Cassian didn't flinch at the broken glass.
He just reached for a napkin, calmly wiped the blood from his hand, and handed it to a waiter like it was nothing more than a wine spill.
"Clean this up," he said coldly.
The poor guy nodded, hands shaking, eyes flicking between the two men who now turned the air toxic.
Dante didn't sit.
Didn't blink.
He just stood there, soaking in the silence, watching Cassian with the kind of stillness that meant he'd already thought about killing him twice and was now debating the third time.
"You don't belong here," Cassian said finally, voice low, velvet wrapped around razor wire. "This place is for men who build empires. Not burn them."
Dante laughed, slow and hollow.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said, dragging a chair out with a painful screech. "I burn to rebuild. Always have."
He sat. At our table. Without asking.
Like the devil pulling up a chair in church.
My heart was pounding so loud I barely heard the waiter whisper that my filet was ready.
Dante looked at it. Then at me.
"You eating that?"Like this was casual.Like he hadn't just walked in here to set the entire evening on fire.
"Dante," I said quietly, voice barely audible over the blood in my ears. "What do you want?"
He leaned back, spreading his legs the way only men with dangerous confidence do.
"You."
I felt Cassian's body still beside me.
"But not like this," Dante added, eyes never leaving mine. "Not as his little toy. Not as his little project. I want you back the way you were."
I swallowed hard. "You mean the girl you broke?"
"No," he said, eyes glinting like a blade in low light. "The girl who didn't flinch when she pulled the trigger."
Cassian's hand found my thigh under the table—tight. Possessive. Like a reminder.
You're mine now.
But Dante saw it.
And smiled.
"Touchy, Vale," he murmured. "She fuck you so good, you forgot she used to be mine?"
Cassian stood. The chair skidded back, sharp and final.
I stood too. No plan. No logic. Just instinct.
"Stop," I said, breathless. "Both of you."
They stared at each other like predators in the same cage, fangs bared.
"I'm not a prize," I said. "Not something you pass back and forth like some fucking trophy."
Silence.
Until Dante pushed back his chair and stood.
He leaned in, his lips near my temple, voice a whisper that sliced.
"You're right. You're not a prize."
His hand trailed the edge of my jaw.
"You're the war."
Then he walked out.
No blood.No fight.
Just a promise.
And Cassian?He didn't speak.
He just sat back down, eyes on the door, chest rising with slow fury.
"I'm going to kill him," he whispered.
And I believed him.
Because somewhere, between the cold filet and shattered crystal,I realized—
This wasn't love.
This was survival.