Chapter 2: The Devil You Know
Evelyn's pulse was still racing as Dante led her down a narrow corridor at the back of The Obsidian Club, his grip firm but not bruising. The dim lights above flickered as if they too were unsure whether to stay or run. Her heels clicked against the marble in a syncopated rhythm with her panic.
She should've pulled away.
She should've said no.
But she didn't.
She let him take her into the shadows, just like she had five years ago.
The hallway opened into a private lounge cloaked in velvet and silence. Black leather sofas, gold accents, and the scent of aged bourbon created a cocoon of control—his control. Dante closed the door behind them with a soft click, and the noise of the outside world vanished.
Evelyn turned to face him, her chin lifted in defiance even as her body screamed with tension. "What are you doing?"
"I could ask you the same thing." He crossed the room slowly, his jacket falling open to reveal the dark shirt underneath, unbuttoned just enough to show the tattoos inked across his collarbone. "You disappeared after that night. No phone call. No name. Nothing."
She looked away, guilt flashing across her face. "I had my reasons."
His voice was calm, but laced with steel. "Give me one."
"You don't get to demand anything from me, Dante. That night—" her voice cracked, "—wasn't supposed to mean anything."
He stopped a few feet from her, eyes locked on hers. "It meant something to me."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Evelyn's breath caught. That wasn't what she expected. Not from him. Not from the man who ruled half the city with a glance and had blood on his hands before most people had coffee.
She stepped back, needing space, needing clarity. "It's been five years. We're not those people anymore."
Dante tilted his head slightly. "Aren't we?"
Her lips parted to argue—but she didn't get the chance.
The door burst open.
A tall man in a dark suit entered without knocking, his face tight with urgency. "Boss. We've got a problem."
Dante didn't look away from her. "What kind of problem?"
"The Delgado crew. They're sniffing around the old docks. Armed."
Dante's jaw clenched. "They wouldn't dare. Not unless they think we're vulnerable."
His eyes flicked back to Evelyn—and for a moment, something darker moved in them. "You didn't bring trouble here, did you?"
Her blood ran cold.
"No," she said, voice steady. "But maybe you did."
There was a beat of silence before Dante gave a sharp nod to the man. "Prep the team. I'll be out in ten."
The man left without another word.
Evelyn crossed her arms, masking the tremor in her hands. "This is your world, Dante. The danger, the guns, the enemies. It always was."
His gaze softened, just barely. "And you're still standing in it."
"I didn't come here to stay. I came to forget."
"You should've known better," he said, stepping close again—this time slower, more deliberate. "You should've known I'd remember."
Her breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming. It always had been. He reached out, his fingers grazing her jaw, just enough to make her feel the heat of his skin. "There's something you're not telling me."
She froze.
Five years of silence. Five years of secrets. Five years of two small faces with dark hair and stormy eyes asking questions she couldn't answer.
Dante's hand dropped, his expression unreadable now.
"You have until tomorrow night to tell me the truth, Evelyn," he said, voice low and sharp. "Because if you don't—I'll find it myself."
He turned, his footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving her alone in the velvet-drenched room.
But the damage was already done.
Because in his eyes—in the way he looked at her—she knew.
He suspected.
And once Dante Moretti suspected something…
He never stopped until he owned it.
Even if it meant discovering he already did.