For You

THAT'S MY GIRL (DANTE)

The moment I heard Zanya’s voice, low and edged with a lethal calm, I knew something was about to go down.

I had been keeping an eye on her ever since Lucia decided to make her a target. The girl was a nuisance, delusional enough to think she could stake a claim on something that was never hers to begin with. That alone should have been enough to bore me, but the moment she started spewing poison at my angel, I knew it was only a matter of time before the situation escalated.

So I listened.

The tiny earpiece I had embedded in Zanya’s ear—a nano-sized device meant to keep her safe without her even noticing—fed every word of their conversation straight to me. And what I heard? It was enough to make me smirk.

Lucia had no idea who she was dealing with.

“You’re nothing but a nobody,” Lucia sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “Dante is only keeping you around out of pity. You’re pathetic, offering yourself to him like a common w***e just so you can have some power. But it won’t last. He’ll get bored of you, just like everyone else does.”

There was silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Then, when Zanya spoke, it wasn’t with anger or emotion—it was with something far worse.

A quiet, lethal promise.

“Say that again.”

Lucia, being the arrogant fool she was, laughed. “I said—”

The sound of metal against skin cut her off.

My dagger.

The very one I had gifted to Zanya, now pressed against Lucia’s throat.

I leaned back against my chair, tilting my head. Interesting.

“You think you know me?” Zanya’s voice was soft, deceptively so. “You think you can stand there and tell me who I am, what I am, like I’m some lost little girl who needs direction?”

Lucia choked on her own breath. “W-What are you doing?”

Zanya didn’t let up. “You look at me, and you see someone weak. Someone who doesn’t deserve the love I’ve been given. That’s fine. You’re entitled to your opinions. But you made a mistake, Lucia.”

She pressed the blade harder, just enough to make Lucia’s breath stutter.

“You made the mistake of thinking I would take your insults and walk away. That I would let you trample over me with your pathetic words and not do something about it.” A pause. “You don’t know me. And you sure as hell don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Fuck.

I had never been more proud.

There was a moment of complete silence. Then, Zanya leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“If you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me like that again… I will remind you exactly why people should be afraid of me.”

Lucia let out a choked sound, and I could hear the way her breath shuddered.

Good.

“Z-Zanya—”

“Don’t say my name.”

Lucia gasped as Zanya finally pulled back, the blade slipping away from her skin. I heard her stumble, her breath ragged and uneven. “You’re insane,” she spat, trying to regain some sense of control.

Zanya chuckled.

And it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft.

It was deadly.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But at least I know who I am. You? You’re just a desperate little girl trying to claim something that was never yours to begin with.”

I let out a breath, a slow smirk curling my lips.

That’s my girl.

Lucia stormed away a moment later, and I heard the small exhale that left Zanya’s lips. The way she steadied herself, as if grounding her own emotions before they could take control.

Then she whispered something, so quiet I almost didn’t catch it.

“I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

I stood, heading straight for her.

Because pity was the last thing I had ever felt for her.

Zanya wasn’t weak. She wasn’t someone to be pitied or protected like some fragile doll.

She was a goddess. A lethal one.

And she was mine.

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The mansion was quiet, save for the distant murmur of conversation. Dante’s mind, however, was anything but. The image of his angel—his lethal, dangerous angel—flashed through his thoughts like a siren call, her beauty marred with a promise of destruction as she held a dagger to Lucia’s throat. His Zanya. His lethal goddess. He had never been prouder.

The hunger that gnawed at him was impossible to ignore, coiling tight in his gut like a beast demanding release. His steps were purposeful as he strode down the dimly lit hallway of the Garcia estate, his destination clear. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned against it for a moment, eyes shut, breathing deeply.

The scent of her still clung to him—something soft and dangerous all at once. The memory of her pressed against Lucia, deadly and unrelenting, sent a sharp pulse of arousal through him. f**k. He was gone for this woman.

His hands made quick work of his belt, the buckle clinking softly in the quiet space. He freed himself, exhaling sharply as his fingers wrapped around his thick, aching length. The image in his mind was immediate—Zanya, standing before him, drenched in crimson. Not her blood. No, never hers. Theirs. Their enemies. The people who dared to harm her. Her body a canvas of destruction, and yet she remained untouched, unbroken. His perfect angel of wrath.

Dante’s grip tightened as he imagined stepping forward, his large frame towering over hers, the way she’d tilt her head up to meet his gaze, fearless. He’d reach for her, fingers skimming over her blood-streaked skin before he’d cup her cheek, smearing red across her softness. And she’d let him. She always let him.

“Mine,” he’d murmur, his voice rough with possession, with devotion.

She’d press against him, her heat searing through his clothes, the scent of blood and her intoxicating sweetness making his control snap. He’d worship her, right there, right where the bodies lay cooling, where the world had crumbled beneath her feet, and she had risen unshaken. His hands would glide down her sides, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against his aching c**k, desperate for the feeling of being buried inside her.

The thought had him groaning, his strokes rougher now, his breath coming in sharp pants. He imagined Zanya gripping his hair, yanking him closer, her lips parting as she bit into his neck—hard. Pain laced with pleasure shot through him at the thought, and he could almost feel the slow trickle of blood sliding down his chest. A mark. A claim. Hers. Just as she was his.

His free hand pressed against the cool sink, grounding him, but his mind was lost in the fantasy, in the way she’d press her bloodied lips to his, kissing him with reckless abandon. He could taste the metallic tang of her victory, could feel her nails digging into his shoulders, her legs wrapping around him as he took her, filled her, owned her.

The coil in his stomach tightened, his strokes turning frantic. His angel. His destruction. His salvation. He imagined driving into her, her warmth engulfing him, her breathy moans filling his ears. Over and over, until neither of them could breathe, until the world ceased to exist beyond the two of them.

The orgasm ripped through him, violent and unforgiving. A guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, his release spilling over his hand, his body shuddering from the force of it. He braced himself against the sink, head hanging low, his chest rising and falling heavily.

A chuckle, dark and amused, escaped him.

His devotion to her was absolute, his obsession consuming.

And the best part?

She had no idea just how deep it went.