She Kissed the Mafia Boss on a Dare—Then He Whispered, “Now You’re Mine”

She Kissed the Mafia Boss on a Dare—Then He Whispered, “Now You’re Mine”

The champagne had gone straight to my head. That was my only excuse for agreeing to the absolutely insane dare.

My best friend, Maya, hissed in my ear that she could not believe I was actually going to do it. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into my arm hard enough to leave marks through the thin fabric of my dress. She said it was crazy. I did not know who that man was.

I did not, but that was precisely the point of the dare. Kiss a stranger at that ridiculously opulent party and collect my $200 from the betting pool. It would prove to Maya and our college friends that I was not the boring, play-it-safe girl they all thought I was.

I was 22 years old and had never done anything remotely spontaneous. I never broke rules, never took risks, and never lived. I studied, worked my part-time job at the campus library, and watched life happen to other people while I observed from the sidelines.

That night was supposed to change that.

The party was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was held in a penthouse that probably cost more than I would earn in my entire lifetime. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering cityscape below. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors. Women in designer gowns and men in custom suits mingled with the ease of people who had never worried about money a day in their lives.

Maya’s boyfriend had gotten us on the guest list through some business connection of his father’s, he had said vaguely when I asked. It was an opportunity to see how the other half lived, drink expensive champagne, and pretend we belonged in that world for 1 night.

I reminded Maya that $200 was my grocery budget for a month, though my voice shook slightly.

She shot back that it was not worth getting killed over. That man was not just some random rich guy. She told me to really look at him.

I had been looking for the past 20 minutes. I had been watching him from across the room, working up the courage to approach. He stood near the bar, a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand, engaged in conversation with 2 other men in expensive suits. Even from that distance, even surrounded by other wealthy, powerful-looking people, he commanded attention in a way that had nothing to do with money.

He was tall, easily over 6 feet, with broad shoulders and a build that suggested he spent serious time in the gym. His dark hair was swept back from a face of sharp angles and hard edges. He had olive skin, and even from where I stood, I could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw. He wore a tailored black suit that probably cost more than my tuition, the jacket fitting perfectly across those wide shoulders.

But something else drew the eye. An aura of danger, of barely contained violence wrapped in expensive fabric and civilized manners. I noticed the way other guests gave him a wide berth without seeming to realize they were doing it. I noticed the way the 2 men he spoke to stood with deferential postures, like subjects before a king.

And the tattoos. Even in that formal setting, I could see the edge of ink peeking above his collar and disappearing beneath his shirt. They were more visible on his hands when he lifted his glass, intricate designs that spoke of a life far removed from corporate boardrooms and country clubs.

I told Maya he was perfect, ignoring the warning bells clanging in my head. The champagne had silenced my usual caution, replacing it with liquid courage and reckless determination. He was exactly the kind of man who would never expect someone like me to approach him. I was doing it.

I downed the rest of my champagne, the bubbles burning down my throat, and told Maya to watch my purse.

I moved before I could change my mind, weaving through the crowd with my heart hammering against my ribs. The closer I got, the more details I noticed: the expensive watch on his wrist, the gold signet ring on his right hand. His dark eyes tracked the entire room with predatory awareness, seemingly missing nothing at all.

Those eyes landed on me when I was still 10 feet away. Dark, almost black, they locked onto mine with an intensity that nearly stopped me in my tracks. I watched something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe, or curiosity, as I continued my approach with more confidence than I felt.

The 2 men he had been speaking with fell silent as I stepped into their circle.

Up close, he was even more devastating. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built beneath the perfectly tailored suit. His face was all sharp planes and angles, saved from being too harsh by an almost obscenely sensual mouth. And the danger radiated from him like heat from a fire. There was something in those dark eyes that said he had seen things and done things that would give normal people nightmares.

I said hello and told him my name was Riley, proud when my voice came out steady.

He studied me for a long moment. His gaze traveled from my face down the length of my body, taking in my simple black dress borrowed from Maya’s closet, before returning to my eyes. He was not leering, only assessing and cataloging.

Finally, he said his name was Dante. His voice was a low rumble with just a hint of an accent I could not place. Italian, maybe. Then he said I was either very brave or very foolish for approaching him like that.

I said maybe both.

The faintest curve touched his lips. It was not quite a smile, but close.

Without looking at the 2 men, Dante excused us. It was not a request. They melted away immediately, leaving us alone in our small bubble of space despite the crowded room.

Dante said my name, his attention entirely focused on me in a way that made my skin heat. He asked what brought a girl like me to a party like that.

A girl like me. He had clocked me immediately as an outsider, someone who did not belong in a world of wealth, power, and danger. I should have been insulted. Instead, I found it oddly reassuring that I had not fooled anyone with my borrowed dress and fake confidence.

I admitted my friend had gotten me on the guest list. There was no point in lying to someone who clearly saw right through me. Curiosity, I said. I wanted to see how the other half lived.

He took a sip of whiskey, his dark eyes never leaving my face, and asked if I was impressed.

I said intimidated was more accurate. It was another truth that slipped out because of the champagne. Everyone there looked as if they had been born knowing which fork to use and how to make small talk about stock portfolios.

That almost smile appeared again. He asked what I was.

I told him I was a college student who worked at the library and ate ramen 3 times a week. Then I tilted my head, studying him the way he had studied me. I told him he was not what I expected.

He asked what I had expected.

I did not know. Someone more polished, I guessed. He looked like he would be more comfortable in a fight than in a ballroom.

The words were out before I could stop them, champagne loosening my tongue beyond the point of wisdom. His eyes widened fractionally. Surprise crossed his face before it was replaced by something darker and more interested.

Softly, he called me perceptive. Most people there were too afraid to acknowledge what they saw when they looked at him.

I asked if I should be afraid. The question came out breathier than intended.

My heart raced as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us to something that felt far too intimate for strangers at a party. He admitted I probably should be. But I was not. I was nervous, yes, but not afraid. He asked why.

Because I was an idiot with too much champagne in my system and a dare to complete. Because standing that close to him made me feel alive in a way I had never experienced. Because danger had never looked so appealing, wrapped in an expensive suit and dark eyes that saw too much.

Slowly, I said I thought he was exactly the kind of dangerous I needed right then.

His eyes darkened further, and I knew he had understood the double meaning. He considered it, weighing whatever he saw in my face against some internal calculation I could not begin to guess at.

He told me to be careful. His hand came up to catch a strand of my hair, letting it slip through his fingers in a gesture that felt possessive despite its gentleness. I had no idea what I was asking for.

Maybe I did not. Maybe I was making the biggest mistake of my life, driven by champagne, a stupid dare, and the desperate need to prove I was more than the boring, careful girl everyone thought I was. Or maybe this was exactly what I needed.

