Page 25 of Shadows of Steel

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

Instead, he lifts his hand between us, palm up, silent, expectant. An unspoken command wrapped in a deceptively simple gesture. Without thinking, I place mine in his. It’s instinctive, inevitable, as if some unseen force draws me to him before my mind can object. His fingers curl around mine, warm and firm, his grip both possessive and unhurried.

Slowly, agonizingly so, he lifts my hand toward his lips. His eyes never waver, never release me from their hold. His gaze is a cipher, dark, consuming, impossible to interpret, coiling around me like a whisper of fire against ice. It prickles over my skin. After what feels like an eternity, his lips finally touch my hand.

My breath falters, every nerve tightening, bracing against the force of something I refuse to name. My skin hums, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch.

And still, he doesn’t look away. Dante lingers, his breath ghosting over my skin, his lips warm against my knuckles before he finally releases me, languidly, as if savouring the moment.

My pulse pounds in my ears as he reaches into his suit jacket, retrieving a small velvet box.

A ring box.

When he opens it, the light catches on the diamond inside, the facets throwing sharp glints against the room’s dim glow.

For no reason at all, this moment feels intimate.

Too intimate.

I can’t tear my gaze from him, from the unspoken weight in his stare.

I’m stunned. I won’t deny it.

I don’t understand what is happening.

Is this what Michael meant when he warned me outside? Or is Dante simply showing me the ring Leonardo will place on my finger?

I keep my expression carefully blank, unwilling to let him see the chaos inside me. But beneath the surface, my emotions churn violently, anger, disbelief, annoyance at being left out of whatever this is.

And heat.

A warmth I want to deny, a flicker of something dangerous that I resent myself for feeling in the first place.

Dante moves with certainty, retrieving the ring from its velvet box before lifting my hand once more. His touch is firm as he slides the diamond onto my finger, his gaze never wavering from mine. I hold my breath. It fits perfectly, as though it was always meant to be there. But the weight of it is staggering, a cold, unyielding shackle that settles against my skin, pressing down with the force of what this truly means. For a moment, neither of us move. The world around us fades into silence, into nothingness. It’s just the two of us, locked in a moment that stretches longer than it should.

I don’t miss the flicker in his eyes, something possessive. Its weight steals the air from my lungs. I inhale sharply, unprepared for the intensity of his stare, for the way it claims me without a single word.

The spell is broken by the sound of my father’s voice. “Congratulations to the newly engaged couple!” Giovanni announces, his tone rich with satisfaction. “This is a moment worth celebrating.”

A waiter appears almost instantly, followed by a line of servers carrying silver trays laden with champagne flutes. Glasses clink softly as they are distributed, and murmurs of approval ripple through the room.

Dante moves first, plucking two glasses from a passing tray. He turns to me, offering one. “For you.”

I accept it without a second thought. “Much appreciated.”

“It is a celebration, after all. We might as well indulge.” He utters.

I cast a glance around the room, watching as my family speaks among themselves, discussing how this union serves all three sides. I know exactly what it means, power, security, influence. A business arrangement, sealed with a diamond ring. When I lift my gaze, Dante is already watching me.

I tilt my head ever so slightly, meeting his stare. “An intriguing turn of events.” I muse, swirling the champagne in my glass. “Would you care to enlighten me as to the whereabouts of my fiancé?”

His expression hardens, his gaze darkening with something dangerous. “Might I remind you,” he murmurs, “whose ring adorns your finger? Who placed it there,cara mia?”

A sharp breath catches in my throat. I almost blush.

Almost.

Pressing my fingers into my palm, I focus on the sting, grounding myself, forcing away the slow, insidious warmth pooling deep inside me. Dante notices. His gaze flickers downward, catching the movement of my clenched fist. His jaw tightens, but when his eyes return to mine, his expression is as composed as ever.