AVA'S POV
The limousine was a vault of suffocating silence. Dante did not speak, but the weight of his displeasure filled the space, pressing down on me until I found it hard to breathe. I kept my gaze away from him, staring back vaguely at the city lights and the rain streaked window of the car, dripping down the glass one after the other almost similar to the pace of my heartbeat. I took a quick look back at him, it hadn't changed. The look in his eyes at the bar hadn't been just wider, it felt dangerous. Why on earth was he that angry? Was it because I had a few drinks on the job, which I really shouldn't have done, I couldn't understand what made me so comfortable to risk being that foolish, considering what was at stake here.
I was being sloppy, just like father said, he was probably right. I still needed to learn a lot and more importantly I needed to do what I was sent here to do.
The car didn't stop in front of the mansion. It glided around the side of the mansion to a private entrance I hadn't seen before. Dant exited without a word, and I had no choice but to follow, the cold night air was a shock against my heated skin.
He led me not to my office or his, but through a heavy oak door into a room that was as cold as the man he had become.
His study.
It was all dark wood and shadow, a coven of power, a single lap on a vast desk cast a stream of golden light, leaving the corners of the room to drown in darkness. Books lined the walls, their leather covers smelling of aged paper and everywhere, the scent of him–sandalwood, whiskey and the faint, clean smell of rain that clung to his suit. It was intensely and intimately Dante.
"Sit"
The command was low and authority very strong. He went to a crystal decanter and poured a glass of amber liquid, not even asking if I wanted any, 'so rude, zerocourtesy' . He placed the glass in front of the deep leather armchair.
I sat meekly, feeling like a specimen under a microscope.
He didn't take the seat behind the desk. Instead, he leaned against its front edge, looming over me, caging me in without even touching me. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes–dark and unreadble–fixed on me.
"Explain yourself."
I lifted my chin, channeling Sophia's confidence into my veins. "I was just talking to him sir, besides you had to leave to go talk to someone and I was just there by myself, I needed some information about what the party was about. And bartenders hear everything, he was a valuable source."
A cold, dismissive sound escaped him. "He was looking at you like you were the main course. And you were lapping the attention he was giving you." He set his glass down with a sharp click against the table. "I pay for your focus, Morales. Not to bat your eyelashes at the first man who gives you a compliment."
The unfairness of it, the sheer arrogance, burned my fear away. "You were busy," I shot back, my voice sharper. "Should I have just stood in the corner like a good little puppy until you require me?"
His eyes flashed with something dangerous. He pushed off the desk and began a slow, predatory circle around my chair. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracing the line of my neck, my spine.
"You forget your place," his voice was a low murmur behind me, raising the hairs on my arms.
"You took me to a party I knew absolutely nothing about and you left me there. What exactly is my place at an event like that, sir?" I kept my eyes forward, on the rain pouring outside the windows of the room.
He stood still right in front. This time, he leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of my chair. His face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. The air felt like it was slowly vanishing from my lungs.
"Your place." he said, his voice a husky whisper vibrated, "is where I decide it is. And tonight, your place was by my side. Not entertaining some fool who couldn't keep his eyes to himself."
This wasn't about security. This wasn't about the mission. The heat in his gaze was purely personal, a possessive fire that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the scary electric pull between us.
Did he know it was me– Ava behind this mask of lies.
"Why does it matter to you ?" The question left my lips in a breathless rush, a fatal mistake.
His eyes searched mine for a moment, I caught the mask of the ruthless Mafia King slipping away, I saw a little warmth in his eyes, even though he was trying so desperately to conceal it, I could still feel it. I saw unfiltered confusion. And, want.
"I don't know" he admitted, his words rough, almost angry. He lifted his hand and I froze, I felt like he wanted to touch me but he didn't, instead he dropped his hand back down. My entire world narrowed to the space between my face and his fingers. I could see the raging conflict in his eyes.
He was feeling it too. This impossible, magnetic draw. And it was scaring him as much as it was scaring me. A part of me was terrified that if I stayed here for too long, he might recognise me and wouldn't let me go. If I got too close, I wouldn't be able to leave and I would fail my father. I had to leave soon.
Abruptly, he straightened up, breaking the stare. He turned his back to me, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration. He poured another glass of whiskey and gulped it down in one swift motion.
"Get out, we are done here."
I stood on unsteady legs, my heart hammering. I had come close to the edge of something there was no coming back from. I hadn't been unmasked, but something else had been revealed– a connection so potent it had threatened my real cause of coming back into his life.
I fled the room realizing now that the real danger of this mission wasn't the wrath of my father, but my own heart and feelings.