Chapter 33 Seraphine
“Stop flirting,” I hissed under my breath.
“Stop pretending this isn’t the best week of my life,” she whispered back.
I groaned.
Dante exhaled — long, low, and deeply resigned — before turning his attention back to me.
“Lucian is responsible for Amara,” he said. “Just as I am responsible for you.”
“Oh sure,” Amara cut in. “Make it sound like adoption papers.”
Lucian turned toward her slowly. “Would you like me to make it sound like something else?”
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Dante muttered under his breath, “I hate both of you.”
I crossed my arms. “So let me get this straight: you’re locking us up for thirty days—”
“Not locking,” Dante corrected. “Protecting.”
“Same thing,” I muttered.
“And during that time,” he continued evenly, “you will have full access to my team, my intelligence networks, my security systems, and anything else you need to pursue this investigation.”
Lucian nodded. “And so will Amara. She’s involved now whether she realizes it or not.”
Amara grinned. “I definitely realize it. I’m basically the main character's quirky sidekick.”
“You’re the liability,” Lucian said flatly.
“I can be both,” she shot back.
He barely hid his smile.
I rubbed my temples. “So this is my life now. For a month.”
Dante’s eyes softened — just a fraction.
“It is,” he said quietly. “Because whether you admit it or not… you need help. And I’m the only one capable of giving you the level of protection required.”
I looked at him, searching for manipulation, pressure, ego — but there was none.
Just certainty.
Dangerous, overwhelming certainty.
I exhaled.
“Fine. Amara and I will stay.”
Amara threw both fists in the air. “YES. Penthouse life, baby!”
Lucian looked at Dante. “I’ll have the rooms prepared.”
“And I’ll arrange a briefing,” Dante said. “We start the investigation tomorrow.”
Amara clapped. “Oh my god, Sera, it’s like we’re in a crime show. But hotter.”
I sighed.
Dante stepped closer — not touching me, but close enough that warmth skimmed over my skin.
“We’ll keep you safe,” he murmured.
And for the first time all day…
I almost believed him.
The staff had outdone themselves — crisp linen sheets, a long velvet chaise by the window, soft lights glowing like amber honey. And the balcony… God.
The balcony was unreal.
Floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened to a small terrace with wrought-iron railings and a sweeping view of the city. From up here, the lights looked like scattered diamonds. Street noise was a distant hum instead of a constant headache. The air smelled like cold marble and rain that hadn’t fallen yet.
I stood there for a long time.
Leaning on the railing.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.
“Locked in a mafia skyscraper for thirty days,” I muttered to myself. “Sure. Why not? Sounds perfectly normal.”
The wind brushed my hair over my shoulder.
Below, the world kept moving — taxis, buses, couples laughing on sidewalks, restaurants still open, neon signs flickering.
It was strange, being high above everything. Watching life like it had nothing to do with me.
Like I was somewhere else entirely.
“I’m losing it,” I whispered.
But the truth was…
I wasn’t scared.
That was the part that should’ve terrified me.
I should have been pacing the room. Calling my brother. Packing a bag to leave. Screaming. Something.
Instead…
I just felt warm.
Safe.
Confused, yes. Overwhelmed, obviously. But safe in a way that made my bones loosen and my chest unclench.
Because of him.
Dante.
Even thinking his name sent a flush through me — hot, embarrassing, immediate.
God, what was wrong with me?
I pushed away from the railing and retreated inside, sliding the glass door shut behind me. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air system.
The bed looked too comfortable. Too luxurious. Too… him.
I crawled under the blankets anyway.
They smelled faintly of sandalwood.
And fire.
I closed my eyes.
Worst mistake of the night.
Because the second I did…
I saw him.
Not a memory. Not a distant thought.
Him.
Standing too close. Heat radiating off his skin like a sun pressed against mine. The deep, rumbling way he said my name — like he was tasting it.
Seraphine.
I shivered.
He didn’t even say it like a name.
He said it like a promise.
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, letting out a low, strangled groan.
No. No. Absolutely not. I was not doing this. I was not melting over a man who ran entire criminal empires and snapped necks on principle and spoke a language that made my spine light up.
Except…
My body clearly didn’t get the memo.
Because heat pulsed through me — the same heat that came over me earlier when he stepped behind me near the balcony, so close I felt the warmth of him through my clothes.
When he murmured, “She must have been remarkable.”
When he told me the music room was mine.
When he said, “You.”
God.
Who even says things like that?
Men in movies.
Men who don’t exist.
Men who look at you like you’re the only thing in a room full of gold.
My stomach flipped.
No—my entire self flipped.
Because the way he looked at me today…
Like I mattered.
Like I was something powerful.
Like I was something his.
I sucked in a shaky breath.
Stop. Stop thinking about him. Stop replaying the balcony. Stop imagining that stupid intense stare he has. Stop hearing his voice in your head saying—
“Not true. Not anymore.”
I groaned again and rolled onto my back, staring at the dark ceiling like it might have answers.
My fingers trembled slightly as I reached down, my hand brushing against the delicate fabric of my lace panties. I could feel the dampness already pooling between my legs — a betraying, undeniable testament to how long I had been teasing myself, building up to this moment.
My clit throbbed, a relentless, needy pulse that demanded attention, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
With a soft, shaky sigh, I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my panties, my fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitched as I felt the warmth and wetness waiting for me, my body already aching with eagerness.