Page 34 of Shadows of Steel

Mario’s eyes flick to me.

Assessing.

Measuring.

“Finally, we meet.” He says, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He extends his hand. I take it. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I reply.

His smirk deepens as he lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my palm.

Dante doesn’t like that.

A low growl escapes him, frustration seeping through despite his attempt to mask it. I catch the fleeting glimmer of irritation in his eyes, he despises himself for letting it show. He pulls my hand from Mario’s grasp.

“A handshake would have sufficed.” He says, his tone pointed.

Mario raises a brow, but refrains from commenting. He’s clearly amused, though not foolish. Instead, he inclines his head slightly before redirecting his focus back to his boss. “The men are prepared. Everything is in order.”

Dante responds with a quick nod, then turns his attention to the rest of the men. “This is my fiancée, Harlow.” His voice cuts through the air. “You will guard her with every ounce of your being. Anyone who dares to touch or disrespect her, won’t live long enough to see the consequences. Make certain this reaches everyone.”

There’s a collective shift, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They nod, some murmuring their acknowledgments. Mario shakes his head slightly, muttering under his breath. “I’ll be damned. Never saw this day coming.”

I feign ignorance to his comment.

Dante guides me into the SUV without uttering another word.

Inside, the leather upholstery is cool against my skin. Mario takes the front passenger seat, and the driver pulls away smoothly. Dante settles next to me, his presence heavy in the dimly lit cabin.

He and Mario slip into business, their conversation shifting into the language of the underworld, territories, shipments, men who need reminding where their loyalties lie. I listen without meaning to, catching fragments of information.

And I see how effortlessly Dante commands this world. He’s in his element here, unapologetic. He knows he owns this city and the people in it.

We wind through the streets, quieter at this hour but never truly still. The glow of golden lights reflects off the bay, illuminating everything in their path. It’s truly beautiful.

The drive doesn’t take long. Soon, the estate comes into view.

Perched on the outskirts of Naples, it looms on a hill overlooking the sea. The villa is sprawling, with classic Neapolitan architecture and modern touches, large windows that catch the pale glow of the moonlight. The structure is built to intimidate and impress in equal measure. Beyond the entrance, I catch glimpses of olive trees and the shadowy outlines of a private vineyard, barely visible in the darkness. The scent of the earth mingles with the cool, crisp air rolling in from the sea.

Men are stationed at every corner, the estate heavily guarded. Dante steps out first, then extends a hand toward me. I take it, and together we make our way toward the house.

As we enter, the interior greets us with the same striking elegance, minimalist yet opulent, with dark tones commanding the space. It’s past eleven, late enough that I expect the house to be quiet.

I am mistaken.

A door opens somewhere within the estate, followed by the sound of quiet footsteps.

I glance toward the staircase just as a boy appears, descending with a self-assuredness that makes it clear he belongs here. He’s no older than ten, maybe seven or eight, with dark, curly hair. His features are so strikingly similar to Dante’s that it’s impossible to miss the resemblance.

I freeze.

The boy halts a few feet away, a flicker of uncertainty in his steps as he takes notice of me.

“Dad.” He looks up at his father.

Dante exhales slowly. “Come here.” He gestures for him to approach. “It’s late. You have school tomorrow. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

The boy steps forward, and Dante pulls him into a hug. “You were gone a long time.” He murmurs against his chest, before gently pulling away.