I told him, barely audible above the party noise, that I should warn him I was about to do something incredibly stupid.

Dante said he looked forward to it. There was dark amusement in his tone, mixed with something that might have been anticipation.

I rose onto my toes. Even in heels, I barely reached his shoulder. I had to stretch up as he instinctively bent down slightly. His hand moved from my hair to cup the back of my neck in a gesture that felt both supportive and claiming.

For 1 crystalline moment, we hung there. His breath was warm on my lips, and his dark eyes bored into mine with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left.

Then I closed the distance and kissed him.

I had meant it to be quick, a brief press of lips enough to complete the dare, collect my money, and retreat before my nerve failed completely. But the moment our mouths met, something shifted. It changed. It ignited.

His lips were surprisingly soft against mine, but the kiss itself was anything but gentle. His hand tightened on the back of my neck, holding me in place as he took control, deepening the kiss with a skill that made my head spin worse than any champagne. His other hand found my waist, pulling me flush against his body. I could feel the hard muscle beneath his suit, the contained strength in the way he held me.

I had been kissed before by fumbling college boys who did not know what they were doing, who mashed their lips against mine with more enthusiasm than technique. This was not that. This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, who kissed as if it were an art form he had perfected.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathing hard. My lips tingled, and my entire body hummed with awareness. His dark eyes were unfocused for just a moment before they sharpened again, settling on my face with an expression I could not read.

I said I had managed it. Dare completed. My voice was shakier than I wanted it to be.

I started to step back, to put distance between us before I did something even more stupid, like kiss him again. But his hand on my waist tightened, keeping me anchored against him.

He asked where I thought I was going. His voice was rougher now, edged with something dark and possessive that sent shivers down my spine.

I said I should get back to my friend. I thanked him for—

He said we were not done yet.

The words were delivered with quiet authority, a statement of fact rather than a request. His hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, proprietary and possessive, while his other hand remained on my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw in a caress that made my breath catch.

I whispered that I did not understand, though some part of me understood perfectly. I had kissed him on a dare, treated him like a game piece in my attempt to prove I could be spontaneous and reckless. Now he was making it clear he did not appreciate being used for someone else’s entertainment.

He said I had walked up to him, kissed him in front of half the city’s elite, and now I wanted to simply walk away. His thumb pressed slightly harder against my jaw, tilting my face up to his. That was not how it worked.

I asked how. What worked.

My heart hammered so hard I was sure he could feel it.

He said this, whatever had just happened between us.

I said I did not know what he meant, though the lie tasted bitter. I knew exactly what he meant. The kiss had been more than a dare completed. It had been explosive, magnetic, and dangerous in ways I was only beginning to understand.

Dante told me not to play games with him. His voice dropped to a near whisper that somehow cut through the ambient noise of the party. I had felt it too. The moment our lips met, something changed.

He was right, and denying it would be pointless. But admitting it felt like stepping off a cliff into darkness, not knowing whether there was ground below or only endless falling.

Weakly, I said it was only a kiss.

He repeated the words as if they amused him. Then he asked if I made a habit of kissing dangerous strangers at parties.

I said no, sharper than I intended. It was a first for me.

Good, he said. The satisfaction in his voice was unmistakable. Then he told me to let him be clear. I had walked into his orbit, claimed his attention, kissed him as if staking a claim, and now I was his until he decided otherwise.

The possessiveness in his words should have terrified me. It should have sent me running back to Maya and the safety of the familiar. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my belly, awakening something I had not known existed inside me.

I protested that he could not simply claim someone, even as my body betrayed me by leaning into his touch.

He said he could, and he just had. The question was whether I would fight it or accept it.

I said I did not even know him, but somehow my hands had found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric and the steady beat of his heart.

He said we could change that. Then he released me suddenly, leaving me oddly bereft before offering his hand. He told me to dance with him.

It was not a request any more than his earlier declaration had been. This was a man used to being obeyed, to having his commands followed without question. Every instinct I had screamed that I should refuse, put distance between us, find Maya, and leave the party before I got in over my head.

But when had I ever listened to my instincts? When had playing it safe ever gotten me anything but a quiet, boring life?

I placed my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and strong, and he led me toward the dance floor, where other couples swayed to music I had not noticed until then. A live band played something slow and sultry, the kind of music that demanded close contact and intimate movement.

Dante pulled me into his arms with practiced ease, one hand settling on my lower back while the other kept hold of mine. That close, I could smell his cologne, something expensive and masculine with hints of cedar and spice. I could see the faint scar above his left eyebrow and the way his dark eyes tracked my every expression with unnerving intensity.

As we began to move, he asked me to tell him about myself. He was an excellent dancer, leading me effortlessly across the floor despite my less-than-perfect skills. He wanted to know what brought a college student who ate ramen to a party like that, beyond curiosity.

I told him it was a dare. There was no point lying when he had probably already guessed. My friends had bet me $200 that I would not kiss the most dangerous-looking man at the party.

Something flashed in his eyes, surprise maybe, or respect for my honesty. He asked if I had chosen him.

I told him he was the obvious choice. Everyone else looked polished and safe. He looked like he would be comfortable breaking someone’s kneecaps.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and I felt it vibrate through my body where we were pressed together. He said I had excellent instincts and should probably listen to them more often.

I admitted my instincts were currently telling me to run, but I was ignoring them.

He asked why. His hand on my back pressed slightly harder, pulling me even closer until there was barely any space between us.

Because for once in my life, I wanted to do something reckless, something that made me feel alive instead of simply existing. The champagne had definitely loosened my tongue beyond the point of wisdom. Because he was the most interesting thing that had happened to me in years, and I wanted to see where it went, even though I knew it was probably a terrible idea.

Dante agreed that it was definitely a terrible idea, but there was approval in his voice. He told me he was not a good man. The things I sensed about him, the danger I recognized, were all true. He operated in a world where violence was currency and loyalty was bought with blood.

I asked if he was trying to scare me away.

He said he was trying to give me an out. His dark eyes bored into mine. Because once I was truly in his world, truly his, there was no easy exit. I needed to understand that before we went any further.

That was my chance. My opportunity to thank him for the dance, collect my dare money from Maya, and go back to my safe, boring life. To be smart for once instead of reckless.

Instead, I asked what happened if I did not want an out. What if I wanted to see where that dangerous path led?

Something shifted in his expression, predatory satisfaction mixing with a dark promise. Then, he said, I was either very brave or very foolish.

I reminded him he had already said that. I smiled despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. I was still deciding which one I was.

