The city glowed beneath them, sprawling out like a sea of glittering lights from the vantage of Dante’s penthouse. But neither Dante nor Alessia paid it any mind. The quiet luxury of the room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek modern design, felt almost oppressive as they both grappled with the storm inside them.

Dante stood near the windows, his silhouette sharp against the night. His thoughts were still tangled from the evening's events, but one thing was clear: Alessia wasn’t just his right hand anymore. She was something more, something dangerous. And he couldn’t afford distractions—not with his empire at stake.

But Alessia had always been more than just a distraction.

His eyes flicked toward the door where she had left moments ago. He could still feel the pull, the tension that simmered every time they were in the same room. It gnawed at him, this desire he couldn’t quite control. He had tried to push it aside for months, convincing himself it was nothing more than lust. But the way his heart had pounded tonight when Sergei had looked at her—it wasn’t just lust.

It was possession.

And that was a problem.

Turning away from the window, Dante crossed the room to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light as he swirled it in his glass. His mind drifted to the meeting. The deal had gone smoothly enough, but there was something about Sergei’s gaze that lingered.

Sergei had seen it. He had noticed the way Dante had tensed when his attention turned to Alessia, the way his jaw clenched when he complimented her. And now, Sergei knew. He had seen the crack in Dante’s armor—the weakness he had never shown to anyone else.

Dante took a slow sip of the whiskey, the warmth spreading through his chest. He had always been careful, always kept his emotions in check. But now, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the act. Alessia was too close, too much a part of his world. She had become something more than just his enforcer, something more than a tool in his empire.

She was essential.

And that scared him more than he cared to admit.

---

Alessia walked through the quiet streets, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The night air was crisp, biting at her skin, but she welcomed the cold. It cleared her head, gave her something tangible to focus on.

She had to get a grip.

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Everything with Dante was becoming too complicated, too entangled. It had been easy in the beginning—he was just another boss, another powerful man who needed her skills to keep his empire running smoothly. She had played this role a thousand times before.

But this… this was different.

Dante wasn’t like the others. He was calculating, dangerous, and more importantly, he saw her. Not just as a weapon or a tool, but as something more. And that terrified her.

She had built her life around control—control over her emotions, over her past, over the way people saw her. Alessia Volkov, the ice queen, the one who never let anyone close. That’s what had kept her alive all these years. But with Dante, that control was slipping.

He made her feel things she had long since buried.

She stopped at a corner, her breath clouding in the cool night air. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets empty save for the occasional passing car. She closed her eyes, willing the emotions to subside, willing herself to go back to the woman she had been before she met him.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the way his touch had lingered on her skin, the way his voice had dropped just a fraction when he’d spoken to her tonight. He wanted her. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in the air between them.

And worse, she wanted him too.

But she couldn’t afford to want Dante Bianchi. It would be her undoing. She had spent too many years guarding her heart, too many years surviving in a world where attachments were fatal. She couldn’t let herself fall into that trap again.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen.

A message from Dante.

I’ll need you at the docks tomorrow. We have unfinished business with Sergei.

No pleasantries, no personal notes. Just business.

Alessia exhaled, relieved. This was how it had to be. They couldn’t afford to let anything interfere with the work. Not the simmering tension between them, not the flickers of desire that threatened to unravel everything.

She typed a quick response—Understood—and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

But as she continued down the empty street, her mind lingered on Dante, on the way his voice had sounded when he had called her name in the penthouse, the way he had looked at her like he was seeing past the walls she had spent years building.

She was in deep, deeper than she had ever intended to be. And she didn’t know how to get out.

---

The next day arrived with a biting wind sweeping across the docks. The water lapped quietly against the pier, the smell of salt and diesel filling the air. Dante stood near a stack of shipping containers, his coat billowing slightly in the breeze, his face as unreadable as ever.

Alessia arrived a few minutes later, her posture as rigid and controlled as always. She was all business, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her eyes scanning the area for threats.

“Sergei’s men?” she asked, stepping up beside him.

“Not here yet,” Dante replied, his voice low.

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind whipping around them. Dante could feel the tension between them, thicker than the cold air. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation. Not yet.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said after a beat, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “About last night.”

Alessia’s heart skipped, but she kept her expression neutral. “What about it?”

“Sergei saw something between us,” Dante continued, his voice measured. “Something I didn’t intend for him to see.”

Alessia stayed silent, unsure of where he was going with this.

“I don’t like people thinking they can use you against me,” he said finally, turning to look at her. His dark eyes were intense, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“I can handle myself,” she replied, her voice cold.

“I know,” Dante said, his gaze unwavering. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let them try.”

There was a weight in his words, something more than just professional concern. Alessia felt it, the way his gaze lingered on her, the way his voice had softened just a fraction.

“Dante, we can’t afford this,” she said quietly, her tone more vulnerable than she intended.

“I know,” he said again, but this time there was something raw in his voice. “But that doesn’t mean it’s going away.”

Alessia looked away, the tension between them suffocating. She wanted to push him away, to tell him that this—whatever it was—couldn’t happen. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, they stood in silence, the line between them growing thinner with every passing second.

And as Sergei’s convoy approached in the distance, both of them knew that line would soon be impossible to ignore.