Page 24 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)

The air shifted, thickening with something unspoken, something heavier than before.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop even lower, aslow, creeping chill that settled into the corners, pressing against her skin like an unseen weight.

The silence stretched, strained and unyielding, amplifying the unspoken threat that hung between them.

Jazz refused to shiver, refused to acknowledge the shift in energy, but she felt it—an invisible noose tightening, abattle line drawn.

Reed’s smile disappeared. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice becoming colder, more dangerous. “You’re making a mistake.”

Jazz met his gaze, lifting her chin, forcing herself to keep her hands steady despite the tremor threatening beneath her skin.

She let the silence stretch between them, refusing to blink, refusing to waver.

“Are we done here? Or are you really going to keep a pregnant woman locked up? Make that your headline?” Her voice was even, restrained, but laced with an edge—daring them to push her further, daring them to show theirhand.

Silence.

A strained, heavy stare-down.

Then, reluctantly, Reed pulled back. He exchanged a glance with Foster, something unspoken passing betweenthem.

Finally, Reed released a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “Get her out of here.”

Jazz didn’t allow herself to breathe again until the door opened.

Even then, it wasn’t relief that filled her—it was resolve, cold and unshakable.

She stepped through, feeling the intensity of their stares on her back, but she didn’t look back.

She wouldn’t give them that. They thought they had rattled her, had chipped away at something vital.

But they hadn’t. If anything, they had only strengthened her resolve. She wasn’t walking away defeated.

She was walking away ready. Ready to fight for what was hers. Ready to protect what mattered. They had tried to shake her, to plant seeds of doubt, to make her believe she was standing alone. But they had failed. Because now, more than ever, she knew exactly where she stood. And she wasn’t afraid.

Several minutes later, Jazz stood outside the Federal building, the cold air biting at her skin as she dug her phone from her bag and typed in the ride request. The chill settled into her bones, but it wasn’t just the weather—it was because of what had just happened.

The interrogation had been worse than she’d expected. They had peeled her life apart, layer by layer, twisting her love for Titus into something ugly, something she didn’t even recognize.

She groaned, her breath visible in the cold morning air. She needed a moment to process. Amoment to breathe.

The doctor’s office was the logical next step. She could get confirmation, reassurance. Her pregnancy was the one bright spot in the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, the only thing that felt undeniably right. It gave her a sense of purpose in a world that seemed to be unraveling aroundher.

No matter what happened next, no matter what the Feds, the Senator, or even Titus did, this child was hers—something pure, something untouched by the struggles raging aroundher.

The thought strengthened her, solidified her resolve.

She wasn’t just fighting for herself anymore.

She was fighting for them. But everything surrounding it—the tangled web of lies, the looming threats, the way the Feds had weaponized it before she’d even had the chance to tell Titus herself—was suffocating.

And she would wake up to find everything back to normal.

But deep down, she knew the truth—there was no going back. No easy wayout.

Her thumb hovered over the ride request. No. The doctor could wait. There was something more pressing, something that clenched in her gut with the force of certainty.

The Senator.

She gripped the phone. The idea of Titus being manipulated, forced into a role he didn’t choose—it enraged her.

He was strong, hard, but even he had his limits, and she had just seen firsthand how far Senator Vex and the Feds were willing to go.

They were coming for Titus. They had already set their traps.

And Jazz wasn’t about to let themwin.

She canceled the ride request and started walking.

The Senator was next.

Fifteen minutes later, Jazz’s heels echoed like gunshots on the marble floors of the Senator’s office, each quick click a declaration that she wasn’t here to be dismissed.

The space around her felt designed to intimidate—the dark wood paneling, the towering bookshelves filled with knowledge meant to keep men like him in office, the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city like he owned it.

Afortress of wealth, of untouchability.

She didn’t care.

Jazz barely made it through the reception area before the Senator’s assistant, atightly wound woman with intense eyes, stepped into her path.

Jazz knew the type—efficient, loyal, and just self-important enough to think she had real authority.

The kind of person who acted as a gatekeeper, believing access to their boss made them significant.

And right now, this woman was looking at Jazz like an inconvenience, aproblem to be handled before it reached the Senator’s desk. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her tone clipped, already reaching for the phone as if she could summon security at a moment’s notice.

“No,” Jazz said smoothly, her smile tight. “But I think the Senator will want to see me.”

The assistant didn’t look convinced. “He’s busy—”

Jazz didn’t wait for permission. She stepped around the desk and pushed through the heavy doors, ignoring the startled protest behind her. Let them try to stopher.

The moment she stepped inside, the Senator looked up, his gaze assessing, scheming. He hadn’t expected her, and that worked to her advantage. Surprise flickered over his features, followed swiftly by something else—irritation. Disdain.

“Miss Mirabella,” he drawled, setting his pen down atop a pile of documents.

“Mrs. Dante,” Jazz corrected, her voice clear, unwavering. “And I’m not here for games.”

The Senator’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tapping once against the desk, studying her.

For a beat, he said nothing, just let the strength of his scrutiny settle between them, as if daring her to falter.

Then, with a sigh that carried more annoyance than curiosity, he finally spoke.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Jazz didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I need you to release Titus. Now.”

A slow smile spread across the Senator’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And what makes you think you have the authority to make demands? You’re playing a dangerous game, Jazz . You may be Dante’s wife, but that doesn’t make you untouchable.”

She took another step forward, closing the distance between them. “You’ve held him in check long enough. It ends today.”

The Senator’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“You really think I’m the one pulling the strings?

That your husband is some helpless victim?

You don’t understand the world you married into, darling.

Titus makes his choices. Just like you’re making yours. ”

Jazz’s jaw clenched. “I know exactly what I married into. And I know men like you—men who thrive off domination, who think they can play with lives like pieces on a chessboard. I’ve spent enough time being used. It stops now.”

“Tell me something,” he murmured. “Do you think you’re the first woman to walk in here demanding something of me? You’re not.” His voice dipped lower, edged with a dangerous amusement. “And like all the others, you’ll find that demanding doesn’t get you very far.”

“I think it will.”

The Senator stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a measured grace.

But there was something different in his posture now, something more predatory.

The way he moved, the slow, deliberate way he stalked toward her, sent a warning through her veins before he even spoke.

His gaze dragged over her, his smirk deepening with something dark, something that turned her stomach.

“You really think this is how it works?” he murmured, moving around the desk, his presence looming larger as he closed the space between them.

He was taller than she remembered, broader, the kind of man who made a living off intimidation.

. “That you can just walk in here and tell me what to do? That Titus Dante gets to walk away because his pretty little wife demands it?”

Jazz held her ground, but her pulse spiked as he reached her. The change was instant—his words no longer just a power play, his presence no longer just an intimidation tactic. This was something else. Something real. Something dangerous. Somethingevil.

“You want your precious husband free of me?” His voice dipped, low and vile. “Then you’ll have to make it worth my while, Jazz. Bend over my desk and fuck me, and I’ll consider releasing him.”

His hand snapped out before she could react, fingers wrapping around her arm in a bruising grip. She gasped, the sudden contact sending a jolt of shock through her. The Senator pulled her forward, his face close, his breath brushing against her cheek.

“You think your threats will work on me?” His voice was a whisper, lethal in its softness. “The only way you get what you want is if you give me what I want.”

Jazz’s heart pounded, her breath coming in short, urgent bursts. This wasn’t a man trying to manipulate her with words anymore. This was something physical, something suffocating. His grip tightened on her arm, fingers pressing deep enough that she knew there would be bruises.