God help her, it made him beautiful.

Dante poured himself whiskey but didn’t drink it.

“You should sleep.”

“You should probably go.”

“I should.”

Again, neither moved.

The storm outside deepened.

Emma suddenly realized how alone they were.

No guards.

No assistants.

Just her and the man half of Chicago feared.

Dante stepped closer.

Her pulse stumbled.

“You said you’d never been kissed,” he murmured.

Emma’s cheeks burned instantly. “I can’t believe I admitted that.”

“You said it like a confession.”

“It felt like one.”

His eyes softened.

“Why?”

No one had ever asked gently enough for the truth before.

Emma looked down at her hands. “Because everyone always wanted something first.”

The room became impossibly quiet.

Money.

Attention.

Convenience.

A body.

But never
her.

Dante studied her for a long moment before reaching into his coat pocket.

He placed a small silver key on the table between them.

“What’s this?”

“My penthouse elevator key.”

Emma blinked. “Why are you giving me that?”

“So if you ever need help, you can reach me directly.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

She stared at him, stunned.

A man like Dante Moretti didn’t hand out trust.

He handed out fear.

And somehow, impossibly, he was offering her something else entirely.

Before Emma could answer, Dante’s phone vibrated.

His expression changed instantly.

Cold.

Deadly.

He answered quietly in Italian.

Emma didn’t understand the words.

But she understood danger.

Because Dante suddenly looked furious.

He ended the call slowly.

“What happened?”

His jaw tightened.

“They found the man who followed you.”

“And?”

Dante looked at her with terrifying calm.

“He works for my brother.”

“Your brother followed me?”

Dante’s expression darkened. “Half-brother.”

“That somehow feels worse.”

“It is.”

Rain hammered the windows while Dante stood motionless beside the fire, every inch of him radiating restrained violence.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself. “Why would your brother care about me?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because he cares about hurting me.”

The answer landed heavily.

Dante walked toward the window overlooking Chicago’s glittering skyline.

“My father built an empire,” he said quietly. “When he died, he left it to me.”

“And your brother?”

“He believed it should’ve been his.”

Emma swallowed hard.

“You’re talking about organized crime.”

Dante glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m talking about family.”

That was somehow colder.

His phone rang again.

This time he ignored it.

Emma watched him carefully.
For the first time since meeting him, she saw the exhaustion beneath the power.

“How long have you been fighting him?”

“Since we were boys.”

“That sounds miserable.”

Another silence settled.

Then Dante looked back at her.

“You should leave Chicago.”

Emma laughed softly in disbelief. “I can barely afford groceries.”

“I’ll arrange everything.”

“There you go again.”

“Emma—”

“No.” She stepped closer. “You don’t get to decide my life because your family is dangerous.”

His eyes flashed.

“And you don’t understand how dangerous.”

The words cracked through the room.

But Emma refused to back down.

“I understand enough to know you’re trying to scare me.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

The honesty in his voice stunned her.

Dante moved toward her slowly, stopping just inches away.