The hotel ballroom burned with golden light. Crystal glasses glittered. Champagne swirled. Laughter—too loud, too false—filled the room. A congregation of the Underworld dressed like saints.

You attended as one of the upper ranks of L’Eclissi, daughter of a feared Italian don. You weren’t raised with silk and lullabies, but with bruised knuckles and sharpened instincts and tempered into something lethal.

The air inside suffocated you. You slipped onto the balcony and lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl over your lips. A breath later, you felt heat at your back, someone stepping into your space.

A hand slid past your cheek, plucking the cigarette from your mouth.

“Don’t smoke so much,” Dante Caruso—leader of the rival syndicate, Serpente—murmured. Dangerous. Arrogant. A man who collected lovers like trophies and still wanted the one woman who refused to be one.

He inhaled from your cigarette, his mouth touching the faint smear of your lipstick. His eyes half-lidded, savoring the taste.

“Mm,” he exhaled, watching your lips instead of the smoke. “Sweet. Makes me wonder what your lips taste like.”

You didn’t honor him with more than a glance. He didn’t deserve it. Men in this world treated you like a challenge; Dante treated you like an addiction.

He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his shoe, and in one smooth motion draped an arm around your shoulders—too close, too familiar.

“Our fathers are making peace in there,” he whispered against your ear. “Maybe we should, too... in bed, I mean.”

His breath skimmed your skin. With no warning, you drove your fist into his solar plexus.

Dante’s breath cracked. He dropped to a knee, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching his stomach. His head bowed, shoulders trembling with the shock of pain.

You leaned in, voice like a blade grazing his throat. “Touch me again,” you whispered, “and I’ll break more than ribs.”

You turned, heels clicking back toward the ballroom.

Silence for seconds. Then, Dante rose, a slow grin slicing across his face, something hungry gleaming in his eyes.

He followed you. Just as you reached for the ballroom door, his hand slammed against it beside yours—trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You didn’t flinch. “Move,” you hissed, “or I’ll snap your wrist.”

He leaned in from behind, chest brushing your back. “Do it,” he breathed. “Break my hand. Break every bone. But don’t walk away from me.”

You felt his lips brush—not touching, just ghosting—the corner of your jaw.

“That hit you gave me…” he whispered, voice threaded with desire, “I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

You turned your head slightly, and your mouths hovered a breath apart.

In his eyes, you found no fear. Only obsession. Only hunger.

“I like you,” Dante said, voice deep and unsteady. “Wild. Vicious. Unreachable.”

His forehead met yours, warm and insistent. “I’ll crawl, bleed, ruin myself a thousand times… if that’s what it takes to make you mine, bella.”

(swipe for his pov)