Chapter 35: Valentina

Valentina's POV

As I stepped into the apartment, I froze. This wasn't some bachelor pad or crash site. This was a real home. The kitchen, living room, and dining area flowed together, open and spacious.

I ran my fingers along the smooth countertop. Silver-grey walls, worn black furniture, blue accents everywhere. The same blue as Dante's eyes. Something about it made me feel safe. Like I belonged here.

The kitchen surprised me with its fancy appliances. Everything spotless and organized. I remembered when Dante made me soup that time I was sick. The memory hit me out of nowhere - him standing over the stove, stirring carefully, checking if it was too hot before giving it to me.

He'd mentioned learning to cook after moving in with his uncle. I realized how little I actually knew about his day-to-day life now. I'd researched him thoroughly before our parents' wedding, but that file was full of facts, not the little details that made him who he really was. Yet somehow, I felt like I understood him better than most people in my life.

I wandered through the apartment, taking in every detail. The worn sofa that looked perfectly broken in. Books with cracked spines on the shelves - he actually read them, not just for show. Through a half-open door, I spotted his bed. King-sized, dark sheets. My mind instantly created an image of him sleeping there. Shirtless probably, those tattoos on full display.

Then I saw it. My heart stopped.

Draped over the arm of a small table was a piece of lingerie. Burgundy lace. My favorite color. My heart pounded against my ribs, and my palms went sweaty.

Had Dante fucked other women here? In that bed I'd just been staring at?

"That fucking bastard," I hissed, my hands curling into fists.

I grabbed the lingerie, the delicate fabric stretching in my grip. The color was just like the underwear I wore most often. I couldn't stop my mind from racing with images of Dante ripping similar panties off some nameless woman. Or worse—off me.

I imagined him shoving me against that wall, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. "Who's your fucking brother now?" he'd growl in my ear, his other hand roughly shoving my skirt up.

My breath caught. Heat pooled between my legs as I pictured him tearing my panties off in one violent motion, not caring if the fabric cut into my skin. He'd force my legs apart, his fingers finding me embarrassingly wet.

"Look how soaked you are for your brother," he'd say, shoving his fingers inside me without warning. "Such a dirty little slut."

I'd try to deny it, to maintain some dignity, but he'd press his hard cock against me through his jeans, making it impossible to think straight.

"Goddamnit!" I threw the lingerie across the room, shocked and ashamed at how wet I'd gotten from my own twisted fantasy. Immediately felt stupid for the childish outburst. I was a DeLuca. My father had been one of the most feared men on the West Coast. I'd survived his murder, my uncle's betrayal, everything - and here I was losing my shit over some random chick's panties and getting turned on by thoughts of my own stepbrother.

I paced around the living room, trying to get my breathing under control. This wasn't part of the plan. Dante was supposed to be my ticket back into power. A way to get revenge on my uncle. Not someone who made me feel like this - jealous, possessive, out of control.

"Focus, Val," I whispered, tugging at my hair. "Remember why you're here."

But all I could think about was Dante bringing some woman back here. Pressing her against that wall. Tearing her clothes off. His hands all over her body.

I picked up the lingerie again, my movements stiff with anger. Whoever she was, she'd been here in his private space. Where I was standing right now. Had he fucked her on that big bed? On the sofa? Against the kitchen counter?

"You're being insane," I told myself, but the jealousy kept building.

I went to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Down below, people went about their business, no idea that up here I was falling apart over my stepbrother. My fucking stepbrother.

I pictured Dante naked, that body I'd only glimpsed parts of fully revealed. Those tattoos I'd seen peeking from under his shirt continuing down his chest, his arms. How would they feel under my fingers? Would he be rough or gentle? The way he carried himself, the controlled power in his movements... I bet he'd be rough. Taking what he wanted.

My body grew hot at the thought. I imagined him throwing me onto that bed, tearing my clothes off, pinning my wrists above my head. His mouth on my neck, my breasts. Those strong hands gripping my thighs, spreading them apart. His voice in my ear, telling me who I belonged to.

"Fuck," I breathed out, shocked by how wet I was getting just standing in his apartment, fantasizing about him.

I slumped onto the sofa, the lingerie still clutched in my hand. I was Valentina DeLuca. I didn't lose control like this. I didn't obsess over men. I used them when necessary and discarded them when they'd served their purpose.

But Dante was different. I couldn't pretend anymore. This wasn't just about revenge or power or my father's legacy. Somewhere along the way, I'd developed actual feelings for him. Dangerous, complicated, completely fucked-up feelings that could ruin everything I'd been working toward.

I closed my eyes and saw him above me, those gray eyes dark with lust, his hand on my throat, making it hard to breathe. Whispering filthy things in my ear as he thrust into me. I imagined him marking me, claiming me, making sure I knew exactly who I belonged to.

My heart raced. My body ached. And I had absolutely no fucking idea what to do about it.