Chapter 7: Against All Warnings

Maya's POV

I almost didn't go to the town meeting.

I stood in my bedroom for twenty minutes, staring at my closet, my phone buzzing with another text from that mysterious "M" person: Don't go tonight. Trust me.

That made three texts in two days from someone who knew too much about my life. Who was M? Marcus? Some creepy stalker? And why did they care if I went to a boring town meeting?

But I'd accepted the mural commission. I needed that money desperately. So I ignored the text, left Lily with Vanessa, and drove to the community center telling myself I was being ridiculous.

The meeting room was packed with couples. Everywhere I looked—couples holding hands, couples laughing together, couples planning romantic Valentine's Day events. It made my chest ache with loneliness I usually kept buried.

I found a seat in the back row, trying to be invisible.

Then Dante walked in.

My heart stopped completely.

He scanned the room, and when his eyes found mine, his whole face lit up. He smiled—warm and genuine—and started walking straight toward me.

No. No, no, no. After yesterday, after I'd slammed the door in his face, I thought he'd avoid me forever. I'd wanted him to avoid me. It was safer that way.

But he dropped into the seat right next to mine, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something woodsy and warm that made my head spin.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi," I managed, my voice coming out squeaky.

"About yesterday—" he started.

"We don't have to talk about it," I interrupted quickly. The glowing roses. My panic. The way I'd grabbed Lily and run like he was a monster. "I'm sorry I was rude."

"You weren't rude. You were protecting your daughter from a strange man with weird glowing flowers." His lips quirked. "That's good parenting, actually."

The festival coordinator started talking, droning on about decorations and schedules. Dante leaned closer and whispered, "Is she always this boring?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Always."

"How does she make Valentine's Day sound like a tax audit?"

A giggle escaped before I could stop it. Several people turned to glare at us. I covered my mouth, face burning.

Dante grinned, looking pleased with himself.

For the next hour, he kept making quiet comments that had me fighting not to laugh out loud. When the coordinator talked about the "romantic ambiance lighting," Dante whispered, "That's just regular lights, right? They're not actually romantic?" When someone suggested a couples' ice-skating event, he murmured, "That's just an emergency room visit waiting to happen."

I shouldn't have been enjoying this. I should've moved seats, put distance between us. But I couldn't remember the last time someone had made me laugh like this. Made me feel light instead of heavy.

Finally, the coordinator got to my part: "Maya Blake will be painting our centerpiece mural. It's a huge project. She'll need volunteers to help with prep work. Anyone interested?"

Dante's hand shot up before she finished the sentence.

"Wonderful! Anyone else?"

Silence. Just Dante's hand in the air.

The coordinator looked disappointed. "Well, Mr. Rossi, looks like you're it. Maya, you two can coordinate schedules."

After the meeting, we walked out together. The parking lot was nearly empty, lit by streetlights that cast long shadows.

"You don't have to volunteer," I said. "I'm sure you're busy with your shop—"

"I want to help." Dante stopped walking and turned to face me. "Tell me about your art. What do you paint when no one's commissioning you?"

The question caught me off guard. No one asked about my personal art. Marcus had always dismissed it as a waste of time.

"I... don't paint for myself anymore," I admitted. "Not since the divorce. It feels self-indulgent."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." Dante's expression was so genuinely distressed that my throat got tight. "Art isn't self-indulgent. It's necessary. It's how you show the world what you see, what you feel. Stopping that is like... stopping breathing."

Something in my chest cracked open. "You really believe that?"

"I know it." He took a step closer. "What did you used to paint? Before you stopped?"

"Emotions," I whispered. "I'd paint what love looked like, what heartbreak felt like, what joy looked like. I painted truth, I guess. The truth of feelings."

Dante stared at me with an intensity that made me shiver. "That's an incredible gift."

"Marcus said it was childish. That real artists paint what sells, not feelings."

"Marcus was an idiot." The words came out harsh and angry. "Sorry. But anyone who made you doubt your gift is an idiot."

We stood there in the parking lot, close enough to touch, and I felt that pull again—that magnetic force drawing me toward him. This was dangerous. This feeling. This man.

My phone buzzed. Text from Lily: Mommy when are you coming home? Aunt Vanessa made cookies but they're burned.

I smiled. "I have to go. My daughter's staging a cookie intervention."

"Lily," Dante said, and the way he said her name—with genuine affection—made my heart skip. "She's great, by the way. Fearless."

"She likes you too. She keeps drawing pictures of you."

"Really?" He looked ridiculously pleased.

"Well, she draws a stick figure on a motorcycle and labels it 'Prince.' But I'm pretty sure that's you."

Dante laughed, and the sound wrapped around me like warmth.

We stood there, neither of us moving toward our cars, both of us caught in this impossible moment.

"Maya," he said quietly. "I know this is complicated. I know I'm... different. And I know you're scared. But I promise I won't hurt you."

"Everyone promises that," I whispered.

"I know. But I mean it." He reached out slowly, giving me time to move away, and touched my hand so gently it barely counted as contact.

That electric shock sparked between us again—stronger this time, almost visible in the dark parking lot. We both gasped.

"What is that?" I breathed.

Dante pulled his hand back, looking shaken. "I don't—it's complicated."

"Everything about you is complicated."

"Yeah." He stepped back, putting safe distance between us. "You should go. Lily needs you. And I need to figure some things out."

I walked to my car on trembling legs. In the rearview mirror, I watched Dante standing alone under the streetlight, looking torn between following me and running away.

My phone buzzed as I started the engine. Another text from M: You didn't listen. Now you've made it worse for both of you. The bond is growing. Three weeks isn't enough time. You need to end this now before someone dies. -M

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.

Someone dies?

I looked up at Dante again. He was still standing there, and now his arms were glowing—that same golden light shining through his tattoos, bright enough to see from across the parking lot.

He looked down at his arms in what looked like panic, then quickly pulled his jacket on to hide the light.

But I'd seen it. And now I knew for certain—whatever Dante was, whatever was happening between us, it was real.

And according to M, it was going to kill someone.

My phone rang. Unknown number. Against every instinct, I answered.

"Maya Blake." A man's voice. Cold. Familiar. My blood turned to ice.

"Marcus?"

"We need to talk. About your new neighbor. About the mistakes you're making." His voice was smooth, controlled, terrifying. "About what you're going to lose if you don't listen to me."

"How did you—"

"Meet me tomorrow. Noon. The Sweetheart Bridge. Come alone, and we can fix this before it's too late. Or don't, and watch everything you love burn."

He hung up.

I sat frozen in my car, my heart hammering.

Marcus was M. Somehow, my ex-husband knew about Dante, about the magic, about everything.

And he was threatening me.

I looked at Dante one more time. He was watching me through the darkness, and even from here, I could see the concern on his face.

Tomorrow at noon, I'd find out what Marcus knew.

And what he'd do to stop me from being happy again.