The days after my conversation with Lucia felt like walking through a minefield.
Every interaction with Dante crackled with tension. Every accidental touch sent electricity racing across my skin. Every moment our eyes met felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, one breath away from falling.
He was holding back. I could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hands clenched when I walked past his desk, the muscle that jumped in his jaw when I laughed at something Marco said. Dante Moretti was a man on the edge, and I was the one pushing him closer with every passing day.
The problem was, I was just as close to breaking.
Three days since I'd told him I wasn't walking away. Three days of working side by side in his study, maintaining professional distance while the air be
