Emma Reynolds had spent her entire life saying no politely.

No, she didn’t need help carrying groceries.

No, she was fine working double shifts.

No, her landlord didn’t have to wait another week because she would somehow find the money.

But when Dante Moretti said,
“It isn’t optional,”
something in his voice made refusal feel meaningless.

The black car moved silently through the rain-soaked streets of Chicago while Emma sat rigid beside him, clutching her purse on her lap.

“You can drop me at home,” she said quietly.

“No.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“I do.”

Emma turned sharply toward him.

Dante kept his eyes on the rain-streaked window. “Southport Avenue. Third floor. Apartment 3B. The building owner has six code violations and an electrical fire waiting to happen.”

A chill ran through her.

“You investigated me?”

“You walked into my office alone after midnight.” His tone remained calm. “I investigate everyone.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“That’s survival.”

The city lights slid across his face in fractured gold and silver. Up close, Dante Moretti looked less like the monster newspapers hinted at and more like a man carrying exhaustion in his bones. The blood on his collar had dried dark crimson.

Emma tried not to stare at it.

Tried not to wonder whose blood it was.

The car finally stopped outside a towering hotel wrapped in glass and marble.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”

“You’ll sleep here tonight.”

“I can’t afford this place.”

“You’re not paying.”

“That’s worse.”

For the first time, Dante looked directly at her.
His gaze held something sharp and unbearably honest.

“Emma,” he said softly, “someone followed you out of my building.”

Her breath caught.

“What?”

“My security spotted them three blocks back.”

Every instinct inside her went cold.

“Who?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The driver opened the door before Emma could respond.

Dante stepped out first, rain instantly darkening his black coat. He offered her his hand.

Emma hesitated.

Then took it.

And the moment his fingers closed around hers, she understood why powerful men feared him.

Not because he was loud.

Because he was controlled.

Because even gentleness from a man like Dante Moretti felt dangerous.

The hotel suite was larger than Emma’s apartment.

Warm amber lights glowed against cream-colored walls while thunder rolled faintly outside. A fire crackled beneath a massive television she was afraid to touch.

“You can’t just put me in a luxury suite because someone maybe followed me.”

“I can.”

“You know that’s not the point.”

Dante loosened his tie slowly. “Do you always argue this much?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The answer surprised her.

He walked toward the minibar but stopped halfway, as if remembering she was there.
Every movement around her became deliberate. Careful.

“What happened to your shirt?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Silence stretched.

Then Dante glanced down at the bloodstain.

“One of my men made a mistake.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It was.”

Emma folded her arms. “See, this is the part where normal women run.”

“And you?”

“I’ve never been accused of being normal.”

That earned the smallest smile.

It changed his entire face.