Page 33 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

"Now, I send these to my lawyer. And we both pretend this was just another meeting between your people and mine."

He lets out a breath, short and amused.

"And what will you tell your brother?"

"That I did what I had to do," I say. "And that he shouldn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answered."

He pushes off the table, circles around until he’s in front of me.

His hand lifts to brush a stray strand of hair away from my cheek. "You surprise me, Rossi."

"Good," I murmur, letting my eyes linger on his mouth, just long enough to make sure he knows it was never just him doing the seducing.

Because this was never just about sex, although it has been on my mind ever since we laid eyes on each other at the bar.

It’s about me knowing that somewhere deep down, the soullessness in me matches that in him.

If like calls to like, Dante is fire to my fuel, even though he may not see it.

My shoes are back on, my dress is smooth, and my expression is as polite as it was when I entered this room.

Rafa will be pleased with the offering.

I’m walking out with the signatures that will ensure another quarter of protection.

Dante opens the door and lets me pass first.

He does not speak again until we are alone in the elevator.

The doors close behind us with a soft whisper.

"You know," he says, voice low, "I’m not done with you."

I tilt my head, keeping my tone even.

"Then you’ll have to come back. Next quarter’s numbers will be even better."

He leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Don’t tempt me."

"Who said I was tempting you?" I murmur, letting the elevator chime its arrival before I step out.

He doesn’t follow me immediately.

He stays behind, in that glass and steel tower built on blood and reinvention.

But I know he will come after me again, and again.

And I’m right.

It happens gradually, the way most disasters do.

At first, it’s a simple indulgence.

A kiss that lingers too long in the corridor of a high-rise meant for business dealings.

Fingers slipping beneath silk in the back of a chauffeured car after dusk.

His mouth pressed to the inside of my thigh while I mutter something useless about fiscal reports and trade tariffs, pretending I still have the upper hand.