Dante pov
The house is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that lets a man's thoughts get dangerous. It is well past midnight, the storm outside throwing occasional shadows across the walls as I pour myself a drink in the study. I'm not tired, not with her upstairs, lying in my bed like a question I'm not ready to answer.
I told myself I will not go to her. Not tonight. She still looks at me like I'm the devil who ended her father's life. Maybe I am, in her eyes and I kinda like that look a little too much. The floor above creaks soft, hesitant steps. She's awake.
I set the glass down without drinking. I could ignore it, let her roam, but then I remember the way she looked at the locked door earlier… the stubborn tilt of her chin when she asked what was behind it. I move through the halls like a shadow, soundless, until I find her at the top of the staircase. Bare feet. Loose shirt. Sleep-tousled hair. She doesn't see me at first, her gaze is on the dark corridor leading to the west wing, to the door she shouldn't touch.
"You couldn't sleep?" My voice is low, quiet enough to almost blend with the hum of the rain.
She startles then hides it in a look that dares me to try again.
"Just walking."
I take a slow step closer, letting her see that I'm not in a hurry, that I have all the time in the world to deal with her lies. "You're not afraid of running into me in the dark?"
She swallows hard , but doesn't back away. "Should I be?"
The corner of my mouth lifts. "Always."
I pass her, just close enough for my arm to brush hers, and head toward the stairs. I don't look back, I know she's watching me. I know she'll be thinking about that one word long after I've left her alone.
I stop halfway down the stairs, listening to her breathing behind me. It's quicker than before — not fear, not quite.
"Come here, Liana."
There's a pause, like she's weighing whether obeying me makes her weak. In the end, her footsteps are soft against the wood, and she stops just one step above me. Close enough that I can smell her warm skin, faint vanilla, a hint of rain from the open window upstairs.
Her golden-brown eyes meet mine, steady but searching. "Why?"
I take another step up, closing the distance. We're nearly eye to eye now. My hand finds the banister beside her head, not touching her, but caging her in all the same.
"Because when you can't sleep," I murmur, "it's better to spend the night with a devil you know."
Her breath hitches. I can feel the pulse in her throat from here, a quick little flutter under soft skin. My other hand twitches, aching to touch her… her jaw, her hair, her mouth but I don't. I remind myself ts not yet time..
"Is that what you are?" she whispers. "The devil?"
I let my gaze drop to her lips, then back to her eyes. "No, Liana. The devil plays games. I don't play."
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the rain outside, a steady rhythm that makes the air feel heavier between us. I lean in just enough for her to feel my breath against her cheek, close enough that her scent is in my lungs, close enough to make her lips part in anticipation and then I pull back. Slowly and deliberately.
Her eyes flash with something I can't quite name. Frustration, maybe. Or just curiosity. I know both will serve me well.
"Go back to bed," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Tomorrow will be busy."
Before she can read more into my tone, I turn and descend the stairs, leaving her in the dark with her questions.
The whiskey burns slow as it slides down my throat, the way I like it. The heat sits heavy in my chest, giving me something to focus on besides the picture in my head of her standing on that damn staircase. Bare feet. Sleep shirt hanging just past mid-thigh. Hair slightly mussed from tossing in bed. Those eyes… not afraid enough to stay away from me, not trusting enough to come closer without a fight.
I sink into the leather armchair in my office, shadows swallowing the room. Only the desk lamp stays on, a warm pool of light against the dark. My fingers drum on the armrest, the way they always do when my patience wears thin.
She thinks I killed her father. I tell myself that's good, that fear will keep her careful. Sooner or later, she's going to find the locked room again and she'll start asking the wrong people the wrong questions. When she does, the man who really put that bullet in Luca Romano's skull will hear about it. He's already watching. I can feel it in the way certain eyes linger too long when I take her into town, in the silence of phone calls that hang up when I answer.
I tip the glass back, let the whiskey scorch away the thought. I'm not ready to show her what I've been shielding her from. Not yet. She'll think it's another cage and maybe it is, but it's one she'll thank me for when the time comes.
My phone buzzes. A single text from Marco: "We found him. The accountant. He's talking."
Good. That means we're closer to pulling the thread that leads to our ghost.
Closer to the truth but truth has teeth and Liana… she's still soft enough to bleed. I pour another drink and lean back, letting the quiet settle heavy over me. Tomorrow, I'll put on the smile she doesn't trust and give her a day she won't forget. Not because I want to win her but because keeping her close is the only way to keep her alive.
The next day the weather plays into my hand, grey clouds hanging low, the kind of air that feels charged before a storm. Perfect for unsettling her. She's quiet when I step into the dining room. Not the kind of quiet that means peace, no. This is the kind of quiet of a woman building walls in her head. She doesn't look at me as I sit across from her.
"Eat," I say. It's not a request.
She pushes scrambled eggs around her plate without taking a bite. I let her. Hunger will wear her down faster than my words ever could.
"Get dressed," I tell her when she sets her fork down. "We're going out."
Her head jerks up. "Where?"
"You'll see."
Her suspicion is immediate, but she hides it behind an annoyed sigh.