He said he could help me decide. Then he spun me suddenly, my back pressing against his chest as we continued to move. His arm banded across my waist, holding me captive. His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, his breath warm against my skin. He was going to tell me exactly who he was and what he did. Then I would make a choice. Stay or run. But I needed to know that if I chose to stay, I was his completely. No games, no halfway measures.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I told him I was listening.

His name was Dante Caruso. He ran one of the largest organized crime families on the East Coast. Drugs, weapons, protection, gambling. If it was illegal and profitable, his organization had a hand in it. He said it matter-of-factly, discussing his criminal empire with the same casualness most people used to discuss the weather. He had killed 17 men with his own hands and ordered the deaths of countless others. He was feared from there to Chicago, and for good reason.

The smart thing would have been to panic, pull away, and run as fast as my borrowed heels could carry me. But pressed against his solid warmth, his arm secure around my waist, I felt oddly safe despite the danger he represented.

I asked why he was telling me.

Because he wanted me to understand what I was getting into. His hands played possessively across my stomach. He had seen me the moment I walked into the party. He had seen me watching him, working up the courage to approach, and he had known I did not belong there. He had known I was trouble he did not need. But then I kissed him, and everything changed.

I asked how, barely recognizing my own voice, breathy and affected by his proximity.

Because in that kiss, he tasted innocence and recklessness in equal measure. He felt something he had not felt in years: genuine desire mixed with real connection. He turned me again, pulling me back to face him, his hands framing my face with unexpected gentleness. I was dangerous to him, to the control he had spent years building, and he should let me walk away before it went any further.

I said he would not, with a certainty I did not entirely understand.

He agreed. He would not. He was a selfish bastard who wanted what he wanted, and he wanted me.

The directness of his desire and the raw honesty of his admission sent heat flooding through me. I said he did not even know me.

He said to let him learn. His forehead pressed against mine. Stay, he said. Not only for that night, but really stay. Let him show me his world, dark as it was. Let him claim me properly, protect me, keep me.

I whispered that it was insane. We had just met. He had just told me he was a criminal.

He said he had told me I was either brave or foolish. Which would it be?

I thought about my life back at school: the endless studying, the part-time job shelving books, the weekends spent alone in my dorm room because I was too shy to truly connect with people. I thought about the safe, predictable path I had been following since high school, playing by all the rules and getting exactly nowhere.

And I thought about the way Dante made me feel: alive, desired, seen in a way I had never experienced. He was dangerous, yes, but also exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a cliff with my arms spread wide, ready to either fly or fall.

I heard myself tell him I wanted to stay, but I had conditions.

Interest sparked in his dark eyes. He told me to name them.

I said I was still in school. I was not dropping out or abandoning my education. The words came firmer as my brain finally caught up to my heart. I also needed honesty. No lies. No pretty stories to make his world seem less dark than it was.

He agreed without hesitation and asked if there was anything else.

If I wanted to leave, if it became too intense or too dangerous, he had to let me go. No threats, no manipulation, no making me stay when I wanted out.

He considered that one longer, his jaw tightening. He promised he would never threaten or hurt me, but walking away from him and his world was not as simple as leaving. Once I was in, once people knew I was his, I became a potential target, a liability. Letting me go meant putting security measures in place and ensuring I was protected even from a distance.

The reality of what I was agreeing to began to sink in. This was not merely dating a dangerous man. It was entering an entire world I did not understand, accepting protection and possession in equal measure.

I admitted I was scared.

He said good. His hands moved from my face to my shoulders, grounding and reassuring. Fear kept me alert. It kept me safe. He would be more concerned if I were not scared.

I asked if he would protect me.

From whatever dangers came with being his, with his life, he said simply. And I believed him. I was his now. That meant anyone who wanted to hurt me had to go through him first. And that was not a fight anyone won.

Around us, the party continued, oblivious to the life-altering decision being made on the dance floor. Maya was probably looking for me, worried about where I had disappeared to. My phone was likely buzzing with texts I could not feel through my clutch, but all of it felt distant and irrelevant compared to the man in front of me and the choice I was making.

I said okay, the words sealing my fate. I would stay. I would be his.

Then I said his name.

He answered.

I told him this had better be worth it.

His smile was dark and full of promise. He said he was going to make sure it was.

He kissed me again, different from the first time. This was not a surprise stolen kiss at a party. This was a claiming, a promise, and a beginning. His lips moved against mine with possessive certainty while his hands held me close. One tangled in my hair. The other pressed against my lower back.

When we broke apart, I was breathing hard, my lips swollen, my entire body humming with want.

Dante took my hand with casual possession and told me to come. He would introduce me to his world properly.

Part 2

Dante led me off the dance floor with confident purpose, his hand never leaving mine. The possessive grip sent mixed signals through my nervous system, half warning and half reassurance. We headed toward the far side of the penthouse, away from the main party and toward a hallway guarded by a man built like a concrete wall.

The guard acknowledged Dante as Mr. Caruso with a respectful nod and stepped aside without question.

I pulled back slightly and told Dante to wait. I asked where we were going. My friend Maya was probably worried, and I should at least text her.

Dante stopped and turned fully toward me. He said of course. He was not kidnapping me, though he appreciated that I thought to tell someone where I was. Smart girl.

I pulled my phone from my clutch and found exactly what I expected: 7 texts from Maya, ranging from excited to concerned to borderline panicked. The last message said that if I did not answer, she was calling the police.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard. What could I possibly say? Remember the dangerous man I kissed? He turned out to be a mafia boss, and I had just agreed to be his. Do not wait up.

Dante told me to say I was safe. Tell her I met someone and would text her later with details. Give her his first name if it made me feel better.

I typed a quick message, telling Maya I was safe, that I had met someone named Dante, and that he was taking me somewhere quieter to talk. I would call her the next day. She should not worry. Then, because I knew Maya would demand it, I added that I promised I was okay and that it was my choice.

Her response came immediately. She asked if I was insane.

Probably, I thought, but did not type. Instead, I said maybe, but I was doing it. She had to trust me.

After a long pause, she asked whether my location was on and whether I would call her first thing the next day.

I said yes to both and told her I loved her.

She told me she loved me too, called me crazy, and told me to be safe.

I tucked my phone away and looked up at Dante. I said okay. I was all his.

Something heated flashed in his dark eyes at my phrasing. He told me to be careful saying things like that. He might take it literally.

I said maybe I wanted him to.

I had more bravado than certainty, but he studied me for a long moment before gently tugging me forward. He said there were people I should meet if I was going to be part of his life.

The hallway opened into a private lounge area, separated from the main party by both distance and heavy doors that muffled the music to a distant thrum. The room was smaller and more intimate, decorated with dark leather and rich wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city sprawling below, lights glittering like scattered diamonds.

