Page 23 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)

WHEN THEY arrived at headquarters, the room they escorted her into was cold. Barren. Designed to make her as trapped and uneasy as possible.

It left a dryness in her throat, asterile emptiness that made the space feel more like a vacuum than a room. Aplace where words could be twisted, where the truth could suffocate before it ever had the chance to be spoken.

The overhead light buzzed softly, flickering just enough to be noticeable, acalculated irritation meant to unnerve. The walls, adull gray, were bare—no windows, no clock, nothing to anchor her to time. Just an empty space meant to swallow her whole.

Jazz sat stiff-backed in the metal chair as if bracing for an impact she knew was coming. The light was too bright, casting stark shadows across the gray walls.

A psychological trick. She knew that. They wanted her to feel small, helpless, as if this place—this moment—belonged to them. But she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Agent Reed sat across from her, his posture too casual to be natural, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Foster stood to the side, leaning against the wall with the air of a man who had all the time in the world. It was a performance, one Jazz refused to playinto.

Reed offered a small, almost sympathetic smile. “Are you comfortable?”

Jazz shifted slightly in her chair, adjusting her posture without breaking eye contact.

She willed herself to remain motionless, to exude the same cold detachment they did, but the chair’s metal edge dug into her back, abitter reminder of where she was.

Her jaw tightened. They wanted her off balance.

They wanted her to flinch. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

She didn’t bother answering.

He sighed, as if her silence was a personal disappointment. “Look, we don’t want to keep you here longer than necessary. You cooperate, we get what we need, and you walk out of here with no trouble.”

She lifted a brow. “Then I’d like to call my lawyer.”

A brief flicker of annoyance crossed Reed’s face before he masked it. “We’re arranging that now.”

She doubted that.

Foster finally pushed off the wall and moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate. “We just have a few questions, Jazz.” His voice was softer, edged with fake concern. “You know we’re only trying to help, right?”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “Then I’ll wait for my lawyer.”

Another sigh. Another long, drawn- out silence.

Then Reed leaned forward slightly, his eyes pinning her in place. “Does your husband know you’re pregnant?”

Everything inside her froze. Her breath. Her pulse. The air around her seemed to shrink, compressing inward.

They were watching her. Closely. Waiting for the reaction she couldn’t prevent.

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but her fingers twitched against the cold metal of the chair. The only betrayal of her shock.

A smirk ghosted over Reed’s lips. “That’s what I thought.”

Jazz fought to push past the roaring in her ears. She should’ve known this was coming. Should’ve prepared for it. But hearing the words spoken aloud, knowing they had this ammunition to wield against her—it sent a fresh wave of unease rolling throughher.

“Does he know?” Foster pressed, his tone deceptively gentle. “Or did we just ruin the surprise?”

Jazz fought to steady herself. “I’m not answering your questions.”

Reed clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame. Because right now, you’re in a precarious position, Jazz. You’re already in deep. And when this falls apart—and it will—you don’t want to go down with him, do you?”

She didn’t react. Wouldn’t give themthat.

Foster slid into the chair beside her, leaning in slightly, his movements slow, deliberate.

Jazz stiffened, acutely aware of how he was positioning himself—close enough that his presence felt intrusive, suffocating.

His arm draped casually over the back of the chair, an air of false relaxation disguising the predatory intent behind his movements.

He wasn’t just invading her space. He was boxing her in, making sure she feltit.

She refused to shift away, refused to acknowledge the pressure. If he thought he could unnerve her, he was wrong. Still, the way he watched her so intently, made her fingers clench tighter against her lap. Every part of this was meticulously designed to make her feel trapped.

She wouldn’t take the bait.

He lowered his voice, his tone taking on an almost conspiratorial quality, as if they were on the same side, as if he wasn’t actively trying to break her.

The faint scent of stale coffee clung to his suit, to his breath.

“You’re smart enough to know what’s coming.

We’ve been building this case for a long time.

When the dominoes fall, the first to hit the ground usually hits the hardest.”

