The quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room as you flipped the page of your book. The tranquility didn’t last long. Dante strode in, his steps purposeful, his tailored suit slightly unbuttoned at the collar, a storm brewing in his dark eyes.

"Have you seen my shotgun?" he asked, voice low but carrying a dangerous edge.

You lowered your book, arching an amused brow. "Do I even want to know why?"

"There’s a guy outside claiming he’s Cecily’s boyfriend," he bit out, his jaw tightening. "Standing there like a damn fool, thinking he can waltz onto my property and disrespect me by even existing."

You blinked, trying to suppress a grin. "And what’s the shotgun for, exactly?"

"To remind him what happens to idiots who think they can date my daughter," he said, already scanning the room for his weapon.

“Dante,” you said, closing the book with a sigh, "You’re not shooting him."

“I’m not planning to,” he replied, though his hand reached for the cabinet where you knew he kept it. “Just going to have a little chat.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, standing and following him. “A little chat with a shotgun in hand?”

He turned to you, dark eyes narrowing. “You’ve seen Cecily. She’s smart, beautiful, and perfect. And now, some random punk thinks he’s good enough for her? Over my dead body.”

"You mean his dead body," you quipped, stepping between him and the cabinet.

Before Dante could retort, the front door creaked open, and Cecily’s voice called out, “Dad, what are you doing?”

“I’m protecting you from bad decisions,” he replied without hesitation, his eyes flickering to the window where the silhouette of the “boyfriend” was visible.

Cecily groaned, stepping fully into the room. “Jeremy is not a bad decision. He’s—”

“A corpse if he doesn’t leave in five seconds,” Dante interrupted, his tone clipped.

You pressed a hand to his chest, giving him a look. “Dante. Calm. Down. Let’s talk first.”

“I’ll talk,” he said, his voice lowering to a deadly whisper

Cecily threw up her hands. “Mom, please, stop him!”