Chapter 31: Valentina

Valentina's POV

"Do you want me to fuck you in the car?"

His words hung in the air between us, harsh and crude, yet they sent an electric current through my body. I shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, hating the way my body betrayed me. The space between my thighs grew damp, and I pressed them together tightly, as if that could hide my reaction from him.

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. What could I possibly say? That despite everything—despite him being my stepbrother, despite my plans to use him to reclaim my family's legacy—my body craved his touch?

Dante's eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to the road. "Your silence speaks volumes, Val." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I can smell how wet you are right now."

My breath caught in my throat. The heat spread across my face and down my neck.

"You're blushing," he noted, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I wonder how far down that blush goes. Under that tight little shirt of yours? Between those perfect tits?"

I turned away, looking out the window, trying to control my racing heart. "Just drive."

"That's what you want? Just driving?" He laughed, low and dangerous. "Your mouth says one thing, but your body..." His hand left the steering wheel, landing heavily on my thigh. I jumped at the contact, but didn't push him away. "Your body is begging for something else entirely."

His fingers traced lazy circles on my jeans, never moving high enough to cross the line, but sending waves of heat through me nonetheless. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. His hand gripped my thigh tightly for a moment before returning to the wheel.

"Next time you get this wet for me, I'm not going to be such a gentleman."

The silence stretched between us, the purr of the Challenger's engine and the occasional swish of passing cars were the only sounds. His nearness in the confined space of the car was overwhelming. Heat radiated from his body, and I could smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my head swim.

"Your ex is an idiot."

The comment was so unexpected that I let out a startled laugh. "What?"

Dante shrugged, a casual movement that seemed at odds with the intensity I'd witnessed earlier. "Leon. He's an idiot if he thinks you need anyone to fight your battles for you."

I studied his profile, surprised by the apparent compliment. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." He glanced at me again, and this time there was something different in his gaze—something almost like respect. "I've seen how you handle yourself. You're a DeLuca. You've got your father's spine."

The mention of my father made my chest tighten. "You knew my father?"

"We met a few times. Business." He didn't elaborate, and I didn't press. In our world, "business" could mean many things, most of them illegal.

He asked about my friends—Raine and Sheila—and I found myself telling him about Raine's obvious crush on his friend Jax. He laughed at that, a genuine sound that transformed his face, making him look younger, less dangerous.

"Jax has been talking about some blonde he met at The Devil's Forge," Dante said. "Wouldn't shut up about her. That your friend?"

"Sounds like Raine," I confirmed.

He smiling despite himself.

When he laughed, my eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat, to the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.

"I've thought about bending you over ever since I first saw you," he said suddenly, his voice conversational, as if discussing the weather. "The way you walked into that house, all innocent eyes and fuck-me body."

I gasped at his bluntness, but he continued.

"Those tight jeans you wear? They keep me up at night. I lie there thinking about peeling them down your legs, spreading your thighs, tasting how sweet you are."

"Dante—" My voice came out ragged.

"Say it again," he demanded, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Say my name like that, like you're already coming around my cock."

My entire body felt like it was on fire. No one had ever spoken to me this way—so raw, so explicit. It should have disgusted me. Instead, it was making me throb with need.

"Your uncle," he said abruptly, changing the subject again. "How deep is he in with the Donovans?"

The question snapped me back to reality. I was grateful for the shift, though the whiplash of going from sexual taunting to business left me disoriented.

"I don't know details. Just whispers. He needed allies after... after what happened to my father."

Dante nodded slowly. "Be careful with that information. The connection between Sal and the Donovans isn't common knowledge."

"Are you worried about me?" I asked, half-teasing.

His expression darkened. "You're family now. Whether you like it or not."

Family. The word should have been reassuring. Instead, it made my stomach twist with shame. How could I have these feelings for someone who saw me as family?

"I don't need your protection," I said, more sharply than I intended.

A slow smile spread across his face, dangerous and knowing. "No? Then why did your heart rate jump when I suggested fucking you in this car? Why can I see your nipples hard against your shirt right now? Why are you squeezing those pretty thighs together like you're trying to ease an ache?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. "You're disgusting."

"And you're lying." He deliberately placed his hand on the gearshift, his fingers inches from my thigh. "To me and to yourself. I can make you come just by talking to you, can't I, Val? Imagine what I could do with my hands. With my mouth."

I turned away, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. We were getting closer to my apartment now, the familiar landscape of my neighborhood coming into view. Part of me was relieved. Another part—a part I refused to acknowledge—was disappointed.

"We're here," Dante announced, pulling up to the curb outside my building. He put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine. "Want me to walk you up? Or would you rather I come in and finish what we started? I promise I'll make you scream my name so loud, the neighbors will know exactly who's making you come."

The offer made my pulse quicken. "I can manage."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Suit yourself."

But as I reached for the door handle, something made me pause. A feeling—intuition maybe, or the training my father had insisted on before his death—made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Dante noticed my hesitation immediately. "What is it?"

"I don't know," I admitted, scanning the street. Nothing seemed out of place. The same cars parked in their usual spots. The same flickering streetlight on the corner. "Just a feeling."

Instead of dismissing my concern, Dante turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. "Let's check it out."

"You don't have to—"

"I do." His tone brooked no argument.

We walked to my building in silence, his large frame close beside me. At my door, I fumbled with my keys, acutely aware of his presence behind me. When the lock clicked and the door swung open, I stepped inside, automatically reaching for the light switch.

The apartment looked exactly as I'd left it. Neat, minimal, everything in its place. But something was wrong. I could feel it.

Dante sensed it too. His posture changed, becoming alert, predatory. "Someone's been here," he murmured, his voice barely audible.