His Rules
1577 Words
The penthouse was all black and glass. Cold. Empty. Like him.
Dante kicked the door shut behind them and locked it. Three locks. Deadbolt. Chain. The sound echoed through the empty space.
Adriana pressed her back to the wall. Her wedding dress was soaked from the rain and splattered with something she didn’t want to think about. Blood? Gunpowder?
Dante didn’t look at her. He went straight to the bar and poured whiskey. Downed it. Poured another.
“House rules,” he said without turning. He loosened his tie with one sharp pull. “Rule one: You don’t leave this penthouse without me. Rule two: You don’t speak to other men. Rule three: You sleep in my bed.”
Adriana hugged herself. The fabric of her dress clung to her skin. “I’m not your prisoner.”
Dante turned then. Slow. Those black eyes pinned her to the spot. He looked lethal. Rain dripped from his hair down his jaw. He looked like sin.
“You’re worse than a prisoner, Adriana,” he said. “Prisoners get released. You signed forever.”
He stalked toward her. Each step measured. Predatory. He stopped inches from her face. Close enough that she could see gold flecks in his dark eyes. Close enough to smell whiskey and smoke on his breath.
“Take it off,” he ordered. Voice flat. Command.
Her blood froze. “What?”
“The dress. You’re my wife now. I don’t share my bed with another man’s bride.” His hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back from something worse. “Take. It. Off.”
Adriana lifted her chin. Her legs were shaking but she forced her voice steady. “Make me.”
For a second, something dangerous flashed across his face. His jaw ticked. His eyes darkened. She thought he might actually do it. Might tear the dress off her body right there.
Then his phone rang.
The sound cut through the tension like a knife.
Dante didn’t look away from her as he answered. “What.” Pause. His jaw ticked harder. “Where?” Another pause. “Contain it. I’m coming.”
He hung up. When he looked at her again, the mask was back. Cold. Empty. The devil.
“Change,” he said. He crossed to a walk-in closet and tossed a black shirt and sweatpants at her. They hit her chest and fell to the floor. They smelled like him. Expensive cologne and something darker. “We leave in 5 minutes.”
Adriana didn’t pick them up. “Where are we going?”
Dante grabbed a gun from a drawer. Checked the magazine. Loaded it. The sound was loud in the silent room. “To see the man who texted you about your brother.”
Adriana’s heart stopped. “You knew about the text.”
“I know everything that happens in my city, piccola.” He finally looked at her. His smile wasn’t kind. It was sharp. “Question is: do you still want the truth now that you have me?”
Before she could answer, glass shattered.
A bullet tore through the floor-to-ceiling window behind her. Then another. And another.
Dante moved faster than she thought possible. He tackled her to the floor, his body covering hers as bullets rained in. Glass rained down on them like knives.
His lips were at her ear. “Rule four, Adriana,” he growled against her skin. “When I say get down, you get down. Because the only person allowed to kill you is me.”
He rolled, putting her beneath a marble coffee table as he returned fire. One hand, perfect aim. Two shots. Silence.
Dante stood and pulled her up by the arm. He was checking her over with his eyes, his hands. Fast. Clinical. Possessive.
“Are you hit?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
Dante’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at it and cursed in Italian.
“We leave. Now. Underground exit.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward a hidden door behind a bookshelf.
The safe house was underground. No windows. Concrete walls. One bed. One door. One bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Dante locked the door behind them. Three locks again.
“72 hours,” he said. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. Under his white shirt, she could see the outline of scars. Old ones. Knife marks. Bullet scars. “Then we move.”
Adriana pressed her back to the wall. Her hands were still shaking. “You said you’d take me to the man who texted me.”
“I lied.” Dante poured water from a bottle. Didn’t offer her any. He drank half and set it down. “That text came from my phone, Adriana.”
The room went silent.
Her blood turned to ice. “You… you sent it?”
Dante met her eyes. No guilt. Just truth. Brutal and sharp. “I wanted to see if you’d ask me about your brother to my face. Or if you’d run.” He shrugged. “You stayed. Means you’re not stupid. Just desperate.”
Adriana’s laugh was bitter. Broken. “Stayed? I was shot at!”
“You were protected.” He set the bottle down hard. “My men took the hit, not you. Remember that, Adriana. I don’t let what’s mine get damaged.”
He tossed her the black shirt from earlier. “Change. Now. I don’t do guests in wedding dresses.”
Adriana didn’t move. “You killed him. My brother, Matteo. Didn’t you?”
Dante set the bottle down. Slow. Deliberate. “I ordered it. Yes.” The word hit her like a physical punch. She staggered. “But I didn’t pull the trigger. Your father did.”
“Liar.” The word came out as a whisper.
“Check the safe.” He nodded to a metal box bolted to the wall. Punched in a code: 0417. Her brother’s birthday. “Inside: a file, a gun, and Matteo’s watch. The one you gave him for his 18th birthday.”
Her knees gave out. Dante caught her before she hit the floor. His arms were solid. Warm. The opposite of his words. He carried her to the bed and set her down like she weighed nothing.
“Why?” she whispered against his chest. She hadn’t realized she’d grabbed his shirt. “Why marry me if you killed him? If you ordered it?”
Dante’s hand fisted in her hair. Not gentle. Possessive. He tilted her face up to his. His eyes were black and endless.
“Because your father owed me 50 million. Because Matteo was weak and would’ve gotten you killed too. And because…” His thumb brushed her cheek. The touch was wrong. Tender and violent at the same time. “The second I saw your file, I wanted you. The debt was just an excuse, Adriana.”
His mouth was inches from hers. She could taste the whiskey. Could feel his heart beating too fast under her palm.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me like you care.”
“I don’t care,” Dante said. But his lips touched her forehead anyway. Soft. Wrong. A brand. “I own. There’s a difference. Learn it.”
A knock at the door. Three sharp raps. Code.
Dante released her instantly. Gun in hand in one second flat. He moved like a ghost.
“Who is it?” he called, voice cold.
A muffled voice through the door: “Package from your father, Boss. He said it’s for the bride. Told me to tell her ‘happy wedding day’.”
Dante’s eyes went completely black. He looked at Adriana. Then at the door. His jaw worked.
He opened it one inch. A small black box slid through on the floor. No note. Just her name written in her father’s handwriting. _For Adriana._
Dante picked it up. He didn’t open it. He threw it to her instead, hard.
“Open it, wife,” he said. Voice flat. Dead. “Let’s see what he sold you for this time.”
Adriana’s hands shook as she lifted the lid.
Inside: a USB drive. And a photo.
Her and Dante. Taken 5 minutes ago. In this room. No windows. No cameras.
She was on the bed. He was leaning over her. His hand in her hair.
Someone was watching them. Right now.
Adriana dropped the box. “How—”
Dante was already moving. He ripped the USB from her fingers and smashed it under his boot. Then he pulled her up and shoved her behind him.
“On the floor,” he ordered.
The bulb above them flickered once. Then went out.
In the darkness, Dante’s voice came, low and furious: “Rule five, Adriana. You don’t die. Not on my watch. Not ever.”
A red laser dot appeared on the wall. Then another. Then ten.
Someone had them surrounded.
Dante pulled her tighter against his chest. His gun was aimed at the door.
And in her ear, so quiet only she could hear: “If I don’t make it out, remember this. I didn’t want you for the debt. I wanted you because you’re the only thing in this city that’s mine.”
The door exploded inward.
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- Writer
