“If my brother thinks you matter to me,” he said quietly, “he becomes a threat to you.”

Emma’s heart pounded.

“And do I matter to you?”

The question escaped before she could stop it.

Dante froze.

For one suspended moment, the air between them felt electric.

Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You walked into my office terrified,” he murmured. “And still worried more about your boss than yourself.”

His thumb brushed her cheek.

“You matter.”

Emma forgot how breathing worked.

A knock suddenly slammed against the suite door.

Both of them turned instantly.

Dante’s entire body changed.

Predatory.

He moved Emma behind him without hesitation.

Another knock came.

Harder.

Dante opened the door with terrifying calm.

Two armed men stood outside.

“Boss,” one said urgently. “There’s been an attack at the docks.”

Dante’s face hardened into stone.

“Casualties?”

Emma watched something cold enter his eyes.

The softness vanished.

The man everyone feared returned.

Dante looked back at her once.

“Lock this door behind me.”

Then he disappeared into the storm.

Emma didn’t sleep.

She sat curled on the massive hotel bed while lightning flashed beyond the windows and Dante’s warning echoed in her mind.

No one had ever said it like that before.

Like it was dangerous.

Like it was true.

At 3:17 a.m., the suite door opened.

Emma shot upright.

Dante stepped inside looking exhausted and furious.

There was fresh blood on his knuckles.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s not mine.”

That should not have relieved her as much as it did.

Dante loosened his tie with one hand, clearly trying to hold himself together through sheer force.

“You should’ve slept.”

“You should probably stop coming home covered in blood.”

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

“Fair point.”

He looked tired enough to collapse.

Emma stood slowly. “Sit down.”

Dante blinked.

“You heard me.”

To her surprise, he obeyed.

She found the hotel first-aid kit in the bathroom and knelt beside him carefully.

Up close, his injuries looked worse.

Bruised knuckles.

A split cut near his brow.

Emma cleaned the blood gently.

Dante watched her the entire time.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said quietly.

“I think I should be.”

“But you aren’t.”

Emma met his eyes.

“I think you’re afraid of yourself enough for both of us.”

Something vulnerable flickered across his face.

Gone almost instantly.

Her fingers brushed his jaw accidentally.

The room seemed to still.

Dante’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

Emma’s pulse exploded.

“You should stop looking at me like that,” she whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying very hard not to do something.”

His hand slid slowly around her wrist.

“Maybe I am.”

Every nerve in her body lit on fire.

Emma had never been kissed.

Not because she didn’t want to be.

Because life had always been survival first.

There had never been room for softness.

For romance.

For this.

Dante rose slowly to his feet.

Towering over her.

Dangerous.

Gentle.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

Emma looked up at him with her heart hammering against her ribs.