Ava had spent three days trying to ignore him. Three days of forcing herself to focus on work, on her empty apartment, on the endless lists of things that had nothing to do with a man like Dante Moretti.
But Dante wasn't the kind of man you ignored.
He left traces everywhere — a bouquet of black roses waiting on her desk Monday morning, no card attached but no question of who had sent them. A sleek box with an emerald pendant delivered to her apartment, her initials engraved delicately on the back.
And always, always, that shadow at the edge of her vision — a black car parked too long across the street, a presence she felt rather than saw.
She told herself it was control. That by refusing his gifts, by keeping her distance, she was winning.
But her pulse betrayed her every time she thought of him.
That night, she tried to lose herself in noise. She went to a rooftop bar with coworkers, let the thrum of music and chatter swallow her. Laughed too loudly at jokes that weren't funny. Sipped cocktails until her lips were stained pink.
It worked — almost.
Until she saw him.
Dante stood near the balcony, dark suit gleaming beneath string lights, glass of whiskey in hand. He wasn't trying to blend in. He didn't have to. The entire room seemed to bend toward him, as if pulled by gravity.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She should have turned away. Should have walked out.
But when his eyes found hers across the crowd, the choice was gone.
He didn't move at first. He just watched her, gaze steady, unreadable. She felt stripped bare beneath it.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he set his glass down and crossed the room.
People moved aside without realizing why, like water parting around a stone.
By the time he reached her, Ava's knees were weak.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her with its tremor.
Dante's lips curved faintly. "And yet, here I am."
Her pulse hammered. "I told you—"
"That you didn't want me," he finished smoothly. "And yet, here you are. Looking at me like you do."
Her breath hitched. "You're impossible."
He leaned in, his mouth close enough to brush her ear. "So are you."
The air between them was suffocating. Ava felt like she was drowning and burning all at once.
She tried to pull away, but his hand brushed her waist — light, almost polite. The contact sent sparks racing through her body.
"Dance with me," he said.
It wasn't a request.
"I don't—"
But he was already leading her toward the balcony, where the music softened and the city stretched endless beneath them.
His hand slid around her back, guiding her against him. They moved slowly, not really to the music but to something deeper — the rhythm of their breathing, the unspoken tension that had been building for days.
Her hands trembled as they rested on his shoulders. His body was solid, warm, too close.
"You drive me insane," she whispered.
"Good," Dante murmured, his eyes burning into hers. "I want you mad. I want you desperate."
His lips brushed hers before she could respond.
And then she wasn't thinking anymore.
The kiss was fire — raw, consuming, nothing like the first time. This wasn't escape. This was possession.
She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, her body betraying every lie she'd told herself. The world around them disappeared. There was only his mouth, his hands, the sharp taste of whiskey and want.
When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged.
"Come with me," he said, voice rougher now, edged with need.
She shook her head weakly. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His eyes darkened. "Stop fighting what you already feel."
Before she could argue, he took her hand, threading their fingers together, and led her away. She followed — hating herself, craving him, unable to stop.
They barely made it into the elevator before his mouth was on hers again, his hands sliding over her body with a hunger that stole her breath.
The mirrored walls reflected their chaos — her hair tumbling loose, his suit rumpled under her grip, their mouths colliding in a storm of need.
When the doors slid open, Dante all but dragged her down the hallway, his keycard flashing.
The room door slammed shut behind them.
And then there was nothing but heat.
Clothes fell away too fast, as though they were burning to shed the world between them. His hands were everywhere — strong, commanding, mapping every inch of her. Her nails raked his skin, pulling him closer, deeper.
It was reckless, fevered, almost violent in its intensity. Every kiss was a battle, every touch a surrender.
Ava's mind screamed at her to stop, but her body betrayed her, arching into him, chasing the fire he ignited.
"Say it," he growled against her skin.
She gasped, half-mad with need. "Say what?"
"That you want this." His grip tightened at her waist, holding her like he'd never let go. "That you want me."
Her pride faltered. Her walls shattered. "I want you."
The sound he made — low, rough — was victory and hunger all at once.
And then she was gone, lost in him, in them, in the fire they created together.
When it was over, the room was thick with silence and the sound of their ragged breaths. Ava lay tangled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling, her body trembling.
Dante sat beside her, watching with a gaze that was too sharp, too intent.
She turned to him, heart still pounding. "This is insane."
His lips curved faintly. "Yes."
"We can't keep—"
"We can," he said firmly, cutting her off. "And we will."
Her chest tightened. "You don't own me."
His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward his. His eyes burned into hers, dark and unyielding.
"No," Dante murmured. "But I will."