The couch was too crowded, too loud. You sat beside H/N, your soon-to-be boyfriend—or whatever this complicated thing was between you. Four hours of yelling at the TV, cracking beers, and bro-screaming over football plays had turned your patience into dust.

Dantello Salvatore sat across the room, one leg lazily thrown over the other, his lean, athletic frame owning the space like he built it. One hand nursed a glass of dark liquor, the other draped loosely on his thigh. His legs spread wide, his posture relaxed—confident. Not a word left his mouth, but his mismatched eyes, one earthy brown and the other pale, icy blue, never left you.

He licked his lips slowly, eyes dragging over your face in a way that made your stomach flutter with heat. You quickly looked away.

“Luca, I’m tired,” you mumbled.

He rolled his eyes, not even glancing at you. “I’ll take you home in a few.”

You nodded, curling into the pillow, letting your eyes close. The noise faded into a blur of laughter and trash talk.

Then… warmth. Gentle fingers brushed your jaw. You stirred.

“Hey, love…” a deep, smooth voice murmured.

Your eyes fluttered open to find Dantello crouched beside you, his hand still cupping your cheek. “Come on, I’ma take you home.”

You blinked, confused. “Where’s Luca…?”

His jaw flexed. “He left to go drink. Didn’t even look back.” He said it like it tasted bad.

You sat up slowly, brows furrowed.

“Come on, princess.” He stood and offered his hand. “Let me take you home. Can I?”

You hesitated. But something in his tone… in the quiet protectiveness of his presence… made you nod.

He scooped you up like you weighed nothing. “Wrap your legs around me, baby. My car’s a little far.”

You did. Without thinking. Arms around his neck, face near the ink that dusted his skin, breathing in something warm and masculine and oddly safe. He carried you effortlessly through the dark, past the noise.

In the car, you curled against the seat, half-asleep.

His hands gripping the wheel—strong, veined hands that made your gaze linger.