He reached into the folder in front of him, pulling out a single sheet of paper. He slid it across the table, tapping it once with his finger. “But lucky for you, we’re offering a way out.”

Jazz glanced down at the document. The words blurred together for a second before sharpening into something devastatingly clear.

Immunity.

For her. For herbaby.

All she had to do wassign.

“Think about it,” Reed said, his voice smooth, coaxing. “You sign this, and you don’t have to go down with him. You walk away clean. Safe.” His eyes flicked to her stomach. “Your child walks away safe.”

Jazz fisted her hands beneath the table, nails biting into her palms.

Foster leaned back, his sneer twisting across his mouth. “You think Titus will choose you over business? Over survival?” He chuckled under his breath. “You’re not the first woman who thought she meant something to a man like him. And you won’t be the last.”

The significance of their words pressed in, suffocating.

The room felt colder, the air thinner. Jazz fought the instinct to shrink under it, to react in any way that would signify their success.

Instead, she forced herself to sit taller, to steady her breathing, to push back against the invisible force of their pressure.

They wanted her vulnerable. They wanted her to doubt.

But she wasn’t going to break—not for them, not for anyone.

Her fingers found the phoenix pendant at her neck, the cool metal helping her in a way that nothing else could.

She gripped it between her fingers, pressing it into her skin as if she could absorb its strength, its fire.

It was more than a piece of jewelry. It was a promise, atether to something that couldn’t be taken from her, no matter how much they tried to break herdown.

Then, almost at the same moment, asharp, searing warmth bloomed in her palm. It started as a flicker, awhisper of heat, before intensifying—spreading through her like a living pulse. Her brows pulled together as she glanced down, frowning. Was it...? Did itjust...?

The mark shimmered faintly, the edges of it shifting, reforming—almost like it was taking shape. Her breath hitched. She blinked rapidly, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Had it always looked likethat?

Slowly, she turned her hand over, tracing her thumb along the edges of the mark, feeling the faint warmth pulsing beneath her skin.

Was it changing? Had it shifted? For the briefest moment, she could swear it almost looked like a phoenix, the faint outline flickering as if caught between forms. That wasn’t possible.

Was it? Ashiver hit her, not from fear but from the undeniable sense that something far bigger than this moment was happening, something she couldn’t yet understand.

Could it have always been there, waiting for her to notice? Or had it changed, right here, rightnow?

The agents’ voices pressed at the edges of her awareness, but for the first time since stepping into this room, Jazz felt something stir inside her. Something unshakable, something bigger than this moment, bigger than them. She wasn’t alone.

The agents’ voices faded into the background, their threats dissolving into meaningless static against the steady thrum of energy in her veins.

Their carefully orchestrated pressure, all of it dulled beneath the clarity settling over her.

They wanted her afraid. They wanted her questioning. But in this moment, she felt neither.

Instead, she felt calm, unassailable certainty.

Every muscle in her body tensed, not from fear, but from something stronger, something indestructible.

Love. Trust. Afierce, unwavering devotion that eclipsed every doubt they tried to plant.

They didn’t know Titus. Not the way she did.

They didn’t know the man who had fought for her, who had held her when the world threatened to splinter around them.

They didn’t know the lengths he would go, to protect what washis.

And he was hers, just as much as she washis.

Her grip tightened around the pendant at her throat, her thumb brushing over the curved edges as if drawing strength from it. Let them threaten. Let them push. They would never turn her against him. She wouldn’t break. She wouldn’tfall.

A sudden realization struck her, cutting through the tension like a blade— she loved Titus . Fully. Deeply. Maybe she had known it for a while, but in this moment, it was undeniable.

And it wasn’t just love. It was trust. Unshakable, unwavering trust. He would protect her, fight for her, and burn the world if he had to.

But she would fight for him, too. Because that was what love meant—standing beside him, no matter what.

And that meant she wouldn’t break, wouldn’t give these men what they wanted.

She had control over one thing in this room—herself. And that was enough.

She released a steady, measured breath before pushing the document back across the table.

“I’m not signing anything.”