Page 28 of Crown Of Blood

And yet…

I stop writing. My pulse betrays me, fluttering where it shouldn’t.

The door bursts open.

I flinch, pen streaking a line across the page.

Dante stands in the doorway, uninvited, unbothered, eyes sharp but distracted. His tie is loose, shirt sleeves rolled, hair a little disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it too often.

He looks—frazzled. Not furious. Not cold. Just… human.

“I have to go out,” he says, voice clipped. “There’s a situation I need to handle.”

I blink, thrown off by how abrupt it is. “Okay?”

“If you need anything, tell Nicole. She’ll get it for you.”

The way he says it—like it’s routine—makes me want to argue. To demand my phone, to tell him I’m not one of his soldiers to be handed orders. But there’s something in his eyes that stops me.

Worry.

Real, unguarded worry.

For a second, I forgot what I was angry about.

I set the notebook aside. “Where’s Sofia?”

“In the media room,” he says, distracted. “Watching a movie. Nicole’s with her.”

“Are you expecting trouble?”

He exhales, the sound heavy. “I’m always expecting trouble.”

He moves toward the door like he’s already half gone, but I don’t think about it—I move.

Before I can second-guess myself, I cross the room and stop in front of him. He freezes when I reach up.

His tie is uneven, twisted from where he must’ve yanked on it in frustration. My fingers brush the smooth silk as I straighten it, slow and careful, avoiding his gaze.

When I finally look up, he’s watching me.

No walls. No mask. Just quiet confusion, like he doesn’t understand why I’d touch him at all.

“There,” I whisper, smoothing the knot against his chest. “Now you look like you run the world again.”

Something flickers in his eyes—something that looks dangerously close to softness.

“Be careful,” I add quietly.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. For a moment, the world holds its breath with him.

Then he nods once, slow, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Always.”

And without another word, he turns and leaves.

The door closes behind him, but his scent—cedar, smoke, and control—lingers.

I sit back on the bed, my hand still trembling from where it touched him.