Four men occupied the space, all in expensive suits and all radiating the same dangerous energy I had sensed in Dante. Conversation stopped abruptly when we entered. Four sets of eyes locked onto me with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.

Dante greeted them, his hand moving to the small of my back in a possessive gesture. He introduced me as Riley and said I was under his protection as of that night.

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning I was only beginning to understand. Under his protection. Not simply a date, not someone he was interested in. Something more official, more binding.

One of the men, a tall man with a scar running down his left cheek, addressed him as Boss and said, with respect, that they should discuss it.

Dante called him Marco and said there was nothing to discuss. He was informing them, not asking permission.

Marco’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

The others welcomed me as Miss Riley with varying levels of enthusiasm. I felt as if I were being evaluated, weighed, and measured against a standard I did not understand.

Dante guided me farther into the room and explained that these were his most trusted men. Marco, his second in command. Vincent, who handled security. Luca, who oversaw financial operations. Anthony, who managed information networks.

I asked if that meant Anthony was his hacker before I could stop myself, earning surprised looks from all 4 men.

Anthony, the youngest of the group, with sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, cracked a smile and said he already liked me.

Dante said I was perceptive, with a note of pride in his voice that sent unexpected warmth through me. And brave enough to kiss him in front of half the city’s elite on a dare.

Vincent raised an eyebrow and asked if the boss had been marked by a college girl on a dare.

I supplied helpfully that it was for $200. My friends had bet me I would not do it.

Luca laughed, a sound like rolling thunder, and asked if I had collected.

I said not yet. I had gotten distracted. Then I glanced up at Dante and asked whether I could still collect if I had ended up actually wanting to kiss him.

Dante said he would give me $2,000, calling it a finder’s fee for walking into his life.

My eyes widened. I told him that was insane. The dare had been for $200.

He said to consider the rest a welcome gift.

Then he guided me to a leather sofa, sat, and pulled me down beside him with casual possession. He told the men I was a student, worked at a library, and by my own admission ate ramen 3 times a week. That was about to change.

I protested that I could not accept money from him, even as part of me calculated what $2,000 could do for my perpetually empty bank account.

Dante said I was his now. That meant he took care of me. Besides, I would need a new wardrobe. The dress I wore, though lovely, was borrowed.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I asked how he knew.

He said it did not quite fit right. His hand traced along my side, proving his point where the fabric did not sit quite flush against my ribs. Beautiful, but not tailored for my body. And my shoes—he had noticed I had been uncomfortable in them all night.

The casual observation should have embarrassed me. Instead, I felt oddly seen, noticed in a way that made me feel like I mattered.

I said I was a college student. Designer clothes were not in my budget.

He said they were now. He pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. His assistant would contact me the next day to arrange a shopping appointment. Whatever I wanted, whatever I needed, it was mine.

I said this was not negotiable.

He said my name, then told me I was under his protection, which meant I was a reflection of him. He would not have me struggling financially when he had more money than he could spend in 3 lifetimes.

Pride warred with practicality. The notion of being a kept woman made my feminist sensibilities recoil in strong disapproval. Yet the harsh reality of my student loan debt, my perpetually empty bank account, and the constant stress of juggling school and work made his offer incredibly tempting.

Firmly, I said I was still working and still going to classes. I was not becoming some trophy girlfriend who shopped all day.

He said he would not want me to. Genuine respect colored his words. My education mattered. My independence mattered. But there was no reason I should eat ramen when he could ensure I was properly fed. No reason I should stress about rent when he owned half the buildings in the city.

Marco cleared his throat and said they should discuss security protocols if Miss Riley was going to be involved.

Dante said there were arrangements to make tomorrow. That night, he only wanted to enjoy my company.

Marco pressed, with respect, that the moment Dante introduced me to them, I became a potential target. The Rossi family alone would already be aware.

Dante cut him off sharply. Nico Rossi was at the party. He had seen Dante kiss me, seen him claim me on the dance floor. By then, every major family in the city knew Dante had taken someone under his protection, which was exactly why we were having that conversation there privately instead of out in the crowd.

Ice slid down my spine. I asked what he meant by target.

Dante turned to me, his expression serious. He had told me his world was dangerous. That included the reality that his enemies might try to get to him through me. That was why he had asked if I wanted to stay. That was why I needed to understand what I was agreeing to.

The champagne buzz had worn off completely, leaving cold reality in its wake. I asked if he was saying people might try to hurt me because of him.

He said they might try. They would not succeed. Then he told Marco to arrange a full security detail starting the next morning. He wanted eyes on me 24/7. He turned back to me and said he would need my class schedule and my work schedule.

I whispered that it was insane. I kissed him on a dare, and now I needed armed guards.

He said yes. There was no apology in his voice, only flat honesty. That was what it meant to be his. Protection and possession in equal measure. If it was too much, if I wanted to walk away, then that was the time to say so.

I should have said yes. I should have thanked him for an interesting evening and run back to my safe, boring life. But looking at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes mixed with possessive determination, I found that I could not.

Instead, I asked about the security detail. Would they follow me around campus, sit in my classes? That would raise questions.

Dante explained that Anthony handled discreet surveillance: camera access, digital monitoring, strategic positioning. I would have 1 physical guard who maintained distance but stayed close enough to intervene if needed. On campus, he would blend in as another student. At the library, another patron. I would barely notice him.

Until I needed him, I finished.

Dante confirmed it. Until I needed him, or until someone threatened me, at which point subtle became irrelevant.

Vincent leaned forward and told me he would handle my security personally until permanent arrangements were in place. I should know they took protection very seriously. Their job was to keep me safe without interfering with my life.

I had to ask how often this happened. Women needing protection because they were involved with Dante.

Marco answered before Dante could. Never. Boss did not do relationships. He did not bring women into the organization. I was the first in the 15 years Marco had worked for him.

The information sat heavy in the air between us. I was an anomaly, an exception to the rules Dante apparently lived by.

I asked why me. What made me different?

Dante’s hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone with unexpected gentleness. Honestly, he did not know. Maybe it was the courage it took to approach him. Maybe it was the kiss. Maybe it was the way I looked at him, as if he was dangerous but worth the risk anyway. All he knew was that the moment my lips touched his, something clicked into place. He was not letting me go.

The possessiveness should have frightened me. Instead, it sent warmth pooling in my belly. It made me feel desired and valued in a way I had never experienced.

I said it was crazy.

He agreed it was completely insane, but also inevitable from the moment I walked toward him with determination in my eyes. It was always going to end with me being his.

I accused him of being arrogant, without heat.

He corrected me: honest.

Then he proved it by kissing me again, right there in front of his men, claiming me as thoroughly as any words could.

