Chapter Eleven: Playing with Fire
405 Words
Elena couldn’t sleep.
She tossed and turned on the stiff mattress, the unfamiliar scent of the sheets—a mix of clean linen and something unmistakably Dante—keeping her restless.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.
The way he had caged her in against the wall.
The heat in his gaze.
The words that lingered between them like a promise and a threat all at once.
I know exactly what you are.
Her stomach tightened at the memory.
With a frustrated sigh, she threw off the thin blanket and padded toward the door, needing air.
The old wooden floors were cold beneath her bare feet as she stepped into the hallway. Silent. Still.
But then—a voice.
Low, rough.
Dante.
Elena pressed herself against the wall, creeping forward. His bedroom door was slightly ajar.
She knew she shouldn’t.
Knew it was reckless.
But curiosity burned through her veins like a drug.
She peeked inside.
Dante stood shirtless near the open window, his back to her, speaking in hushed tones into his phone.
The dim moonlight highlighted the raw power in his muscles, the ridges of old scars cutting across his skin.
Elena bit her lip, pulse quickening.
"No," he muttered, his voice deadly calm. "That’s not good enough. I want them dead by sunrise."
A chill ran down her spine.
She had seen Dante’s darkness before, but this was something else.
Something cold. Ruthless.
She should have stepped back.
Should have left before—
"Enjoying the view, little dove?"
Her breath caught.
Dante turned slowly, green eyes locking onto her.
Caught.
Elena straightened, refusing to shrink back. "You left the door open."
Dante smirked, running a hand through his dark hair. "Did I?"
Her cheeks burned.
He knew.
He had felt her watching.
And now he was enjoying it.
"Did you hear anything interesting?" he asked, taking a slow step toward her.
Elena refused to back down. "Should I have?"
Dante hummed, stopping just inches away. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Elena."
"So are you," she shot back.
His smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his gaze.
"Go back to bed," he murmured, voice a dark caress against her skin.
Elena held his stare for a beat longer, her pulse hammering.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she turned and walked away.
But she could still feel him watching her.
And she knew—this was far from over.
- Writer
