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She locked eyes with him, a teasing smile playing on her red lips as she swayed her hips, beckoning him with just a glance.

Dante smirked but didn't move.

Vito whistled. "She's got her sights on you, Boss."

Dante downed the rest of his drink. "She'll have to do better than that."

With time, Dante did relax a little. He held one of the women by her waist as she grinded against him, letting the drink in his free hand dull the sharp edge of his thoughts when he felt his phone buzz.

He stepped away from the woman and fished it out, earning a grunt of annoyance from her. It was Sasha calling. He knew it wasn't just for chit-chat.

With a sigh, he pushed away from the booth, ignoring Luca's raised eyebrow, and strode out of the club into the cold night air.

He pressed the phone to his ear and spoke in a measured tone. "This better be important."

Sasha's voice came through, smooth and teasing as always. "Well, hello to you too, Dante."

"Talk now," he deadpanned.

"Why do you always have to be so grumpy?" she muttered, more to herself than to him. "There's trouble in Paradise," she said louder.

Dante exhaled sharply, already regretting picking up the call. "Be specific, Sasha."

"It's about the case Petrova is trying to push against you," she said, her tone turning serious. "I overheard something tonight. He has evidence—something solid enough to make the authorities take his accusations seriously. He plans to drop it tomorrow."

Dante went still. His grip tightened around the phone. "What kind of evidence?"

"I don't know yet," Sasha admitted. "I'm still trying to get my hands on it, but from what I heard, it's enough to make things really difficult for you. Apparently, this evidence has the ability to take down not just your hotel but some of your other businesses too."

Dante's free hand clenched into a fist. That son of a bitch. Just when he thought he was pulling ahead, Petrova always managed to turn the tables.

"Get me the full details first thing in the morning," Dante ordered.

"Of course," Sasha purred. "Anything for you, darling."

He hung up without another word. For a long moment, he stood there, breathing in the night air, trying to rein in his fury.

Dante hated the fact that he was playing defense. Petrova was supposed to be counting his losses, not dropping surprises.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he turned and headed back into the club. This celebration was a scam, a terrible mistake. He had to get out of here.

He moved straight to their table, grabbed his coat, and downed the rest of his drink in one swallow.

Luca frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Dante said curtly.

"Why?" Marcel asked, eyes narrowing. "Something happen?"

"Just let me be," Dante snapped. They were not his guardians that had to be aware of his movements.

The drive was silent, but his mind was far from it. He managed to park his car and staggered out of it. The whiskey was taking its full effect now, but he didn't care. In fact, he wanted something stronger.

He had a feeling like he was one step away from losing everything, and he couldn't bear to think that.

Stumbling inside, he ignored the guards and made his way to the bar in the lounge. He poured himself another glass, downed it in one go, and then another.

The burn in his throat wasn't enough to numb the thoughts clawing at his mind. What evidence did Petrova have? Who was betraying him from the inside? How the fuck was he supposed to stop this before it spiraled out of control?

Dante growled under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. Drinking like this was not helping matters, he knew. He decided he should rather go to bed. There was a long day waiting for him the next day.

He dragged himself off his seat and stumbled up the staircase. He stopped short when he saw a figure making her way down. He knew who that was.

She froze, her silhouette lit by the light in the hallway behind her. Kaela.

Kaela frowned, staring at Dante. She went down the rest of the steps so that she was standing beside him. He wasn't running; maybe he didn't feel like avoiding her now.

Perfect, because she had a piece of her mind to say.

"Kaela," he called out, a smile spreading across his face. She was dressed in a simple slip dress, her hair falling over her shoulders, yet she looked better than those women he had to look at.

Kaela took a step backwards. Wrong timing "You're drunk."

"You look pretty," he murmured, his voice husky from the alcohol.

Kaela shook her head. "Dante, you should go to bed."

But he wasn't listening. In two quick strides, he closed the distance between them. Before she could react, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her toward him.

Her breath hitched as she collided with his chest, his scent overwhelming her—whiskey, smoke, and something citrusy.

"Stay," he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Kaela opened her mouth to protest but he didn't give her a chance. His lips crashed against hers, hungry, desperate.

For a moment, she stiffened, but then his grip tightened, his hand sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She was overwhelmed, and surprisingly, she liked the feel of him against her.

With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him smile against her lips.