When Dante finally released me from the kiss, I was breathing hard and extremely aware of the 4 men who had just witnessed it. Heat flooded my cheeks as I pulled back slightly, but Dante’s hand on my waist kept me anchored against his side.

Without taking his eyes off me, he dismissed the men. Marco was to have the security detail in place by morning. Vincent would coordinate with Anthony on surveillance. Luca would make sure my financial situation was handled by the next afternoon.

I turned to look at him and asked what financial situation.

He said my student loans, rent, and any outstanding debts. They would be cleared by close of business the next day.

I told him he could not simply pay off my student loans. That was thousands of dollars.

Anthony supplied helpfully that it was $73,412. He apologized, saying he could not help running a basic background check once Dante claimed me. Also, my landlord was an asshole who had been overcharging me for my studio apartment.

I stared at him and asked if he had looked into my finances in the last 20 minutes.

He said 15, actually. He had the grace to look slightly apologetic. It was what he did. For what it was worth, my credit score was impressive given my income.

I turned back to Dante and said again that it was insane. He could not buy me. That was what it felt like, as if he was buying me with money and security.

Dante interrupted firmly. He was taking care of what was his. There was a difference. I was still Riley. Still independent, still going to school and work. But I was not going to struggle anymore, not when he had the means to make my life easier.

I protested that I barely knew him.

He said we would change that. Then he stood and pulled me up with him. He told everyone to leave. Riley and I needed to talk privately.

The 4 men filed out without protest, though Marco shot me a look I could not interpret before the door closed behind him. Then it was only Dante and me in the quiet lounge, the party a distant hum through the walls.

Dante observed that I was overwhelmed and guided me back to the sofa. He asked what was going through my head.

I did not even know where to start. Two hours earlier, I had been a normal college student at a party on a dare. Now, I was apparently someone’s—what exactly? Girlfriend felt too simple. Property felt too harsh.

Dante said I was his. We could define it however I wanted, but the core truth was that simple. He had claimed me, and he was not letting go.

I asked what happened if I wanted to let go, even though some part of me already knew I did not want that.

His jaw tightened. He said we would deal with it if it happened. But I needed to be honest with myself. I had felt what he felt in that kiss: the connection, the chemistry, the rightness of it. I should not tell him I wanted to walk away from that.

He was right. That kiss had been unlike anything I had ever experienced, and sitting there with him, despite the insanity, felt more real than anything in my carefully planned life.

I admitted I was scared. Everything was happening so fast. The security detail, the money, meeting his people. It was too much.

He said we would slow down. He took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. The security was nonnegotiable. That started the next day regardless. Everything else could happen at whatever pace I needed.

I asked about the student loans.

He told me to consider it a gift. Or a loan if that made me feel better, though he would never collect. His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Letting me stress about debt when he could solve it with a phone call seemed pointless.

Pride warred with practicality. Seventy-three thousand dollars of debt wiped away just like that. It was tempting. God, it was tempting.

I asked if I could think about it. The money, I meant. It was a lot to process.

He said of course. He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. I could take all the time I needed. Though he warned me he was not particularly patient when it came to things he wanted. And he wanted me. All of me.

The intensity in his dark eyes sent shivers down my spine. The question burst out before I could stop it. Why? Marco said Dante did not do relationships. So why me? What made him break his own rules?

Dante was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. Finally, he said his wife had died 7 years earlier. Cancer. He watched her waste away over 18 months. Watched the strongest woman he had ever known reduced to nothing. When she finally died, he swore he would never let anyone that close again. He swore he would never give anyone that kind of power over him.

My breath caught. I told him I was sorry.

He told me to let him finish. His grip on my hand tightened slightly. For 7 years, he kept that promise. Women came and went, but no one stayed. No one mattered enough to break through the walls he had built. Until that night. Until I walked up to him with determination in my eyes and kissed him as if I were claiming something precious.

I whispered that it had only been a dare.

He said it was more than that. He turned to face me fully. The moment our lips met, he felt something he had not felt since Elena died. A connection. A spark. The possibility that maybe he could let someone in again without it destroying him.

The vulnerability in his admission cracked something open in my chest. This dangerous man, this crime boss who commanded fear and respect, was trusting me with his grief and his hope.

I told him I did not know whether I could live up to that. His wife sounded incredible. I was only a college student who ate ramen and worked at a library.

He said I was Riley. He cupped my face in both hands. Brave enough to approach a dangerous stranger. Bold enough to kiss him in front of half the city. Smart enough to ask questions and set boundaries. That was more than enough.

I began to ask what if the thing between us—

He kissed me, silencing my doubts with his lips on mine. This kiss was different from the others: softer, more tender, but no less consuming. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

He said we would deal with it together. But he did not think it would happen. The feeling, the pull between us, was rare, special, worth fighting for, even though we had just met. Especially because we had just met. Then his lips curved into a small smile. Elena and he had known each other for 3 days before he proposed. When you knew, you knew. And he knew that letting me walk away that night would be the biggest mistake of his life.

The certainty in his voice should have frightened me. Instead, it made me feel cherished, valued, and seen in a way I had never experienced.

Softly, I said okay. I was still terrified. I was still not sure it was smart. But okay. I wanted to try it. Try us.

He said thank God and pulled me into his arms. I let myself melt against his solid warmth. He said he had been prepared to be patient, but it would have killed him.

I laughed despite myself. Patient? He had claimed me in front of his men after knowing me for an hour.

He said an hour was long enough. His hand stroked down my back. Then he said we should probably return to the party. People would notice if we disappeared too long.

I asked if we had to. The thought of facing that crowd again, of pretending to be normal while my entire world had just been turned upside down, felt exhausting.

He said unfortunately, yes. He had business associates there who needed face time. He kissed the top of my head and promised we would leave as soon as it was polite. Then he told me to stay close to him. The moment he introduced me to his men, words started spreading. By then, everyone at the party knew I was under his protection. Most would respect that, but there were always those who tested boundaries.

Fresh anxiety spiked through me. I asked if someone might try something that night.

He said it was unlikely in such a public setting, but he did not take chances with what was his. He stood and pulled me up with him. I only needed to stay by his side, and I would be perfectly safe.

The possessive phrasing should have bothered me. Instead, it made me feel protected in a world I was only beginning to understand.

We returned to the party, and the difference was immediate. Eyes tracked us as we moved through the crowd. Conversations paused as we passed. I felt as if I were under a microscope, evaluated and assessed by people I had never met.

Dante murmured in my ear to ignore them, his hand firm on my lower back. They were only curious. I was new and unexpected. They would adjust.

A stunning woman in a silver gown, one that probably cost more than my car, approached us. She told Dante he had been keeping secrets.

Dante called her Natalia, his voice cooling noticeably. He said he had not realized she had been invited.

