"The gates of Dante's mansion closed behind Ava with a groan of iron, sealing her fate. Inside, marble halls whispered of power and blood, and every corner seemed to carry the weight of secrets too dangerous to name. This was no sanctuary—it was the beating heart of the Don's empire."
The Moretti mansion was silent, but not peaceful.
Even from inside her room, Ava could feel it — the weight of men patrolling the halls, the eyes watching every door, the invisible lines of power stretching through the house.
It was safety, but it was also a cage.
She stood at the tall window, staring out at the dark gardens below. Somewhere beyond the gates, the city pulsed with life, but here it felt distant, unreachable.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Dante stepped inside, unhurried, his presence filling the room like gravity.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She folded her arms. "How could I? Your world just tried to kill me."
His jaw tightened.
He walked closer, stopping only a foot away. "Not my world. My enemies. And they'll regret the moment they touched you."
Her breath caught at the fire in his voice.
"You talk like you own me."
His eyes darkened, his hand lifting to brush her cheek. "I do."
Her chest rose sharply, torn between anger and desire. "That's not how people work, Dante."
"That's how I work." His fingers lingered at her jaw, his voice low and certain.
"And deep down, you know you want me to."
She should've pushed him away. Instead, she whispered, "You're impossible."
His lips curved faintly. "And yet, here you are."
He guided her gently toward the bed, but there was no rush in his movements.
He wasn't the ruthless Don who had beaten Ethan bloody, nor the predator, who commanded men with a glance. Tonight, he was something else — still dangerous, but softer, slower.
Dante poured her a glass of wine from the crystal decanter on the side table and handed it to her. "Drink."
She took a sip, her hands trembling just slightly.
His gaze lingered on her mouth.
"Better."
The tension in the air thickened as he sat beside her.
His hand brushed against hers, deliberate, patient.
He wasn't demanding.
He was waiting.
Finally, Ava broke the silence.
"What are you doing, Dante?"
His lips ghosted against her ear.
"Welcoming you. Showing you what it means to be mine."
Her pulse raced.
When his mouth met hers, it wasn't like the night in the hotel — frantic, desperate, full of fire. This kiss was slower, deeper, as if he had all the time in the world.
He explored her like she was something precious, something worth savoring.
His hand cradled the back of her neck, his thumb stroking lazily against her skin, grounding her in the storm of sensation.
She melted against him before she could think, her wineglass slipping forgotten onto the table.
"Dante…" her voice trembled against his lips.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Say my name again."
"Dante," she whispered, softer this time, as if it belonged only to him.
Something shifted in his gaze — heat, yes, but also hunger of another kind. Not for her body alone, but for her trust, her surrender.
Clothes slipped away slowly, almost reverently.
Every button undone was a test of patience, every brush of his hands against her skin a reminder of his control.
But it wasn't rough, wasn't possessive like she expected.
It was… worship.
He laid her down against the silk sheets, his mouth trailing across her collarbone, his hands mapping every curve as if he were memorizing her.
"You're not a weakness," he murmured against her skin. "You're my strength. They'll see that soon enough."
Tears pricked her eyes at the unexpected tenderness. "You'll get yourself killed if you keep protecting me like this."
His head lifted, his gaze pinning her in place. "No one kills me. And no one takes you from me."
The words should've terrified her. Instead, they sent a shiver of longing through her.
And when he finally claimed her, it wasn't the ruthless Don making love to her — it was the man beneath, the one no one else got to see.
Later, long after their breaths had evened out and the sheets tangled around them, Ava lay in the crook of his arm, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
She should've felt trapped.
Instead, for the first time in days, she felt safe.
Dante pressed a kiss to her hair, his voice a promise against her temple.
"Sleep, Ava. No one will touch you again.
And in the quiet darkness of the Moretti mansion, with danger prowling just beyond the gates, Ava drifted into the deepest sleep she'd had in years.
"As she wandered the dimly lit hall that night, Ava paused at the sound of hushed voices. One of them was Dante's—sharp, commanding. The other belonged to a woman she didn't know. Ava's pulse quickened when the stranger's words echoed through the door:
'You'll regret bringing her here, Dante. She doesn't belong in your sanctuary.'"