CH-27

CH-27

Dante POV

The city lights streak past like dying stars as Marco drives us through the rain-slick streets of Milan. My fingers drum against my thigh, restless, coiled with tension. I can still hear Aria’s voice from the phone call—soft, taunting, too much like Isabella’s but colder, sharper.
Cassian Roarke’s men are waiting when we pull up to the abandoned glass tower on Via Torino. Obsidian Syndicate. The kind of power you don’t cross unless you have a death wish.
“You sure about this?” Marco mutters from the driver’s seat, eyes scanning the tinted SUVs parked out front. “These guys don’t give favors. They give chains.”
“I’m sure,” Isabella says from the back, voice steady but low. Her nails dig into the leather seat as she stares out the window, her face pale against the blur of city lights. “If Selene is pulling in allies, we need someone bigger. Someone she’s afraid of.”
“Roarke doesn’t give alliances,” I growl, already hating this plan. “He collects debts. And he’ll want something we can’t afford to give.”
“Then we don’t give him a choice,” she snaps.

We step into the tower lobby, greeted by glass walls and black marble floors polished so smooth they look like water. A woman in a white suit, her hair as pale as bone, escorts us to the top floor.
Cassian Roarke is waiting.
He’s not what I expect. No gaudy mafia king in gold chains or Italian silk. He’s understated. Precise. A tailored charcoal suit, black shirt, no tie. His hair is dark, streaked with silver, his jaw strong but clean-shaven. He sits behind a black obsidian desk, the city skyline glowing like fire behind him.
“Dante Valeri,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Still alive. Disappointing some, I’m sure.”
“Cassian,” I return evenly, though I’m already calculating the exits. “You know why we’re here.”
“Do I?” His gaze slides to Isabella, and for a moment, the entire room stills. “You’ve inherited your mother’s fire. I see it in your eyes.”
Isabella doesn’t flinch. “We need an alliance. Selene’s building something in the east. She’s using my sister as a weapon. We need muscle, intel—”
“—and blood,” Cassian finishes for her. “Which is what all De Lucas need, sooner or later.”

He stands slowly, circling the desk with the easy confidence of a man who knows no one would dare shoot him here. He studies Isabella like she’s a puzzle he intends to break apart piece by piece.
“I can help you,” Cassian says finally. “But the Obsidian Syndicate doesn’t trade in favors. We trade in obedience.”
“Name your price,” Isabella says.
The air goes sharp. I step forward, my hand brushing the gun under my jacket. “Careful, princess.”
Cassian smirks at me, like he knows exactly how far he can push before I snap. “My price, bella, is him.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s pointing at me.

“Explain,” Isabella demands.
“Dante Valeri,” Cassian says, voice smooth as oil. “The assassin who once cut his way through three rival syndicates for a single contract. I don’t need you, Isabella. I need him. For one job. He succeeds… and you have my resources. Fail, and…” He tilts his head. “Well, I’m sure Selene would love to have what’s left of you.”
“No deal,” I say instantly.
Isabella turns on me. “We need this, Dante.”
“No.” My voice is iron. “Cassian doesn’t give jobs. He gives death sentences.”
Cassian smiles faintly. “Then perhaps Isabella will take your place. I’m sure I can find a use for her.”
The temperature in my veins drops. “Touch her, and I’ll paint these walls with your blood.”

“Enough,” Isabella cuts in, stepping between us. Her eyes blaze, and I hate how good she looks when she’s furious. “We take the deal. Dante goes, I go. We both come back.”
Cassian’s gaze lingers on her for a beat too long, then shifts back to me with a smile that promises nothing good. “Fine. The job will find you.”
The woman in white reappears, silent as a ghost, and hands me a black envelope. No name. Just a wax seal marked with a blade and crown.
I tuck it into my jacket, my pulse a steady drumbeat of fury.

\-=====================
Back at the safehouse
I slam the envelope down on the table. “You shouldn’t have spoken for me.”
“You would’ve walked,” Isabella fires back, tossing her jacket onto the couch. “And we’d be dead before the week’s out.”
“You think Roarke’s any better than Selene?” I snap. “At least Selene doesn’t hide her knives.”
She steps closer, fire in her gaze. “So what? We wait for her to gut us?”
“Better than selling ourselves to a man who’ll own you the second you breathe wrong,” I growl.
“Own me?” Her laugh is sharp. “You think I can’t handle Cassian Roarke?”
“I think he’s looking at you like you’re not even mine,” I say, voice low, dangerous.

For a moment, the room is silent but for the sound of the rain against the windows. Her lips part, breath catching, and I realize I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“Then make me yours,” she whispers.

The words hit me like a shot. I grab her face, rough, tilting her head back as I crush my mouth to hers. The kiss isn’t gentle—it’s war, teeth and tongue and years of rage. She moans against my lips, clawing at my shoulders.

I take a deep breath, heart pounding as I lose myself in the intensity of the moment.

My hands tangle in her hair, gripping tight as I pour every ounce of pent-up passion into the bruising kiss.

She tastes fucking good, and I know I'm lost. 

Breaking away, I trail my lips down the column of her throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

“You're fucking mine”.Hands roaming, I map out the curves of her body - the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

Each touch ignites a fire under my skin. I palm her ass roughly, pulling her flush against me so she can feel how hard I am already.

But before I can push it further, a sharp knock rattles the door.

Marco calls out from the hallway. “Dante. You’re going to want to see this.”

We break apart, breathless. I open the door, and Marco is standing there with a single black rose in his hand.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I demand.

Marco’s jaw is tight. “Someone left it on the hood of the car. With this.”

He holds out a small silver bullet, etched with one word: VENGEANCE.

I glance at Isabella, and her face has gone pale.

“That’s not Cassian,” I say slowly. “That’s Selene.”

And somewhere, out in the city, I swear I can hear her laughing.