Sold to My Ex's Mafia Godfather

Dante did not move toward the bed after I told him to lock the door.

He turned the deadbolt, slipped the key onto the dresser, then stepped back far enough that I could reach it without passing him.

"Any dizziness?" he asked. "Nausea? Blurred vision?"

The careful questions should have cooled me down. They did the opposite.

For two years, Ethan had treated every boundary like an inconvenience. Dante, who had just shot a man on a yacht, was standing in front of me as if one wrong assumption mattered more than his own desire.

I pressed my palm to his bare chest. His heartbeat was fast beneath my hand.

"I never slept with Ethan," I said.

Something sharpened in Dante's expression.

"Is this about punishing him?"

"No." I swallowed. "Tonight everyone decided what happened to me. Ethan decided what I was worth. Those men decided they could take me. I want one decision that belongs to me."

Dante took a step back.

"If this is the decision," he said, "make it because you want it. Not because you're angry. Not because you owe me."

"I don't owe you anything."

"Good."

I caught the front of his open shirt and kissed him again.

This time, he answered.

The kiss was hard but not hurried. When he lifted me, his hands stayed at my waist, away from the bruises around my wrists. He set me in the center of the mattress instead of throwing me down.

The torn strap of my silver dress slid off my shoulder.

His mouth brushed the dark mark on my arm.

The gentleness made my throat tighten unexpectedly.

"Don't look at me like I'm breakable," I whispered.

"I'm looking at the bruise."

He reached into the ice bucket and wrapped a cube in a clean napkin before touching it to the swollen skin near my wrist.

I jerked.

His mouth curved. "You held broken glass to your throat in front of armed men."

"That was different."

"And cold water wins."

I snatched the ice from him and dragged it down his collarbone.

He caught my wrist, loose enough that I could pull away.

"Careful."

"Or what?"

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I leaned forward and bit his lower lip.

When I pulled back, a bright bead of blood appeared.

Dante wiped it with his thumb. "Do that again and I'm going to misunderstand your intentions."

"Then understand them."

His hand slid to my hip.

"Tell me."

I hated how exposed the words made me feel, but I wanted the clarity too.

"I want you, Dante."

"Still clearheaded?"

"Yes."

"Still your choice?"

"Yes."

Only then did he kiss me again.

The hotel room narrowed to heat, breath, and the rasp of expensive sheets under my palms. He undressed me without tearing what remained of the silver dress. When embarrassment hit and I tried to hide my face against the pillow, he stopped.

"Mia."

I looked at him.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

The first push of him inside me made my breath catch. He froze immediately, every muscle locked.

"Too much?"

"Give me a second."

He did.

I breathed through the sharp stretch until it eased, then moved my hips deliberately.

Dante exhaled against my neck.

"That's your answer?" he murmured.

"Move."

He laughed once, low and rough, and obeyed.

The rhythm became harder, faster, until the night on the yacht was no longer the loudest thing in my head. I held on to his shoulders, feeling his restraint disappear only as I asked for more.

When I came, the sound that left me was half gasp, half his name.

He followed moments later, burying his face against my shoulder while his body shook.

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

Then my phone started ringing beneath the bed.

Ethan.

I let it ring until it stopped.

Hours later, I woke in darkness to the faint smell of blood.

I switched on the bedside lamp.

Dante's bandage was soaked through again.

"You idiot."

He opened one eye. "Good morning to you too."

"It's not morning."

I shoved his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, grabbed a clean towel, and pressed it against his side.

"I don't need a nurse."

"Apparently you do."

He stopped trying to move.

While the bleeding slowed, I tied a new dressing around his waist and forced myself to think about daylight.

"We need rules."

Dante looked up at the ceiling. "Go on."

"You don't ask for my address. You don't send anyone after me. You don't tell Ethan about tonight."

"Fine."

"And this doesn't turn into some debt because you helped me."

"It won't."

I tightened the bandage. "Your turn."

"If Ethan comes after you again, you take my number."

"I can take a number without taking orders."

"That's the idea."

Dawn finally thinned the darkness behind the curtains.

I found my ruined dress folded over the velvet chair. Beside it sat a plain paper bag containing a clean T-shirt, sweatpants, and a pharmacy receipt for pain reliever the doctor had approved. No jewelry. No envelope of cash. No note telling me what I owed.

That detail mattered more than I wanted it to.

I checked my phone. Nine missed calls from Ethan, three voicemails, and one message demanding to know why the men on the yacht could no longer find me. I deleted none of it. After what I had overheard, every threat was evidence.

I woke again when something cool touched my wrist.

Dante sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing anti-inflammatory gel around the bruised skin. When my eyes opened, he stopped.

"Sorry."

I pulled my hand back, less angry than unsettled by how natural the tenderness had felt.

"What is your last name?" I asked.

"Russo."

The name meant nothing to me.

Not yet.

I swung my legs out of bed and reached for the water on the nightstand.

A heavy signet ring lay beside the ice bucket.

Black gold. An eagle inside a circle of flames.

My throat closed.

Ethan carried the same crest on a keychain he polished every Sunday. He once told me the symbol belonged to men powerful enough to erase problems before the police knew they existed.

I turned slowly.

Dante was leaning against the headboard, watching me connect the crest to Ethan's world, though I still did not know how deep that connection ran.