His Dangerous Love: The Writer And The Don

Aria Sterling POV

The sudden flare of camera flashes blinded me.

I threw my hand up to shield my eyes as I stepped out of the black town car and onto the pavement in front of Vitiello Tower.

"Who is she?" a voice shouted from the scrum of photographers.

"Is that the new mistress?"

Dante's hand claimed the small of my back, guiding me through the chaos. His grip was firm, possessive, branding me through the fabric of my coat. He didn't push the photographers away. He let them see. He let them snap the pictures of his hand on me, of my flushed face, and of the way he loomed over me like a dark guardian.

We made it into the lobby, the heavy glass doors sealing out the noise of the street.

"Why were they there?" I asked, my heart racing.

"Because I told them to be," Dante said calmly. He walked toward the private elevator, expecting me to follow.

"You tipped them off?" I hurried to keep up with his long strides. "You want people to think... that?"

I halted in the middle of the lobby. The marble floors were cold beneath my boots, seeping through the soles.

"They were calling me your mistress, Dante."

He stopped and turned. The employees in the lobby averted their eyes, terrified to witness a private conversation between the boss and the girl from the tabloids.

"Let them talk," he said. "It is better than the truth."

"And what is the truth?" I challenged. "That I am your prisoner who types?"

"That you are under my protection," he said. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in the quiet space. "In my world, Aria, perception is reality. If they think you are mine in a romantic sense, the other families will hesitate to touch you. It would be an act of war to harm a Don's woman. If they know you are just a writer who knows too much... you are a loose end."

I felt a chill settle in my stomach. He had put a target on my back and then painted a shield over it, but the shield was made of his reputation for violence.

"I am not yours," I whispered.

He stepped into the elevator and held the door open. His eyes locked onto mine.

"For the next three months, until that book is finished, you belong to the Vitiello name. You breathe because I allow it. You eat because I feed you."

I stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing us in a small, metal box.

We stood in silence as the numbers climbed.

"One more thing," he said, staring straight ahead at the steel doors. "My secretary, Elena. She will be cold to you. Ignore it."

"Why?"

"Because she knows the rules," he said. "And you are breaking every single one of them just by standing here."

The elevator dinged at the penthouse. The doors opened to reveal a sprawling living space that looked more like a museum than a home.

"Welcome to your cage, little bird," he murmured.

I stepped out, and for the first time, I realized that the danger wasn't just the men with guns outside. The danger was the man standing next to me, and the way my heart skipped a beat when he called me his.