Page 118 of Dancing with the Devil

He rubbed his tongue on the inside of his cheek before nodding his head towards the door. His men left, and he sat down where he always does.

“I heard you’re terrorizing your staff,” I nonchalantly said, and he slightly tilted his head to the right.

“How? You’ve been locked in your bedroom for days like a rebellious teenager,” he taunted, and my fingers curled into a fist underneath the table as I looked at him.

“Just planning on ways to kill you and get away with it,” I casually said, and our food was brought in.

We didn’t break eye contact as the helpers set the food down. As soon as they left, he spoke. “I suggest not doing it in the comfort of my own home. Too many witnesses.”

“At this rate, they’ll be assisting me,” I forced a smile. “It’s not like you’re earning any brownie points with them.”

“You want to turn my own men against me?”

“They wouldn’t need much convincing,” I shrugged my shoulders. “So yes. Iwilluse your own men against you.”

“Good luck,tesoro,” he grinned, lifting his glass of wine and hid his smile behind his glass as he took a sip.

We had dinner in silence, and it was as if I had forgotten how handsome he was. How comfortable it felt being in his presence.

Mentally, I smiled, remembering when he gave me an engagement ring at this table that blew my mind. And when I had asked for a simpler one, he didn’t question me and bought me one. He had always been that way.

Doing things for mewithoutquestioning it. Or me. If it made me happy, he would do it. I didn’t realize how lucky I was until now. He could have locked me in a different room now that I knew the truth. He could have treated me differently—poorly. But he didn’t. He stayed consistent with me. Something I never had.

Usually, something as simple asconsistencywouldn’t have me swooning, but whentheAntonio De Luca—a Made Man—deemed you as an exception to his ill-mannered treatment, you can’t help but feel a little…special.

Kind of fucked up if you ask me, Nirah. Oh shut it. Now is not the time for the moral police.

I subtly looked him up and down out of the corner of my eye before slowly turning my head away from him. My chin brushed my shoulder as I bit down on my tongue, squeezing my eyes shut with a big smile.

I casually shifted my attention back to my food, continuing to enjoy my dinner.

After dinner and the table being cleared, I stood up but stopped, taking a deep breath in. His eyes shifted to me, and something very minuscule in them held hope.

He was not a saint. That was for damn sure. But neither was I. I may not have killed Loren that night with the sledgehammer, but I could have.

I hopped up on the table and sat down on top of it, facing him with my legs dangling in front of him. His knees touched my legs, and I picked up my wine glass, taking a deep breath in.

“What you’re doing, is fucked up. Period. There’s no other way to put it,” I looked down at him before sipping my wine. “But you did it for me, so thank you.”

My pride was a hard pill to swallow.

“I still find your actions a little repulsive and cruel, but I can learn to accept them.”

“And why is that?” he asked, leaning his elbow on the armrest of the chair as his fingers ran up and down his jaw.

“Because nobody is perfect, and I too have gotten violent at some point,” I admitted. “Not my proudest moment,” I added. “But you hurt Sylvester because he hurt me, and in some fucked up way, itdoesjustify your actions.”

Arrogance flashed across his face. “And?”Oh, he is really going to make me say it, isn’t he?

I cleared my throat, avoiding his beautiful eyes. “And, because I might have a little crush on you,” I casually replied and his lips curve into a grin.

“You have alittlecrush on me?” he taunted and I lowered my glass to the table before crossing my arms over my chest.

“Yes, now stop looking at me like that so that I can speak,” I hissed in annoyance. “You and I can learn to be civilized and live in peace without you trying to kill your staff. So, we can be friends,” I generously offered.

His face morphed into uncertainty. “Friends who fuck?” he asked, and it was the most excited I had heard him, so I dropped my arms.

“Wha—no!” I whisper-yelled. “Not ‘friends who fuck’!”