Chapter 4
"We're attending a business gathering tonight," Dante said, holding up a dress that made my breath catch.
Blood red. Silk. And definitely designed to kill.
"Are you trying to get me murdered?" I stared at the barely-there fabric. "This thing is more revealing than my underwear."
His amber eyes darkened as they traveled down my body. "I want them to know you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sent heat racing through my veins, but I forced myself to stay focused. This is just an act, Aria. Don't forget that.
"Fine," I said, snatching the dress from his hands. "But if I get shot because some guy can't keep his eyes to himself, I'm haunting you forever."
His laugh was rich and dangerous. "I'd welcome it, bella."
An hour later, I was questioning every life choice that had led me to this moment.
The warehouse in Brooklyn looked innocent enough from the outside, but the second we stepped through the doors, I knew I was in way over my head. I recognized at least three faces from the FBI's most wanted list, and that was just in the first thirty seconds.
Holy shit. This isn't a business meeting. This is a goddamn mafia convention.
My training kicked in automatically—catalog exits, identify weapons, assess threats. But something was off. The way these people looked at Dante... it wasn't fear or even respect. It was gratitude. Like he'd done something good for them.
That doesn't make sense.
An elderly man with kind eyes approached us, speaking in rapid Italian to Dante before turning to me with a smile.
"You are very beautiful," he said in accented English, then leaned closer. "Romano family saved my daughter's life. They are good people, signorina."
I blinked, completely thrown. Good people? These were supposed to be ruthless killers. According to Morrison's files, the Romano family was responsible for dozens of deaths, including my father's.
But this man's eyes held nothing but genuine warmth when he looked at Dante.
What the hell is going on?
The sound of violin music pulled me from my thoughts. A small band had set up in the corner, playing a sultry Italian melody that made my skin tingle.
Dante appeared at my side, offering his hand. "Dance with me."
"I don't know how to tango."
"I'll teach you." His voice was low, hypnotic. "Prove you're my woman."
Prove you're my woman. The words should have annoyed me. Instead, they made my pulse race.
I took his hand, and he pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor. Every eye in the room was on us, but I barely noticed. The moment his arm wrapped around my waist, the world narrowed to just us.
"Follow my lead," he murmured against my ear, his breath warm on my skin.
The music was slow, seductive, and Dante moved like he was born to it. He guided me effortlessly, our bodies pressed so close I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. His hand on my lower back was firm, possessive, sending shivers down my spine.
Focus, Aria. You're supposed to be gathering intelligence, not getting lost in his touch.
But God, the way he was looking at me... like I was the only woman in the room. Like I mattered.
When he spun me out and pulled me back against him, I felt like I was flying. For a moment, I forgot I was FBI. Forgot I was supposed to be investigating him. Forgot everything except the man holding me like I was precious.
The music reached its crescendo, and Dante dipped me low, his face inches from mine. Time seemed to stop as I stared into those amber eyes, seeing something raw and vulnerable that made my chest tight.
Then he kissed me.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was asking permission. But when I didn't pull away—couldn't pull away—it deepened. His lips were warm and sure, moving against mine with a gentleness that completely undid me.
This should feel like acting. This should feel fake.
But there was nothing fake about the way my heart was pounding, or the way I melted into his arms, or the soft sound that escaped my throat when he finally pulled back.
"Cazzo," he breathed, his forehead resting against mine.
I was still trying to remember how to think when a voice cut through the romantic haze like a knife.
"Well, well. If it isn't the golden boy himself."
Dante went rigid against me, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring. I felt the change instantly—the protective man holding me transformed into something lethal.
I turned to see a man approaching us, tall and lean with cold eyes and a cruel smile. Even without seeing his face clearly, I could feel the danger radiating off him.
"Marco," Dante said, his voice deadly quiet.
Marco Torrino. I'd seen his file. Multiple murders, racketeering, human trafficking. A genuine monster.
"That man killed my father," Dante whispered in my ear, his voice raw with pain so real it made my chest ache.
Wait. My mind raced. If Marco killed Dante's father, then how could Dante have killed mine? The timeline Morrison had given me suddenly didn't make sense.
Marco's gaze slid to me, and his smile turned predatory. "And who's this little treat? She's too pretty for you, Romano."
He reached out like he was going to touch my face, and I saw Dante snap.
"Touch her and I'll kill your entire bloodline," Dante snarled, stepping protectively in front of me.
The warehouse went dead silent. I could practically feel the tension crackling in the air as both men stared each other down.
He's going to start a war.
Without thinking, I grabbed Dante's arm. "Don't," I said quietly. "He's not worth it."
For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he might ignore me. His whole body was vibrating with rage, his hands clenched into fists.
Then, incredibly, he stepped back.
He listened to me.
Marco laughed, but it sounded forced. "Pussy-whipped already? Your father would be ashamed."
"My father," Dante said with lethal calm, "was twice the man you'll ever be."
The drive back was silent, tension thick between us.
"That kiss," I said finally, unable to stop myself. "Was it just for show?"
Dante pulled over and turned to look at me, his amber eyes intense in the dim light.
"What do you think?"
I stared at him, my heart racing. I think I'm in serious trouble.
Because somewhere between tonight's revelations and that kiss, I'd started to realize something that scared me:
My feelings for this man were becoming dangerously real.