She said Antonio was there on business and she was only his plus one. Her cold, calculating eyes swept over me. Then she asked who I was and said I looked rather young.

Dante introduced me as Riley and said I was under his protection.

Natalia called that unexpected. She did not think Dante was in the market for a new pet.

Dante warned her softly to be careful. Beneath the silk of his voice was steel. That was not a line she wanted to cross.

Natalia smiled wider, all teeth and malice. She said of course not. It was lovely to meet me, and I should enjoy the party.

She swept away, leaving me distinctly uncomfortable.

I asked who she was.

Dante said Natalia Volkov was the wife of Antonio Volkov, head of the Russian Bratva in the city. His hand tightened on my waist. She was going to be a problem.

I asked why.

Because she had set her sights on becoming Dante’s wife after Elena died. She was not the type to accept competition gracefully.

Wonderful. I had been in Dante’s life for 2 hours and already had enemies. This was fine. Totally fine.

A male voice called Dante’s name. We turned to see a dark-haired, well-dressed man approaching, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He had heard rumors, he said, but had to see it for himself. Dante had actually taken someone under his protection.

Dante’s posture shifted subtly, becoming more guarded. He greeted the man as Nico and said yes. This was Riley. Riley, this was Nico Rossi. He ran the south side.

Nico said it was a pleasure, though his eyes were calculating as they swept over me. I was lovely. So very young. He hoped Dante knew what he was doing.

Dante said he always did.

Nico said of course. His smile widened. He congratulated Dante on his new companion and said he was sure we would be seeing more of each other.

The threat beneath the words was subtle but unmistakable. As Nico walked away, I felt Dante tense beside me.

I asked if that was not good.

Dante admitted it was not. Nico and he had an uneasy truce at best. I had just become leverage Nico could potentially use against him.

I said everyone there saw me as a weakness.

He said they saw me as something he cared about, which amounted to the same thing in his world. Then he turned me to face him. That was exactly why he needed me to accept the security. Why he needed me to trust that he could keep me safe.

Looking into his dark eyes, seeing the genuine concern mixed with determination, I found myself nodding. I told him okay. I trusted him.

The rest of the party passed in a blur. Dante introduced me to what felt like dozens of people, all wearing expensive clothes and fake smiles. Business associates, he called them, though I understood now that it meant criminals, other dangerous people operating in the shadows of that glittering city.

I smiled and nodded and tried not to think about how every person we spoke to was evaluating me, weighing my worth, and calculating how I could be used against Dante. The weight of their collective scrutiny felt suffocating.

During a brief moment alone, Dante murmured that I was doing well. He knew it was overwhelming.

I said everyone was staring at me, and not in a good way.

He said they were curious. He had not brought anyone to an event like that in 7 years. I was a statement, whether I intended to be or not. His hand traced soothing circles on my lower back. But we could leave soon. He had made the necessary appearances.

I asked how soon was soon.

He needed 10 more minutes. There was 1 more person he had to speak with, then we could leave.

Those 10 minutes felt like an hour. I stood beside Dante as he conducted business with a silver-haired man who kept shooting me speculative glances. The conversation was coded, full of phrases that sounded innocuous but clearly meant something more: territory, percentages, mutual interests.

Finally, mercifully, we were saying goodbyes and heading toward the exit. Maya caught my eye across the room, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and a small wave. The next day’s phone call was going to be interesting.

The elevator ride down was silent, the space too confined for conversation with the other guests riding with us. Dante’s hand never left the small of my back, possessive and warm. When we finally exited into the underground garage, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Dante asked if it had been that bad, with a hint of amusement.

I said I had felt like I was on display, as if everyone was waiting for me to do something wrong. Beside what had to be his car, a sleek black vehicle that probably cost more than my entire education, I asked if it was always like that.

He said at first, yes. But they would get used to me. He opened the passenger door for me. Once they understood I was permanent, the curiosity would fade.

Permanent. The word settled over me like a blanket, comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

I slid into the leather seat, the interior all polished wood and expensive materials. Dante rounded the car and settled behind the wheel with practiced ease. The engine purred to life, and we glided out of the garage into the night.

I asked where we were going.

He said his place, unless I preferred that he take me home. He assumed I would want to talk more, away from prying eyes and listening ears. But if I was not comfortable—

I said his place was fine too quickly, betraying my eagerness to spend more time with him. Then I added that we should talk. There was a lot to figure out.

His lips curved into a small smile. He told me to relax. He was not going to pounce on me the moment we were alone. Despite what his reputation might suggest, he had some self-control.

It was not that, though the thought of what might happen once we were truly alone did send heat pooling low in my belly. I said the whole night had been surreal. I kept waiting to wake up and learn it had all been a champagne-induced dream.

He said if it helped, he felt the same way. He had gone to that party expecting boring conversations and political maneuvering. Instead, a beautiful woman walked up to him and turned his entire world upside down.

Automatically, I protested that I was not beautiful. I was average. Normal.

He said I was stunning, his voice firm and brooking no argument. And if no one had told me that before, they were blind.

I did not know what to say, so I stayed quiet and watched the city slide past outside the window.

We drove for maybe 15 minutes before pulling into another underground garage, this one belonging to a high-rise that gleamed with wealth. The elevator required a keycard to access the penthouse level. Of course Dante lived in a penthouse. Where else would a crime boss live?

The doors opened directly into his apartment, and I stepped into a space that made the party penthouse look modest. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city sprawling in all directions, lights glittering like stars. The decor was masculine but not cold: dark leather furniture, rich wood accents, artwork that looked expensive and original.

Dante shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over a chair, telling me to make myself comfortable. He asked if I wanted water, wine, or something stronger.

I asked for water and moved toward the windows, drawn by the view. I said it was incredible.

He said it was home. He disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen and returned moments later with 2 glasses of water. He admitted it was a bit large for 1 person.

He handed me a glass, and our fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity up my arm, making me hyperaware of how alone we were. No guards, no guests, no witnesses. Just Dante and me, and the tension that had been building all night.

I took a sip of water to buy myself time and said we should probably talk about practical matters, about how it was actually going to work.

He agreed. Practical. He set his glass down and asked what I wanted to know.

Everything, I said. I turned to face him. He said I would have a security detail. What did that actually mean? Someone following me around campus? Sitting outside my classes?

Vincent would assign someone to be my primary guard. They would maintain a discreet distance most of the time but stay close enough to intervene if needed. As he spoke, he moved closer, and I found myself tracking his movements like prey watching a predator. On campus, the guard would blend in as a student. At the library, another patron. I would barely notice them.

I asked about my dorm room.

He said I was moving out. Not a request, a statement. He had several properties that would be more secure. I could choose whichever I preferred, but staying in student housing was no longer an option.

