Chapter 36

Chapter 36
Veronica 

I changed three times before settling on the fourth option. A black dress, not too tight, not too short  but the way it clung at the waist made me self-conscious. I tried not to care. 

The car arrived exactly when he said it would and I entered. After what felt like mere seconds we arrived at the Deanasha Towers. I held my notepad tightly in my hands not sure if I had been needing it but still I did. 

We stopped right by another, and after a beat as expected. Dante stepped out.

Black tuxedo. Shoulders broad and unforgiving beneath the fabric. Hair pushed back with deliberate precision—except for one rebellious strand that fell forward, softening the harsh lines of his face.  His blue eyes seemed darker than usual,  like the evening had an effect on them. 

I swallowed, then stepped out as the driver opened the door.

Dante stood in front of me, his 6’5 towering over my 5’7. He looked at me, from the top of my styled hair down to  the dip of my neckline, and finally to my red heels. His eyes darkened. 

His jaw flexed once. Then he turned to the driver, muttered something low and fast in Italian. One of them reached out politely to take the notepad and I wanted to speak but decided against handing it over gently. 

“Let’s go.” He finally said, walking ahead of me. 

I blinked after him, my heart stinging more than I wanted to admit.

Was it the dress? The heels? Did I really look so bad it soured his mood?

I couldn’t exactly change now, though a part of me debated on it. 

We arrived inside, the 42nd floor opened up to be a large room, soft music playing and a circular table at its center. All seven seats  in total , two women, four men with one seat left vacant. The moment they saw Dante the table suddenly turned silent. 

With no place to sit, I stood awkwardly behind him, the attention of the others rising to me. Their gazes flicked from Dante to me, then to the single empty chair—his.

To make matters worse, I looked around and noticed everyone, male, female, were all dressed in formal wear, except us.

Now standing in the room with a short dress. One woman’s eyes narrowed slightly.  

Why did he tell me to wear a dress if it was a formal meeting? 

“Dante,” one of the older men at the table spoke. “we didn’t know you were bringing company.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out the chair, sat, then reached for my wrist.

I stiffened as he tugged, firm but unhurried, guiding me down—onto his lap?

A soft gasp slipped from my lips. My heart thudded so hard I was sure they could all hear it.

I flushed. No. My body burned from the closeness. My ass pressed against one of his solid thighs.  Of course my body was small in comparison to his, embarrassingly so. The others looked just as shocked as I but didn’t dare utter a word.

“This is Veronica,” he said casually. “My fiancée.”

Silence bled through the room. 

Then: a few nods, a raised brow, someone murmuring “congratulations” with clear skepticism.

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. His hand settled low on my waist, anchoring me in place like it belonged there. I kept my eyes forward, pretending the weight of his arm around me didn’t send jolts through every nerve.

“I trust we can continue?” Dante asked the room, his tone daring anyone to disagree.

No one did. But I could feel all their judging eyes watching me. 

And beneath it all, Dante’s breath at my ear, warm and measured.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re doing fine.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one sitting on someone else’s fiancé like a bargaining chip in heels.

But I forced a tight smile and nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

The meeting dragged on for two hours. On the surface, it looked like a discussion but it was clear Dante held all the power. He spoke, and they agreed. And when one man even slightly questioned him, the others exchanged uneasy glances like he’d crossed a sacred line.

I, on the other hand, barely followed any of it.

Half the time, they switched languages—Italian, I think—and even when it was English, most of the terms and strategies were completely foreign to me. I was way out of my depth.

But I sat still, smiled when I had to.

Once the meeting was adjourned, we headed back out, his hands still firmly resting on my waist. A gesture that had seemed possessive maybe even protective just moments ago.

But as soon as we came out he let go. Just like that. No words or even a glance and walked ahead like I didn’t exist and slid into the waiting car without a single pause.

The spot where his hand had been on my waist felt cold now. How easily warmth could vanish. Even more ridiculous that I cared.

I followed in after him, unsure why my chest tightened as I climbed in beside him.

The car pulled away from the curb and silence took over.

Dante held his phone in his hand scrolling absently. Not once sparing me a single glance. 

I kept silent, chewing on my lip, until I noticed the car going in a completely different direction from my apartment.

I turned to him. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept scrolling like I hadn’t spoken.

Something in me snapped.

“What’s your problem?” I said sharply, my house rising before I could pull it back. “You made me dress up for a fucking business meeting, stayed silent the whole time, and now you won’t even look at me? 

His head finally turned to look at me. 

When he didn't say anything I continued. “If you knew I looked so bad, you could’ve just sent me home.”

This time he reached forward. Fast. His hand closed around my wrist and tugged me across the seat with one sharp motion, catching me off guard. I landed against him, my palms splayed over his chest, breath stolen.

“Dante—”

“Shut up.” His voice came out rough but deadly low. But it wasn’t anger that laced it—it was heat.

I barely had time to register the shift before his other hand slid down to the back of my thigh, gripping tightly and pulling me over him again,  straddling him this time, my knees pressed against the leather seat on either side of his legs. My other hand landed on his groin. 

He groaned, and I felt it,  all of him, hard and hot, straining beneath the fabric.

“You think I didn’t look at you tonight?” he growled. “You think I didn’t see you in that dress and want to cancel the whole fucking meeting?”

I blinked at him, lips parted, heart pounding so loudly it muffled every thought.

He leaned forward, to the shells of my ear. “You have no idea how much restraint it’s taking me not to bend you over and fuck you right here in that pretty little dress you’re wearing.”