish you both a good evening.” He stepped aside, clearing our path to the door. “Drive safely.”
We walked out into the night, Dante’s hand never leaving my body. His car waited in the circular drive. His driver stood at attention, opening the rear door as we approached.
Dante guided me into the back seat, then slid in beside me. The door closed, sealing us in leather-scented darkness broken only by the soft glow of the privacy screen controls.
The car pulled away from the Lombardi estate. I watched through the tinted windows as my childhood home receded into the distance, the windows glowing warm against the night sky.
Then I couldn’t see it anymore.
The silence stretched between us. I could hear my own breathing, hear the soft sound of expensive tires on asphalt, hear my heart hammering against my ribs with a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear.
My body still hummed with arousal I couldn’t shake, couldn’t rationalize away. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Dante’s hand on Marco’s, saw the clinical precision with which he’d broken bone and cartilage, heard Marco’s screams echoing in the dining room.
And God help me, it made me wet.
I pressed my thighs together harder, trying to manage the ache building there. Tried to focus on anything else -- the leather seats, the city lights passing outside, the soft music playing from hidden speakers.
Dante’s hand found mine in my lap.
The touch was gentle. Almost tender. Nothing like the violence he’d displayed earlier. He threaded his fingers through mine, his thumb tracing small circles against my palm.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
What was I supposed to say? Watching him break Marco’s fingers had turned me on more than anything in my life.
I was both ashamed and aroused, caught between horror and hunger.
Some dark part of me wanted him to prove his ownership again -- to feel his hands on me the way they’d been on Marco: controlled, brutal, and absolutely certain.
“I’m processing,” I said instead.
“Processing what, specifically?”
I turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, his eyes dark and focused entirely on me. Waiting for an answer I wasn’t sure how to give.
“You broke his hand,” I said finally. “At my father’s dinner table. In front of my family.”
“I did.” No defensiveness. No justification. Just acknowledgment.
“You could have started a war.”
“I may have started a war.” He shifted slightly, turning to face me more fully. “But no one will ever threaten you again without understanding the consequences.”
His hand moved from mine to my face, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that contradicted everything I’d just witnessed. His thumb brushed across my lower lip in a gesture that made my breath catch.
“No one will ever hurt you, Caterina.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Not while I’m alive to prevent it. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care who I have to break or kill or destroy. You’re mine to protect, and I take that responsibility seriously.”
I should have been frightened. Should have been disturbed by the casual way he talked about killing people. Should have pulled away from his touch.
Instead, I leaned into his palm, my eyes closing as I felt a shiver run through my entire body. Not fear. Not exactly. Something more complicated. More primal.
“I watched you break his fingers,” I whispered, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. “And I…”
I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t admit out loud what I’d felt. What I was still feeling.
But Dante’s expression shifted to something knowing.
“And you liked it.” Not a question. A statement of fact. “Liked watching me hurt him for threatening you. Liked knowing I’d do worse if he touched you. Liked seeing proof of exactly how far I’ll go to keep what’s mine safe.”
My breath came faster. I wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I was horrified by his violence not aroused by it.
But my body betrayed me. My pupils dilated, my lips parted, and my thighs pressed together harder, trying to manage the need building inside me.
Dante saw all of it. Read every physical response like he was reading a book.
“There’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling,” he murmured, his thumb still tracing my lip.
“Nothing shameful about being aroused by violence committed in your defense. It’s primal.
Natural. Your body recognizes that I’m strong enough to protect you, brutal enough to eliminate threats, powerful enough to keep you safe. ”
His hand slid from my face to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
“And tonight, when we get home, I’m going to show you exactly what it means to be married to someone who’ll break bones to defend you.”
The promise in his voice sent another shiver through me -- equal parts fear and anticipation and undeniable desire.
I was trapped in this car with a man who’d just proven his capacity for controlled violence, heading toward a penthouse where he’d already demonstrated his capacity for controlled domination.
And I wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to feel his hands on me the way they’d been on Marco -- firm and unyielding and absolutely certain of his right to touch, to take, to own.
“You awakened something in me tonight,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Something I didn’t know was there.”
“I know.” His fingers tightened in my hair. “I could see it in your eyes. In how your breathing changed. In how you pressed your thighs together under the table while you watched me hurt him.”
Shame burned hot in my chest, mixing with the arousal until I couldn’t separate them.
“Don’t.” His other hand cupped my face again, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Don’t be ashamed of what turns you on. Don’t hide from what you want. You’re my wife. That means I get to see all of you -- the defiant parts and the submissive parts and the dark parts you don’t want to acknowledge.”
The car slowed, turning into the underground parking garage of Dante’s building. We’d be in the penthouse in minutes. Alone. With nothing between me and whatever he had planned.
My pulse jumped. My breathing went shallow. My body prepared itself for what came next even as my mind tried to catch up.
The car stopped. The driver opened my door. Dante slid out first, then offered me his hand.
I took it. Let him pull me from the car and guide me toward the private elevator. Let him enter the code that would take us up forty-three floors to where I’d be at his mercy again.
As the elevator doors closed and we began to rise, Dante pulled me against him. His mouth found my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And tonight I’m going to prove it in ways you’ve never imagined.”
I believed him.
And God help me, I couldn’t wait.