Page 9 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

She slipped from the crowd, heart pounding, heels too loud on the polished floor. Past tables and servers and open doors, into a dim hallway near the kitchens. Cool air kissed her skin. She ducked into the shadows, grateful for the hush.

She pressed her back to the cool wall, sucking in a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Everything—everything—was happening too fast. This morning, she was just Elise Severin, the harmless younger sister.

The one who was supposed to smile and pose for pictures and not mess up the aisle timing. Now?

Now she had a Dante Brand on her palm.

Now she was married to Cade Dante.

Now she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, or the heat, or the way her body kept responding as her mind screamed for her to keep up.

She drifted into the quiet, leaning against the cool plaster wall, mind spiraling through the last two hours. The vows. The kiss. The crowd. Cade’s mouth still lingered like a secret against hers. She tried to breathe, to plant herself in something real, anything not spinning.

But the hush didn’t last.

A creak. Footsteps. Voices.

She stiffened, all the breath yanked from her lungs.

She wasn’t alone.

Two men. She couldn’t see them, just shadows stretched long under a slit of light from the doorway. One spoke in a clipped, careful tone, like someone accustomed to being obeyed. His voice carried quiet authority, polished but cold.

“We’re out of time,” he said. “I need an update. What’s happening with the schedule?”

The other responded—in Russian.

Her spine locked. Her ears sharpened.

They didn’t see her. They didn’t know she was there.

But her brain had already started recording.

She didn’t try to understand it. Couldn’t.

The language meant nothing to her. But the cadence, the tone, the specific syllables lodged in her memory like a needle caught on vinyl.

It was automatic. Something she’d done her entire life, catching words she didn’t recognize, repeating them back with eerie accuracy days or years later.

This time, every cell in her body told her these were words she wasn’t meant to hear and she shrank further back into the shadows, her breath catching in her lungs.

“Peremestite gruz. Vso dolzhno byt’ zakoncheno do voskresen’ya. Nikto ne dolzhen znat’ — osobenno Dantes.”

A pause, heavy and thoughtful.

Then the clipped voice replied, quiet, but sharp. “Fine. Then move it. I want every trace scrubbed by morning.” He paused and the silence stretched for so long that Elise was afraid they’d realized she was standing nearby. Then, “In sanguine scripsi.”

A door creaked. Steps retreated.

Elise didn’t breathe.

She had no idea what they’d said.

But she knew—knew—she shouldn’t have heard it.

And her memory wouldn’t let her forget.

She stood frozen, her back against the wall, breath shallow and unsteady.

Minutes passed, maybe more. She couldn’t tell.

Her body trembled, an involuntary quake she couldn’t prevent or explain, like her nerves had frayed past repair and were reacting to everything all at once.

Was it Cade? The kiss? The heat still lingering on her skin?

Or the cold fear curling tight from whatever she’d just overheard?

Maybe it was all of it. Maybe the collision of too many impossible things in too short a time had finally cracked something inside her.

She didn’t hear the steps until they were nearly upon her.

A sharp intake of breath rattled through her lungs.

For a heartbeat, she thought it was them, the men from before. The clipped voice. The Russian threat. She spun toward the sound, every nerve lit with panic, every impulse screaming to run. Her hands braced against the wall behind her, searching for something solid, something real.

Her vision blurred, the hallway stretching too long, too quiet.

And then—

“Elise.”

His voice. Low. Composed. Cade.

She turned, sudden, startled, and the fear still hadn’t left her eyes when she saw him. But the second her gaze locked on Cade, the tight coil inside her snapped.

And she broke.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. No sobs. No collapse. Just the quiet shatter of someone holding everything too tightly for too long. Her shoulders caved as if her spine had lost all will to hold her upright. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then she moved into him, not because it made sense, but because she didn’t know where else to go. Her arms slid around his neck with an urgency that shocked her, and the relief that came with it nearly buckled her knees.

She didn’t sob, but her eyes burned, and her breath hitched against his shoulder as he folded her in with startling gentleness.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His voice dropped, urgent, threading between her panic and the silence around them.

Her voice cracked. “There were men. There were men here. We need to leave. Now.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

His hands came up and cupped her face with steady, commanding pressure.

He brushed back the curls that had come loose, his touch sure and decisive, tucking them behind her ear like he had every right to claim her attention and keep it.

His eyes searched hers, steady and sure, like he was cataloging every trace of her fear.

“There aren’t any men. You’re safe,” he said again, his voice certain, like he could will it into truth just by saying it.

She didn’t feel safe. Not at all. But she felt him, the unwavering grip of his hands, the calm heft of his gaze.

That steadied her more than anything else could have.

It didn’t erase the panic, but it connected her to something solid, something unshakable.

In a world that had flipped sideways, he was now the only constant.

Without hesitation, she clung to him like gravity.

His hand slid from her chin to her neck, thumb grazing the line of her throat, the force of his grip reassuring her.

The other arm stayed firm at her waist, fingers flexing slightly as if reminding her he wasn’t letting go.

He leaned back just enough to read her face, closely, intently, his brows drawn tight, mouth unsmiling, gaze sharp and unwavering.

His gaze didn’t just land on her. It locked, steady and scrutinizing.

Cade didn’t glance. He studied, like a strategist evaluating a threat or a man reading the fine print of something he already owned.

His eyes flicked from her mouth to her throat to the glint in her eyes, and whatever he saw there hardened his expression.

Yet beneath the cold gaze, something darker simmered. A claim. A warning. Possession, written in the sharp stillness of his stare.

Her lashes clung together, damp and trembling. That quiet gleam in her gaze made him pause, made something raw flicker behind his restraint, primal and absolute.

He leaned in, kissing each eyelid.

Soft. Sure. The heat of his breath lingered against her skin, his hands still framing her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

Then he kissed her, this time with a force that shattered the careful stillness between them. It was hard, unyielding, all heat and hunger and something darker underneath. There was nothing soft about it. No hesitation, no space to think, just the absolute certainty of a man claiming what was his.

It was deep and consuming, all possession and no apology.

His mouth slanted over hers with a dominance that stripped away every last thought, a slow-burning command that seared straight through her defenses.

There was nothing hesitant, nothing delicate, only the full substance of a man who took what he wanted and made her want it too.

Her breath caught, her balance faltered, and still he kissed her like they were already alone. Like she was already his.

When he finally lifted his head, his voice was quiet but firm. ”We’re leaving. Now.”

She blinked up at him. “Don’t we have to say goodbye to our guests?”

“Why should we?”

Her voice wavered. “Isn’t it expected?”

Cade’s eyes flicked over her face like he was weighing how much longer he’d let her stall. Then he leaned in, voice brushing hot against her ear.

“Not when we have a marriage to consummate.”