My spine stiffened. I told him he could not simply tell me to move. I had a lease. Roommates too.

He gently interrupted, saying those roommates barely knew me and left me alone most weekends. Anthony was very thorough. My lease had a clause allowing me to break it with 30 days’ notice. Dante would handle any financial penalties.

I asked if he had his hacker look into my living situation.

Outrage warred with the uncomfortable realization that he was right. My roommates and I barely spoke, and I spent most of my time alone in my tiny single room.

Dante said he needed to understand my life to properly protect me. There was no apology in his voice. What he found was that I was isolated, working too many hours, studying too hard, and not letting anyone close. That would change now.

I challenged him, asking if that was because he was letting himself close.

He corrected me. We were letting each other close. He closed the distance between us. It went both ways. I was getting access to his world, his protection, his resources, and he was getting me. All of me. No more hiding behind books and busy schedules.

He was too close. Close enough that I could smell his cologne and see the flecks of lighter brown in his dark eyes. Close enough that my heart started racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

I whispered that I might not be ready for all of it.

He said then we would go slower. His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. But the security was nonnegotiable. Everything else could be adjusted, but keeping me safe was the one thing he would not compromise on.

Because I was his, I said, testing the words on my tongue.

Because I was his, he agreed.

Then he kissed me again.

This kiss was different from the ones at the party. No audience, no performance, only raw desire and genuine connection. His hands pulled me closer, one tangling in my hair while the other pressed against my lower back, molding me against his solid frame. I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something uniquely him.

The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with practiced skill that made my knees weak. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His dark eyes were unfocused with desire. His hair was slightly mussed from my fingers.

He said we should stop before he did something we were not ready for, though he made no move to release me.

I asked what happened if I was ready. What if I wanted more?

The words came out bolder than I felt.

His grip tightened. He said I needed to be sure. It was not only physical attraction. If we took it further, if he had me in his bed, there was no going back. I would be his in every way that mattered.

The possessiveness should have bothered me. Instead, it sent heat flooding through my body.

I said I was sure. I was surprised by how much I meant it. I had spent my whole life playing it safe, being careful. That night, I wanted to be reckless with him.

Something dark and hungry flashed in his eyes. He said I had no idea what I was asking for.

I told him to show me.

He studied my face for a long moment, searching for doubt or hesitation. Whatever he saw satisfied him, because he smiled, slow and dangerous. Against my lips, he murmured that it was my last chance to back out, because once he had me, he was never letting go.

I breathed that I did not want him to.

He kissed me again, harder this time, claiming rather than asking. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding into my hair to angle my head where he wanted it, the other tracing down my side to grip my hip possessively. I lost myself in the sensation, in the heat and pressure and overwhelming rightness of being in his arms.

When he lifted me, I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he carried me through the penthouse toward what had to be his bedroom.

The space was as masculine as the rest of his home: dark colors, expensive furnishings, a massive bed that dominated the room. He set me down on the edge of it, and I watched with wide eyes as he stepped back, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt.

I told him to wait, and he froze immediately.

I said I wanted to.

Understanding flickered across his face, followed by approval. He moved back within reach, and I stood on shaky legs, my hands replacing his on the buttons. One by one, I worked them free, revealing inches of tanned skin and hard muscle beneath. When I pushed the shirt from his shoulders, I caught my breath.

His torso was a work of art: defined abs, a broad chest, and shoulders that spoke of serious strength. But it was the tattoos that drew my eye. Intricate designs covered his chest and ribs, flowing over his shoulders and down his arms in sleeves of ink. Religious imagery mixed with geometric patterns, Italian script winding between roses and skulls.

He observed that I was staring, amusement coloring his voice.

I told him he was beautiful, reaching out to trace one of the designs. Then I asked what they meant.

He said some were protection. Some commemorated people he had lost. Some simply marked significant moments in his life. His hand caught mine and brought it to his lips. But that night was not about his past. It was about our future.

He kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands found the zipper of my dress and slowly lowered it as his lips traced down my neck, finding sensitive spots that made me gasp. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in only my underwear and borrowed heels. I should have felt exposed and vulnerable. Instead, I felt powerful under his heated gaze, desired in a way I had never experienced.

He murmured that I was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He lowered me back onto the bed, his body covering mine as he proved with actions what words could not express: that I was his, completely and irrevocably, and that he was mine in return.

Part 3

I woke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist. For a disoriented moment, I could not remember where I was. Then the events of the night before came flooding back.

The party. The dare. The kiss that changed everything.

Dante.

I turned carefully, not wanting to wake him, and found myself face-to-face with the man who had claimed me so thoroughly only hours earlier. In sleep, he looked younger, less dangerous. The hard lines of his face had softened, and dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. His breathing was deep and even.

My body ached in unfamiliar places, a pleasant soreness that reminded me exactly how the night had ended. Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory. I had been with guys before, fumbling college hookups that left me wondering what all the fuss was about. The night before had been nothing like that. Dante had been patient and demanding in equal measure, taking his time to learn what made me gasp, what made me beg, until I was completely undone in his hands.

Dante murmured that I was thinking too loudly, his eyes still closed, a slight smile playing at his lips.

I apologized and said I had not meant to wake him.

He said he was a light sleeper. Occupational hazard. Then he opened his eyes, and I was pinned by that intense dark gaze. He wished me good morning and called me beautiful.

I returned the greeting, suddenly shy, which was ridiculous given what we had done.

He asked if I had slept well.

I asked him the same.

He said it was the best he had slept in years. His hand traced lazy circles on my bare hip beneath the sheets.

I said the same, then bit my lip and said his name. About last night.

He asked if I had regrets. His voice was carefully neutral, but I saw tension creep into his shoulders.

I said quickly no. God, no. It had been amazing. He had been amazing. I only meant that I had never done anything like that before, being so spontaneous, so reckless.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head on 1 hand as he looked down at me. He said it was terrifying.

I met his gaze. I had met him 12 hours earlier, and now I was in his bed, in his life, with security guards being assigned to follow me around. I said it was insane. He knew that, right?

He agreed easily that it was completely insane. Also inevitable. From the moment I kissed him, it had always been going to happen.

I said he was very sure of himself.

He said he was sure of us. His hand moved from my hip to cup my face. He knew it was fast. He knew it defied logic and common sense, but he also knew what we had was rare, worth fighting for, worth the risk.

My phone buzzed from somewhere in the room, probably still in my clutch from the night before. The sound shattered our intimate bubble, bringing reality crashing back.

I said it was probably Maya. I had promised to call her that morning.

Dante told me to call her. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before rolling out of bed with unselfconscious grace. I tried not to stare at his naked body as he pulled on black boxer briefs. He would make coffee. I should take my time.

