22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alina
Sunlight spilled across the bed in warm golden bands, slipping through the half-open curtains. Alina stirred slowly, aware first of the heavy arm draped possessively over her waist, then the solid wall of heat pressed against her back.
His breath was steady and deep against her neck, one leg tangled between hers. She could feel every inch of him—bare skin, hard muscle, and the unmistakable press of his morning arousal against her hips. Her body responded instantly, a low throb of renewed desire pulsing between her thighs.
She should feel embarrassed, or overwhelmed. Instead, she felt… safe. Wanted. And she hadn't let herself feel either of those things in years—she had worked entirely too hard to stop needing them.
Alina tried to slip out from under his arm without waking him. She barely moved an inch before the arm tightened.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was gravel-rough with sleep, impossibly deep.
“Bathroom,” she whispered.
“Liar.” He nuzzled the back of her neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear. “You were trying to run.”
“I don’t run. I strategically retreat.”
Dante chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. In one smooth motion, he rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs, caging her with his body. His dark eyes were still heavy-lidded, hair tousled, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Morning, Alina.”
The way he said her name—softer than it had any right to be—made her chest tighten. “Morning,” she breathed.
He studied her face like he was memorizing a map, then leaned down and kissed her slowly.
Not the desperate hunger of last night, but something deeper, lazier, like they had all the time in the world.
His hand slid down her side, cupping her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until it pebbled under his touch. She arched into him with a soft sigh.
“You’re sore?” he asked.
“A little.”
He hummed, a low vibration against her skin. “Good.”
His kiss moved from her mouth to her throat, then lower, his intentions unmistakable.
He took his time with her body—leaving dark marks on her skin, licking a slow trail down her stomach, spreading her thighs wide to taste her again.
He didn’t stop until she was writhing, fingers twisted in his hair, her protests turning into broken pleas.
Only then did he rise over her and slide inside in one long, smooth thrust. They both groaned.
This time it was slower, deeper. Every roll of his hips was entirely deliberate, like he wanted her to feel exactly who was claiming her.
Alina wrapped her legs around him, meeting every thrust, her nails dragging down his back.
When she came, it crashed over her in long, rolling waves, and Dante followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside her with a low, guttural sound that made her toes curl.
They stayed locked together for a long minute, breathing each other in. Eventually, Dante pulled out and rolled to the side, tugging her tightly against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on her bare hip.
“I meant what I said last night,” he murmured. “You’re staying. Not just in this house. With me.”
Alina traced a jagged scar on his ribs. “Dante… this is dangerous. For both of us.”
“I know.” He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. “But you’re mine now. And I protect what’s mine.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him she didn’t belong to anyone. But the words wouldn’t come—not with his heartbeat steady under her cheek and the scent of him surrounding her.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Dante tensed, then relaxed when a woman’s voice called through the wood. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, Mr. Moretti. Miss Alina’s favorites, as requested.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Shower with me?”
She smiled despite herself. “Only if you promise to behave.”
“I never make promises I can’t keep.”
Twenty minutes later, they descended the grand staircase together—Dante in a black button-down and slacks, Alina in a soft cream sweater and leggings he'd delivered to her room. His hand rested possessively at the small of her back.
In the sunlit dining room, a full spread waited: fresh fruit, pastries, eggs Benedict, avocado toast, and strong coffee.
Dante pulled out her chair, then sat beside her instead of across the table.
He watched her eat with quiet satisfaction, refilling her coffee before she could even reach for the pot.
Alina glanced at him over the rim of her mug. “You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” His smirk was pure sin. “But you like it.”
She didn’t deny it. Outside the tall windows, the mansion grounds looked entirely peaceful, but Alina knew better. Somewhere beyond this gilded cage, people still wanted her dead. The danger hadn’t disappeared; it had only gotten closer. And so had Dante.
She reached over and laced her fingers with his. For the first time since this nightmare began, she didn’t feel like running. She felt like fighting—for this, for him, for them.
Dante squeezed her hand, as if reading her thoughts. “Welcome home, Alina.”
After breakfast, they settled at the kitchen island with their coffee. For a moment, the shared quiet felt almost normal. Almost. Except for the way he watched her—not possessive, not predatory, just profoundly aware. Like he was memorizing her.
She cleared her throat. “So. What’s the plan today?”
“Security sweep,” he said. “Then a briefing with my vors. Then—”
“Then what?”
He hesitated. “Then I check on you.”
Her chest tightened. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
His eyes softened—warm, dark, dangerous. “Because I want to.”
Her breath caught. She looked away, staring into her coffee like it held the secrets of the universe. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
“What is?”
“You. Me. This.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t deny it. He just said, “Maybe.”
She looked up. He was closer than before. Too close.
“But I’m not walking away,” he said quietly.
Her heart stuttered. She whispered, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Just stay.”
She stood there, every part of her pulled in a different direction, and whispered the only truth she had: “I’m trying.”