Chapter 7: Dante

Dante’s POV

Returning to the Marino mansion felt both foreign and familiar. The cold, calculated atmosphere hadn't changed, but the people inside it made it feel... different. The moment I walked through the door, I found her.

Valentina.

She was sitting on the edge of the grand staircase, her phone in hand. Her ash-blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and her face was set in a mask of concentration. She didn't look up as I approached, but I could tell by the slight tension in her posture that she knew I was there.

"You didn't even say hello," I said, leaning casually against the bannister.

Her fingers paused briefly over the screen before resuming their movements. "Hello," she said flatly, not bothering to look at me.

I smirked, taking another step closer. "That's it? No hug, no 'I missed you'? I'm hurt, kitten."

Her head snapped up, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? It suits you." I moved closer, deliberately encroaching on her space. The subtle scent of her perfume drifted toward me, something delicate yet intoxicating. My eyes involuntarily traced the curve of her neck to the hint of collarbone visible beneath her shirt. The faint scar on her temple caught the light—a reminder of whatever violence had touched her life. I had to fight the urge to reach out and trace it with my finger.

She stood abruptly, shoving her phone into her pocket. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Dante."

I shrugged, unbothered. "Who said anything about games?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could see the faint flush creeping up her neck. I didn't know if it was anger or embarrassment, but watching that color spread across her skin sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. Those full lips, even pressed tight with annoyance, made me wonder what they'd feel like against mine. Breaking through her carefully constructed walls was becoming an addiction.

"You should work on your manners," I said, my tone light but teasing. "It's not polite to ignore family."

Her expression darkened. "You're not my family."

"Not yet," I said with a grin.

That was the final straw. She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, her steps echoing against the polished wood. I watched her go, my eyes fixed on the sway of her hips and the way her hair cascaded down her back. A mix of amusement and something darker settled in my chest. The slight curve of her waist, the strength in her stride—it was hard not to imagine following her up those stairs, catching her wrist, and turning her to face me. Seeing if that fire in her eyes could burn for reasons beyond anger.

I wasn't sure why it was so satisfying to get under her skin, but I wasn't about to stop.

Later, I found her mother in the sitting room, a cup of tea balanced delicately in her hands. Isabella Marino was everything her daughter wasn't—soft-spoken, polished, and eager to please.

"Dante," she said with a warm smile as I entered. "It's good to see you again."

"Mrs. Marino," I said, nodding politely.

"Please, call me Isabella," she corrected gently.

I took a seat across from her, studying her carefully. She was beautiful, no doubt, but there was a fragility to her that made me uneasy. I wondered how much of it had been there before Lorenzo came into her life.

We made small talk for a few minutes before I steered the conversation toward Valentina.

"She doesn't like me much, does she?" I said, keeping my tone light.

Isabella chuckled softly. "She's... guarded. It's been a difficult few years for her. For both of us."

"I imagine losing her father was hard," I said, carefully choosing my words.

Isabella's smile faltered, and she looked down at her tea. "It was. He was a good man. A strong man."

"And your brother-in-law?" I asked. "How did he treat her after... everything?"

Her eyes darkened slightly, but she quickly masked it with a neutral expression. "He wasn't kind. That's all I'll say."

I nodded, my respect for Valentina growing slightly. Surviving in a world like this with a man like that couldn't have been easy.

"She's tougher than she looks," I said.

Isabella smiled faintly. "She is."

Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lorenzo. My father strode into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.

"Dante," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. "We need to talk."

Isabella excused herself gracefully, leaving me alone with him.

Lorenzo didn't waste time. "You've heard about the arrests?"

I nodded. "The officials tied to your operations are out of the picture. Without their protection, you're exposed. The gangs will see this as an opportunity."

His expression tightened. "And what do you suggest?"

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "You need someone with influence outside the traditional circles. Someone who can push back without drawing too much attention."

"And you're volunteering?"

"On one condition," I said, my tone firm. "I want a say in how the gang is run. If I'm putting my name on the line, I'm not doing it blind."

Lorenzo studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. Finally, he nodded. "Agreed. But don't expect me to hand over the reins. This is still my empire."

"For now," I said, smirking slightly.

He didn't react, but I could see the faintest flicker of irritation in his gaze.

I'm not interested in his reaction because all my thoughts are on Valentina.

This new arrangement would force her to interact with me, whether she liked it or not. I imagined the reluctance in her eyes when she'd be required to work alongside me, the tension in her body when we'd be forced into close quarters. I could almost see how that tension might transform, how anger might shift to something more primal, how those walls she built so carefully might crumble under the right touch.

And I was looking forward to it.