That's one of the things I like about her. She doesn't give me every reaction I'm trying to provoke. She saves some for herself, and it makes me want to dig deeper.
By the time she comes downstairs, she's in a fitted black dress and boots, hair loose.
I don't compliment her.bNot because I don't notice… God, I notice, but because she's looking for some kind of acknowledgment, and denying her that keeps the balance in my favor. We drive in silence for twenty minutes, the city giving way to the outskirts.
She finally breaks first.
"Where are we going?"
"To settle a debt."
Her brows knit together. "You mean like yesterday?"
"No." My voice is even. "Yesterday was about punishment. Today is about… persuasion."
Her knuckles tighten around the door handle as I turn onto a narrow road lined with old warehouses. The car slows in front of a rusted metal gate where Marco was waiting, leaning against a black SUV.
The moment I step out, I see her eyes dart toward the street, measuring the distance, calculating an escape. She doesn't know yet that I've already accounted for every direction she might run. We walk inside the warehouse, the air smells faintly of oil and dust. A man sits tied to a chair in the middle of the floor, his head lolling forward until he hears my footsteps. Then he straightens. Fear sharpens his posture.
"This," I say, glancing at Liana, "is what happens when people think they can touch what's mine."
Her throat bobs as she swallows, but she doesn't look away from the man. She's braver than she should be. I take a slow step toward the chair, my voice low and calm.
"You've been moving products through my docks without permission."
The man's eyes flick toward Liana. Bad mistake. I see the shift in her shoulders when she realizes she's being weighed, measured. I crouch, grab his jaw, force him to look only at me.
"You don't get to look at her."
Liana's breath hitches. She doesn't understand yet that protecting her and controlling her are the same thing in my world. I lean in, close enough that only he can hear. "You're going to tell me who you're working for. Or you're going to leave this place in pieces."
His answer comes quick—too quick and my gut tightens. The name he gives me is one I haven't heard in years.mOne that ties directly to the night Luca Romano died. I straighten, mask already in place before I glance at Liana.
"Let's go. We're done here."
Her voice is cautious. "You're not going to…?"
"No," I say sharply, interrupting her, guiding her toward the exit with a hand at the small of her back. "Not yet." Not until I know exactly how much danger she's in.
The rain starts just as we pull away from the warehouse, soft at first, then heavy enough that the wipers have to fight to keep the windshield clear. Liana sits angled toward the window, arms folded, legs crossed. Everything about her posture screams stay away from me. It only makes me want to get closer.
"You're quiet," I say, my tone deliberately casual.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
She glances at me, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "About what I just saw back there."
I let a slow smirk pull at my mouth. "And what did you see?"
She studies me for a long moment. "A man who gets what he wants by making people afraid of him."
I take my time answering, letting the sound of rain fill the car.
"Fear," I say finally, "is faster than trust and a hell of a lot more reliable."
Her jaw tightens. "And what about me, Dante? Am I supposed to be afraid of you?"
I shift lanes without breaking eye contact. "You already are."
Her breath stutters, just enough for me to notice. The tension in the car thickens, something hot and electric sparking between us.
She tries to mask it with sarcasm. "You think you know everything, don't you?"
"I know you are smart enough not to play games with me." I let my voice drop lower, silk over steel. "And I know you're wondering what I'd do if you pushed me too far."
She shifts in her seat, the movement subtle, restless. I let my gaze drop to her bare knees, slowly travel upward before I return my eyes to the road.
Her breathing changes barely perceptible, but I hear it. I could push her right now, close the distance, make her lose that stubborn composure she's clinging to, but I don't. Instead, I reach across and brush a stray strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering just long enough for her to feel my touch after I pull away.
The air between us is loaded now, humming with unspoken things. She doesn't look at me again until we're nearly back. When she does, her eyes are darker, conflicted. I want her to fight me because when she finally stops fighting… she'll fall harder.
I had expected her to vanish to the guest wing the second we got back. I pour myself a whiskey in the study, the amber liquid catching the light from the fire. I hear her soft footsteps on the marble floor before I see her. She then appears in the doorway, wearing one of the silk robes I had sent up. Her hair's damp from a shower, loose waves spilling over her shoulders.
"Do you always drink alone?" she asks, voice low but steady.
I tilt my head toward the armchair opposite me. "Only when I don't have good company."
She hesitates, but steps inside. The firelight throws her in gold and shadow. I track the way the robe clings when she moves, the soft parting at her thigh when she sits.
"You're staring," she says.
"I am."
She swallows, her fingers curling around the arm of the chair. "You think you can just look at me like that?"
"I know I can."
For a second, we just watch each other. The air between us stretches tight, every second pulling it tighter. Her chest rises with a slow breath. I want to see her break. I want to see her choose to. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"You should go to bed, Liana."
Her lips part, as if she's going to argue. Instead, she stands—slow, deliberate and walks past me. The faint brush of silk against my arm is deliberate and so is the glance she throws over her shoulder before she disappears down the hall.
I let out a low breath I didn't realize I was holding, a sharp smile curving my mouth. She's not afraid enough to stay away and not brave enough to get closer. Yet.