Under His Command, Above His Throne

2:The Traitor’s Blood

The silence in Dante’s office was suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of Elena’s fingers on the keyboard. Dante stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a shadow against the glowing New York skyline, watching her reflection in the glass.

"I don't like being kept waiting, Elena," he warned, his voice like sliding gravel.

"Then stop breathing down my neck and let me work," Elena shot back without looking up.

Dante stiffened. No one talked to him like that. He turned, his heavy footsteps echoing as he closed the distance. He leaned over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. The scent of his expensive cologne—sandalwood and danger—wrapped around her senses.

"There," Elena whispered, clicking a final key.

On the screen, a series of encrypted transfers flashed red. "The money isn't going to a rival family. It’s going to a shell company owned by your cousin, Lorenzo. He didn't just steal from the ports; he’s been selling your shipping routes to the feds."

Dante’s entire aura shifted. The billionaire businessman vanished, replaced by the lethal Mafia Don. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Lorenzo?" Dante’s voice was unnervingly calm—the kind of calm that preceded a m******e. He looked at Elena, his blue eyes burning with a new, terrifying light. "You found in an hour what my security team couldn't find in a month."

"Your security team is loyal to a fault, Dante. They look for enemies outside," Elena stood up, her face inches from his. "But I know how empires fall. They rot from the inside."

Dante’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to cup the back of her neck, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. His grip was firm, possessive.

"You’re dangerous," he breathed, his gaze dropping to her lips with a mix of hunger and suspicion. "A woman who can see through walls is a woman I should probably get rid of."

"But you won't," Elena countered, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thrum of his heart. "Because you’re addicted to the power I bring you. And we both know it."

Dante didn't answer with words. He crashed his lips against hers—not a kiss of love, but a claim of ownership. It tasted of scotch, fire, and a silent promise: You are mine, and I will never let you go.

The kiss had been a battle, and the aftermath felt like a war zone.

Dante had pulled away just as abruptly as he had started, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a mix of desire and pure, unadulterated fury. He paced the office like a caged tiger, while Elena stood by the desk, her breathing ragged, her lips swollen from his claim.

"You think you’re a partner, Elena?" Dante turned on her, his voice a low, dangerous snarl. "You think because you found one traitor, you get to sit on my throne? You’re a debt. A luxury item I bought to keep my house clean."

Elena felt the sting of his words, but she refused to let the tears reach her eyes. Instead, she let out a cold, sharp laugh that cut through the tension.

"Is that what you tell yourself when you’re touching me, Dante?" she stepped toward him, ignoring the warning flash in his eyes. "That I’m just an item? You’re terrified. You’re terrified because for the first time in your life, you can't predict what a woman is going to do next."

"I am terrified of nothing!" Dante roared, grabbing her by the waist and slamming her back against the cold glass of the window. The city lights of New York twinkled a thousand feet below them, indifferent to the storm inside.

He was so close she could feel the radiating heat of his body, the scent of expensive bourbon and iron. His grip was bruising, his hands shaking with the effort not to pull her even closer.

"You are a distraction," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "My enemies look for weakness. If they see me looking at you like this... if they see that you have a seat at my table, they will use you to destroy me."

"Then let them try!" Elena yelled back, her palms flat against his hard chest, feeling the frantic pounding of his heart. "Stop hiding behind your Mafia rules and admit it. You don't want me because of the debt. You want me because I’m the only person in this godforsaken city who isn't afraid to look you in the eye and tell you you're wrong."

The air between them was thick enough to suffocate. Dante’s gaze dropped to her throat, watching the frantic pulse there, then back to her defiant eyes. The anger was still there, but it was being rapidly replaced by a hunger so raw it felt violent.

"I should send you away," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a tenderness that was more frightening than his rage. "I should lock you in a villa in Sicily and never look at you again."

"But you won't," Elena challenged, her voice dropping to a seductive, jagged whisper. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Because you’d go mad wondering what I’m doing without you. You’d burn the world down just to have me back under your roof, fighting with you."

Dante let out a sound—half-groan, half-growl—and buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her like she was his last breath of oxygen.

"I hate you," he muttered against her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone in a silent threat.

"Good," Elena breathed, her eyes closing as she felt his walls finally crumble, even if just for a moment. "Hate is so much more honest than love."