It takes me a second to remember where I am—to piece together the quiet hum of the penthouse and the smell of espresso from somewhere nearby.
Then I see him.
Dante’s sitting on the couch across from me, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His tie is forgotten, draped around his neck. He’s staring at something on his laptop, his brow furrowed, the muscles in his jaw tight.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this in daylight—unguarded, unarmored. Human.
He glances up when I shift under the blanket. “Morning, Bella.”
The way he says it—low and rough from lack of sleep—sends a flutter through my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.
“You didn’t go to bed?” I ask, sitting up.
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Because of work?”
He closes his laptop, the smallest smile ghosting across his lips. “Because of life.”
I study him for a second. “You look like hell.”
He smirks faintly. “You’re one to talk.”
We stare at each other a moment too long. Then I stand, pretending to straighten my sweater. “Coffee?”
He nods. “Nicole left a fresh pot.”
When I pass him to get to the kitchen, his hand brushes mine. Just an accident—but it feels like a spark anyway.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of soft conversation and quiet glances neither of us admits to.
It’s almost comfortable. Too comfortable.
By afternoon, he’s back in his office when his phone rings. His whole body tenses. I watch him through the open doorway as he answers.
“Alessandro,” he says, voice suddenly colder.
He listens, jaw tight, eyes narrowing. Then, “I’m on my way.”
He grabs his jacket, shoving his phone in the pocket, and strides toward the door.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine. There’s something dark behind them. “Stay here. With Sofia. I’ll be back later.”
That tone—the one that doesn’t leave room for questions—should make me angry.
Instead, it makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t understand.
“Be careful,” I say before I can stop myself.
He pauses just long enough to give me that look—the one that feels like a touch even from across the room. “Always.”
And then he’s gone.
The door closes behind him, and the penthouse feels emptier than it should.
I hate the feeling that crawls up my spine as the elevator hums away.
