Of course it had.Because Dante planned for everything, controlled everything, left nothing to chance.And I noticed he’d made it clear I would be living there, which meant he’d already ignored the part of our contract stating we’d live separately.
We reached the front entrance where a car waited.Dante handed me into the back seat, his touch firm but not quite rough.Then he slid in beside me and nodded to the driver.
The door closed.We pulled away from the Lombardi estate.
And I realized I was alone with Dante for the first time as his wife, heading toward whatever he had planned for our wedding night.
My hands trembled in my lap despite my attempts to still them.
Dante noticed.Of course he did.He reached over and took one of my hands, holding it firmly in his larger one.
“Breathe,” he said.Not a suggestion.A command.
I tried.Failed.Tried again.
“That’s it.”His thumb traced circles against my palm.The gesture would have been comforting if not for everything else.“We’re going to have a very interesting evening, you and I.But first, you’re going to calm down.Getting yourself worked up only makes this harder.”
“Makes what harder?”My voice came out barely above a whisper.
His smile was dark.Promising.Absolutely terrifying in its certainty.
“Adjusting to the reality of being mine.”
* * *
The penthouse occupied the top floor of a building in the financial district -- all glass and steel and commanding views of the city that sprawled below like a circuit board of lights.Dante’s security had cleared us through three separate checkpoints in the building’s lower levels, each one more discreet than the last.By the time the private elevator opened directly into his space, I was hyper-aware of how isolated we were.How alone.
The interior surprised me.I’d expected something cold and minimalist, all sharp edges and dark colors matching Dante’s personality.Instead, I found unexpected warmth.Rich hardwood floors.Deep leather furniture that looked both expensive and actually comfortable.Art on the walls -- real art, not the generic pieces people typically bought.Floor-to-ceiling windows that should have made the space feel exposed but somehow didn’t.
Dante stepped out of the elevator behind me, his hand at my lower back guiding me forward into the space.The gesture was becoming familiar.I wasn’t sure if that was good or terrifying.
“Welcome home,” he said.
Home.The word landed wrong.This wasn’t home.This was his territory, his domain, his controlled environment where he made the rules.
“According to the contract, I maintain my own residence…” I started.
The elevator doors closed behind us with a soft chime.Then I heard the distinct sound of locks engaging.Multiple locks.Electronic and physical barriers sealing us in.
Sealingmein.
My pulse kicked up.I turned to face Dante, found him watching me with that same intense focus he’d maintained throughout the reception.But now, without the crowd of guests and the need for public performance, his expression was different.Hungrier.
“The contract,” I said again, my voice not quite steady, “states that we maintain separate residences --”
“When we’re not required to be together.”He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket with efficient movements, draping it over the back of a nearby chair.“Tonight, we’re required to be together.Wedding night, princess.It’s traditional.”
“Tradition can go fuck itself.”
He smiled at that.Not warmly.“You have such a mouth on you.I’m going to enjoy teaching you when to use it and when to keep it shut.”
The words sent a confusing mix of fear and heat through me.I took a step back.He took two forward, closing the distance I’d tried to create.
“Don’t.”His voice remained level, but there was steel underneath.“Don’t back away from me.Don’t try to create distance.We’re past that now.”
“We had an agreement --”
“We did.We do.”His hands came up to his tie, loosening it with practiced ease.The black silk slid free, and he tossed it aside.“You bring me legitimacy and access to the old families.I provide protection from your father’s plans and from Marco.Those terms haven’t changed.”