He disappeared through the bedroom door, leaving me alone to find my phone and face Maya’s inevitable interrogation. I located my clutch on the floor near the door, my dress draped over a chair where Dante must have placed it. There were 13 missed calls from Maya, along with a string of texts that ranged from concerned to panic to resigned.

I hit her number, and she answered on the first ring, using my full name and swearing that if I was not okay, she was calling the police.

I told her I was fine and apologized for worrying her.

She repeated the word fine with disbelief. I had disappeared with a man we knew nothing about, and she had not heard from me in 12 hours. She asked where I was.

I said I was at his place. There was no point in lying. Maya would see through me anyway. Before she could freak out, I said I was completely safe. He had been nothing but respectful.

After a pause, she asked if I had slept with him.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I told her that was none of her business.

She said oh my God, I had. I did not do spontaneous hookups. I planned everything, including hookups, which was why I had exactly 3 boyfriends in my entire life.

I said 4, if she counted Marcus from freshman year.

Maya said Marcus did not count because we held hands twice. Then her voice softened. She asked seriously if I was okay. Not hurt, scared, or feeling pressured.

I said I was really okay. I knew it was crazy and fast and completely unlike me, but he was different. Being with him felt right in a way nothing else ever had.

Maya said that was either really romantic or really concerning, and she was not sure which. She asked for his full name so she could run a background check.

I hesitated. How much should I tell her? That he was a crime boss? That seemed like information that might make her panic and actually call the police.

Carefully, I said his name was Dante Caruso. He was in wealth, import-export.

Maya’s tone suggested she was not buying it. Import-export. Right. Then she asked what he really did. She loved me, which meant she needed to make sure I was not getting involved with someone dangerous. Either I told her the truth, or she was showing up at whatever address my location was sharing from and demanding answers in person.

I closed my eyes and said he was connected to some organizations that operated outside the law.

Silence.

Then she asked if I was telling her I had spent the night with a criminal.

I said it was more complicated than that.

She said it really was not. Her voice pitched higher. What was I thinking? This man could be dangerous. He could hurt me.

I said he would not, surprised by the certainty in my voice. I knew how it sounded, but he was not going to hurt me. If anything, he was overprotective. He was already arranging security for me because—

Maya cut in, asking why I needed security. She was definitely panicking now. I needed to get out of there immediately. Come home, and we would figure it out.

I interrupted and said I was not coming home. Or rather, I was, but only to pack. I was moving out of the dorms.

Maya asked what.

I told her to listen. I knew it was insane. Trust me, I knew. But for the first time in my life, I was doing something I wanted instead of what I should do. And I wanted this. I wanted him. Even though he was a criminal. Even though it was complicated.

I heard Dante moving in the kitchen, the sound of coffee brewing. I promised to tell Maya everything when I saw her. Right then, I needed her to trust that I knew what I was doing.

She asked if I did, because from where she was sitting, it looked like I had met a hot guy and lost my mind.

Maybe I had, I said, laughing despite myself. But if that was what losing my mind felt like, I did not want it back.

We talked for a few more minutes, Maya extracting promises that I would check in regularly and meet her for lunch later in the week. By the time I hung up, I felt drained but also oddly liberated. I had defended my choice to be with Dante, and in doing so, made it more real.

I found one of Dante’s shirts and pulled it on. The fabric swallowed my frame and hung to mid-thigh. The bathroom was as luxurious as the rest of the penthouse, all marble and chrome. I washed my face, tried to tame my hair, and gave up on looking presentable.

Dante was in the kitchen when I emerged, and the sight of him made my heart skip. He had pulled on sweatpants but remained shirtless, his tattooed torso on full display as he moved with easy confidence. Two mugs of coffee sat on the counter, and the smell of breakfast cooking filled the air.

I asked if he cooked.

He said he was full of surprises and slid a mug toward me, already prepared with cream the way I had taken it at the party. Then he asked how the phone call had gone.

I told him Maya thought I had lost my mind.

He asked if I had.

Probably, I said. I took a sip of perfectly prepared coffee. But I did not care. Was that weird?

He said it was honest. He plated scrambled eggs and toast, setting it in front of me before preparing his own. He appreciated honesty.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Dante set down his fork and met my eyes. He said we needed to discuss practical arrangements. He knew I wanted to maintain my independence, and he respected that. But some things were nonnegotiable.

I said, like the security detail.

He confirmed it. Vincent would introduce me to my primary guard that afternoon. His name was Marcus. He had been with Dante’s organization for 8 years, and he would keep me safe.

I asked about the housing situation.

Dante said he owned several properties that would be suitable, but he preferred that I stay there with him. He held up a hand before I could protest. He was not asking me to give up my space or independence. The penthouse had multiple bedrooms, including a home office I could use for studying. I would have my own space when I needed it.

I asked if he wanted me to move in with him after 1 night.

He said he wanted me close, where he could protect me, where he knew I was safe. His dark eyes held mine. He had told me he was not patient when it came to things he wanted, and he wanted me there, waking up next to him every morning, coming home to him every night.

It was too much. Too fast. Every rational part of my brain screamed that moving in with a man I had just met was insane. But when I looked at him, saw the genuine desire mixed with protective determination in his eyes, rationality seemed less important.

Slowly, I said I needed my own space. My own room, at least at first. And I was still going to all my classes and still working at the library.

He agreed.

I asked what would happen if it did not work out. If we realized it was only adrenaline and attraction, he would let me leave. Without drama.

His jaw tightened. He said that was not going to happen.

I asked what would happen if it did.

He said then we would handle it like adults. But he was not letting me go easily. The thing between us was not only physical. It was something deeper, something he had not felt in 7 years. So yes, if I truly wanted to leave, he would not stop me. But he would fight like hell to make me want to stay.

The intensity of his declaration sent warmth flooding through me.

I heard myself say okay. I would move in. But we would take things 1 day at a time.

He agreed. One day at a time. Starting with that day. We would get my things from the dorm, set me up in the guest room, and let me get comfortable there.

I asked if he was really okay with me having my own room for now.

His lips curved into a dangerous smile. He said yes, but fair warning: he planned to seduce me into his bed every chance he got. The night before had been only the beginning.

Heat pulled low in my belly at his words. I said using sex to manipulate me was not fair.

He said he was not manipulating me. He was courting me. There was a difference. Manipulation would be denying me pleasure unless I did what he wanted. Courting was showing me exactly what I was getting with him, making sure I never wanted to leave.

I accused him of being arrogant, but I was leaning into his touch.

He corrected me again. Confident.

Then he told me to finish my breakfast. We had a lot to do that day, and I would need my energy.