33

The city was ours.

Dante had won.

But victory had a cost.

And the deeper I fell into his world, the more I realized—I was becoming something else entirely.

Three months after Ricci’s death, Dante’s control over the city was absolute.

His men operated like a well-oiled machine, businesses flourished under his reign, and no one dared challenge him.

Yet, the more stable things seemed, the more restless Dante became.

He thrived in war, in chaos.

And now that the battlefield had quieted, he was waiting for something to break.

I could see it in the way he moved—sharper, more calculated, like a predator searching for its next hunt.

Like he needed a fight.

And I had a sinking feeling one was coming.

It happened at a gala.

Of course, it did.

Because in our world, blood was always spilled under chandeliers and whispered behind glasses of champagne.

I had spent the evening draped in silk, my fingers curled around a wine glass, smiling at men who had murdered their way to power.

Dante stood beside me, radiating control, his presence alone enough to make men step back.

We had played our parts perfectly.

Until the wrong man walked into the room.

Enzo DeLuca.

One of Ricci’s last remaining allies.

A man who should have disappeared with the rest of them.

Dante went still the second he saw him.

I felt the shift in him before he even spoke.

Luca muttered a curse. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Dante’s smirk was slow, dangerous. “I’m about to find out.”

I reached for his arm. “Dante.”

He leaned in, his voice a whisper against my ear. “Stay here.”

Then he was gone.

I watched from across the room as Dante approached DeLuca, his posture deceptively relaxed, his smirk in place.

They spoke.

DeLuca’s expression never wavered.

But then...

Something shifted.

DeLuca leaned in, whispering something against Dante’s ear.

And whatever he said.

Made Dante freeze.

It was only for a fraction of a second.

But I saw it.

And my blood ran cold.

Dante didn’t say a word as we left the gala.

Luca followed behind, his jaw tight, his tension a mirror of my own.

The second we were inside the car, I turned to Dante.

“What did he say to you?”

Dante didn’t look at me.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists.

“He knows.”

My stomach twisted. “Knows what?”

Dante’s smirk was humorless.

“About you.”

The drive back to the safe house was silent.

Dante was unreadable.

Luca was watching him carefully, his usual easygoing demeanor gone.

And me?

I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the fall.

Because if DeLuca knew.

Then we had a problem.

A big one.

Back at the safe house, the air was thick with tension.

Dante poured himself a drink, his movements controlled, precise.

I crossed my arms. “Talk to me.”

He tilted his head, his gaze burning into mine. “DeLuca knows who you are, Olivia.”

I swallowed. “So what? We’ve taken out worse threats.”

Dante chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “He’s not a threat.” He took a slow sip of whiskey. “He’s an opportunity.”

I stiffened. “What does that mean?”

Dante smirked. “It means he doesn’t want to kill you.”

He leaned in, his voice lowering.

“He wants to own you.”

The words sent a sharp chill down my spine.

I forced my voice steady. “And what did you tell him?”

Dante’s smirk faded. “That he’d have to kill me first.”

Luca exhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

Dante ignored him, his focus locked on me.

“You don’t have to be afraid of him, Olivia.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m not.”

His smirk returned, slow, dark. “Good.”

Then he turned to Luca. “Find out everything you can on DeLuca.”

Luca muttered something under his breath but nodded.

Dante’s gaze flicked back to me. “This isn’t over.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

Dante tilted his head. “And what are you willing to do about it?”

My pulse pounded.

Because we both knew the answer.

Whatever it takes.

The next few days were spent preparing for war.

Dante wasn’t taking any chances.

More men were stationed at our properties. More surveillance. More control.

But DeLuca didn’t strike.

He waited.

And that was worse.

Because men like him didn’t wait unless they knew they had something worth waiting for.

And I had a horrible feeling.

That something was me.

The first threat came in the form of a gift.

A small black box delivered to the safe house.

Luca opened it first, his expression darkening the second he saw what was inside.

A necklace.

Diamonds.

Expensive.

And wrapped around a single note.

"Every king needs a queen. We both know she deserves better."

I exhaled sharply.

Dante took one look at it.

And lost it.

Within an hour, he had DeLuca’s men hunted down.

Not killed.

Captured.

Because Dante didn’t want them dead.

He wanted them to suffer.

And when we walked into the warehouse where they were being held.

I saw just how far Dante Castelli was willing to go to prove a point.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even flinch as he broke one of DeLuca’s men piece by piece, his voice calm, smooth, lethal.

“This is the last time you send her something.”

The man choked on his own blood.

Dante tilted his head. “And if DeLuca has a problem with that?”

He smiled.

A slow, deadly thing.

“Then I’ll put his fucking head on a spike.”

That night, Dante was different.

Darker.

More dangerous.

He found me in the bedroom, his body tense, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t name.

When he spoke, his voice was low, rough.

“You’re mine, Olivia.”

My breath hitched.

“I know.”

His fingers curled around my jaw, his grip firm but gentle. “Say it.”

I swallowed.

And then, without hesitation.

“I’m yours.”

His lips crashed into mine, raw, desperate, claiming.

And as I melted into him, I realized.

This wasn’t just about power anymore.

This was personal.

And nothing in the world was more dangerous than a man like Dante Castelli.

When someone tried to take what belonged to him.