His Dangerous Love: The Writer And The Don

Aria Sterling POV Dante Vitiello did not walk into my hospital room. He invaded it. He was heaving, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His tie was gone. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, revealing a glimpse of taut muscle beneath. He held a black pistol in his right hand, muzzle trained on the floor, yet the threat radiated from him in waves. Behind him, in the corridor, two of Sofia's bodyguards were writhing on the floor, groaning in pain. He kicked the door shut with his heel, the lock clicking with a finality that echoed in the small room. He looked wild. The disciplined CEO was gone. The calm Underboss was gone. This was the man who had looked at me in the bistro with dead eyes, only now, those eyes were molten gold. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. He stormed to the side of the bed. He didn't holster the gun. I flinched, pressing myself deeper into the pillows. "Go away, Dante," I rasped, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "Family only." He froze. He looked at the IV in my arm, then at my pale face. Slowly, he holstered the gun. He reached out, his hand hovering over my cheek, trembling slightly. "To hell with the family," he said, his voice a low growl. He touched my face. His palm was hot, rough. It felt like a brand claiming ownership. "I saw you with her," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "I saw you making the deal." "You saw what she wanted you to see," he said. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against mine. "We were discussing the terms of her exile. I told her that if she touched you, I would dismantle Chicago brick by brick." "Then why did she call me a rat? Why is my face on every news site?" "Because she is desperate," he said. "And because she knows the one thing I have tried to hide." "What is that?" "That you are not a toy, Aria. You are the only thing keeping me from burning this city to the ground." He pulled back, his gaze locking onto mine with fierce intensity. "Get dressed," he ordered. "What? I can't leave. The doctor said..." "I don't care what the doctor said. This hospital is public. It is not safe. Sofia has escalated this. If she is willing to frame you, she is willing to kill you." He went to the small closet and pulled out my clothes. He tossed them onto the bed. "Where are we going?" I asked, swinging my legs over the edge. The room spun, but his hand was there instantly, steadying me. "Home," he said. "Your home?" He paused. He looked at me with a terrifying intensity. "Wherever you are is the only place I reside." Ten minutes later, we walked out of the hospital. We didn't sneak out. We marched out, surrounded by six of his most loyal soldiers. They formed a phalanx around us, guns visible beneath their jackets. Dante walked beside me, his hand on the small of my back, guiding me, shielding me. We got into his armored SUV. As the convoy pulled away, I looked out the window. He wasn't taking me to my apartment. He wasn't taking me to the penthouse. We were heading toward the bridges. Toward the estate where his father lived. "Dante," I said, panic rising again. "Where are we going?" "To end this," he said. He took my hand and interlaced our fingers. He squeezed so hard it bordered on pain. "I am done playing by their rules."