A Dark Dance

Chapter3

#Dante's POV

I watched her turn from me, a look a betrayal in her beautiful hazel eyes. My goddess, my tesoro. I had looked everywhere for her, but no one knew who she was, where she'd come from. It made sense now, Viola Moreau had been in Italy since her mother had died. No one had seen her in years. And she didn't look like Beatrice, Claudio or her father. She was curvy and thick, below average height, hazel eyes more green than brown, skin darker than the others. Less poised, more free.

When he'd seen her in the dance floor of the club, he'd been captivated. Enthralled. The way her hips swayed, the way the sweat had dripped down her collarbone, between her breasts. The dress she wore clung to her curves, hugged her breasts. Her hair, once done up in some faux grecian style, was wild around her face, dark curly tendrils loose and clinging to her skin. She was a wild energy, just waiting to be claimed. And he'd wanted to be the one to claim her.

When he'd pulled her against him, felt her body press against his, Dante knew that she would want him to. And when she had looked up at him, smiling, her eyes shinning behind her half mask, something inside of him wanted him to never let her go.

When he'd taken her to Tony's office, he knew he was going to have her. Leaving his mask on, he'd undressed her down to nothing. He'd wanted to spend the entire night worshiping her curves, the soft flesh of her thighs. He'd wanted his mouth on every inch of her.

And the way she responded, it had been perfect. She was salty and wet, slick with want. There had been no hesitation, no fear in her eyes. She'd touched him like she already knew how to please him, like they'd been together for a lifetime. Dante had bent her over the desk, kneeling behind her as he tasted her, his tongue slipping through her folds, his fingers stroking the dark curls between her legs. His little goddess had moaned and cried out with every touch of him, like a siren call.

Then, he'd kissed his way across her skin, over the globes of her bottom, across her hips, then up her back. "Tesoro mio." he'd whispered as he pushed into her. He had almost stopped when he felt he tightness around him, felt the resistance, but he couldn't. And she didn't ask him to. So he'd kept moving, keep taking and giving.

She'd moved with him, responding to him without direction. Just knowing how to move. It had been the best s*x he'd ever had. And when they finished, both crying out in release, Dante had been overwhelmed, like a damn puppy, and he'd just left her there to go grab something to clean her up with. When he'd come back, literally only a few minutes later, she was gone.

Now, here she was.

And she was mine.

Behind me, Beatrice gasped. "Oh, oh no." She murmered. "Papa, I can't marry him!"

Martín, still standing by the doorway, looked at Beatrice with shock. "What? What do you mean... you agreed,"

"Papa, did you not just see... he's the one." Beatrice's voice sounds strained behind me.

I turn slowly and raise a brow. "I'm the one?"

She blushes. "Um, Vi told me she met someone one night, clearly it was you. I couldn't possibly marry...Papa, please." She pleads, looking back at Martín.

The older man looks ready to burst, partly in anger, partly in frustration. But there's also a look in his eyes that sets me on edge. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face and he moves back towards his desk.

"Beatrice, Claudio, leave us." Martin says as he lowers himself into his chair behind his desk.

Dante almost laughs. Old fool. Clearly, he thinks that he can alter our arrangement. Granted, I have no desire to marry Beatrice, didn't really from the start, but especially not now. I'm a lot of things, but screwing the sister of the woman I've been looking for is low, even for me. But now, Martín thinks he has one over on me because of my reaction to his daughter and the fact that he clearly knows I slept with his youngest.

A month ago, Martín had approached him, pleading for him to marry Beatrice, to keep his company, which Dante had purchased, in the family. While Dante hadn't been interested in anything other than finding his little goddess, his brother, Alesso, had pressured him to accept, to help legitimize their family away from the crime organization they ran. After all, his brother pointed out, connecting ones self to the oldest family in the city was a smart move in the right direction. Despite Martín's fall from grace, he was still well connected.

It was a power move, of course.

Alesso knew about Dante searching for the woman he'd met, was even sympathetic, but a chance like this was too good to pass up. If Alesso wasn't already married himself, he would have done it. So, Dante had agreed, knowing that if he found his goddess again, even a marriage wouldn't stop him from claiming her.

A mistress was better than nothing. His own mother had been his father's mistress and love of his life and he'd been raised right alongside his older sister and younger brother.

Beatrice wasn't unattractive, she was beautiful in fact, but not his type. No real passion.

But, his little goddess wasn't just anyone. She was a Moreau, just like Beatrice.

I don't bother taking a seat, though I move closer to the desk, letting my face fall into an unreadable mask.

"Clearly," Martín starts, "we should talk about this new situation. It would seem my daughter and you are familiar, Dante."

I shrug, trying to play it off despite my reaction to seeing her. "Clearly. She slipped threw my fingers a few months ago. I admit, I did not know who she was, though it makes sense now. She's been gone now, what, almost five years?"

Her father nods. "Yes, she went to live with her mother's cousin. I thought, given her age, she would do better away. And apparently, I wasn't entirely wrong." He smirks. "And now, as a father who only has his daughters best interests in mind, you understand, I would like to change the terms of our agreement."

I don't show my annoyance at his smugness. "Viola instead of Beatrice. Well, she is younger and far more attractive. And, if you'll pardon my bluntness, rather good in bed."

Martín turns red, either from anger or embarrassment. Maybe both. But he otherwise ignored my comment.

"I want my company back." He says without blinking.

I laugh, a harsh sound. "Oh, you want a complete renegotiation? How very, confident, of you." I brace my hands on the back of one of the chairs in front of his desk, leaning forward. "And why would I agree to that?"

His smirk turns sly and cunning. "Because, Viola is pregnant."

Everything around me slows down. Pregnant.

Then it's my turn to smile. Martín really had lost his drive if he'd admit that without playing his other cards first. Almost disappointing. "Is she? Well, that does change everything."

Before Martín can react, I push myself straight and walk out of the study. I look pointedly at Marco, standing in the foyer. "Keep Moreau in his study."

He nods then walks to the study doors just as the older man starts to come out, pushing him back in. "Sorry, Mr. Moreau, going to need you to stay put."

I'm already up the stairs as Marco verbally spars with the man. I have no idea where I'm going, of course, so I just start opening doors.

Finally, I open the right door. She's not in the room that I can see, but I know without a doubt this is her stuff. The room isn't overly large, just roomy. With bright natural lighting and pictures of family and friends placed haphazardly on the wall with pushing. A bookshelf of young adult novels and stuffed bears say along one wall and opposite that, on the other side of her bed, was a desk with soccer trophies on a shelf above. There was a door beside the desk, half opened, and I could hear water running and the unmistakable sound of dry heaving.

Concern struck me hard and I didn't hesitate to walk to the door, knocking lightly. "Viola."

I heard a strangled whimper, then, "Go away."

Undeterred, I push the door open. She's knelt down in front of her toilet, arms braced on either side. The water in the sink is running and a tooth brush laid on the counter as though she'd been trying to clean up before another wave of sickness hit her.

I kneel down behind her, pulling her hair from her face, stroking her brow. "Tesoro, I have you."

But she shook her head. "You left me. You're marrying my sister."

I pull her back against me and she doesn't resist a I wrap my arms around her. "No, I didn't leave you. I was getting something to clean you with. I'm an i***t for not... for not being clear. But I wasn't going to leave you there, little goddess."

She turned her head slightly, to look up at me, eyes red from crying. It broke my heart. "But you're still marrying my sister."

"No. I'm not." I pull her closer, leaning down to bury my face in her neck. She smelt sour from being sick, but I didn't care. I didn't pull away. "I'm going to marry you, tesoro mio."

She stiffens in my arms.