Chapter 7: The Warning

Chapter 7: The Warning

The morning after the shooting felt like a hangover, even though I'd barely touched the wine. I found myself in Dante's study—his sanctuary—watching dust motes dance in the sunlight while I waited for him to return from whatever bloody business had pulled him away at dawn.

"He won't be back for hours."

I spun around. Marco leaned against the doorframe, his scarred face unreadable. Dante's right hand, his shadow, his executioner—I'd heard the whispers about him.

"I wasn't—"

"Save it." He pushed off the doorframe, moving with predatory grace. "You're exactly where you want to be, aren't you? Playing your little games with the boss?"

Heat crept up my neck. "I don't know what you mean."

His laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Sure you do, princess. I saw you at the masquerade. Saw how you played him." He circled me slowly, like a shark scenting blood. "That dress last night? The way you look at him? You're good. Really good."

I held my ground, even as my pulse quickened. "If you have something to say, Marco, just say it."

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the gunpowder that clung to his clothes. "Okay, let's be direct. You think you're special because he lets you push his buttons? Because he hasn't broken you yet?" His hand shot out, gripping my chin. "I've seen girls like you come and go. The ones who think they can tame him, change him, play him at his own game."

I jerked away from his touch. "I'm not trying to—"

"Shut up and listen." His voice dropped lower, dangerous. "Last night? That wasn't a random hit. Someone's moving against him, and they're using his weakness." His eyes raked over me. "You."

The air felt thick, heavy with threat. "I'm not his weakness."

Marco's smile was cruel. "No? Then why did they wait until you were having dinner together? Why target the east wing, where your room is?" He leaned closer. "Why did they have your picture?"

Ice slid down my spine. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He pulled something from his jacket—a photograph, crumpled and singed around the edges. Me, in the red dress from the masquerade, looking up at one of Dante's cameras with that knowing smile I'd thought was so clever.

"Where did you get this?"

"Off a dead man." He tucked it away. "You're playing with fire, princess. But it's not just your life you're risking anymore. Last night, we lost two good men because the boss was... distracted."

The guilt hit like a physical blow. "I never meant—"

"Of course you didn't." His tone softened fractionally. "You don't understand his world. The power he holds, the enemies he's made. When he's with you, he's not thinking straight. And in our world, that gets people killed."

I sank into Dante's chair, the leather still holding his scent. "What do you want from me?"

"Want?" Marco's laugh was bitter. "I want you to understand what you're dealing with. He's not just some rich guy with a dark side. He's a monster wearing an expensive suit. And the truly fucked up thing?" He leaned down, his hands bracing on the chair arms, caging me in. "You're starting to love the monster, aren't you?"

My heart stopped. "You're wrong."

"Yeah?" His eyes searched mine. "Then why are you blushing? Why does your breath catch every time he touches you? Why do you keep pushing him, trying to crack that control of his?"

"I—" The words died in my throat because he was right. God help me, he was right.

"Here's your warning, princess." Marco straightened up. "Either commit to his world—all of it, the blood and the violence and the power—or get out now. Because if you keep playing this game, people are going to die. And eventually?" His hand brushed my cheek almost gently. "It might be you."

He turned to leave, then paused. "He'll be back at sunset. Wear the blue dress—the one he had delivered this morning. And princess?" His eyes met mine in the mirror. "Remember what I said. The monster you're falling for? He's real. And he's starting to fall for you too."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my reflection and the weight of his words. In the distance, thunder rumbled—a storm rolling in to match the turmoil in my chest.

I touched the spot where Marco's hand had been, remembering how different it felt from Dante's touch. Remembering the heat and electricity that sparked whenever Dante was near.

Monster or man, I was in too deep to walk away now. The only question was: when the storm broke, would I drown in it, or learn to swim in darker waters?

The first drops of rain hit the window, and somewhere in the mansion, a clock struck noon. Six hours until sunset. Six hours to decide: commit or run.

I already knew my choice. God help me, I'd made it the moment I first felt his hands on my skin.