Beautiful Sins

Chapter 7: The Lion's Den

​The dress arrived in a velvet-lined box that took up half of Elena’s small apartment bed. It was emerald green silk, backless, with a slit that traveled dangerously high up her left thigh. It didn't look like something a college student would wear; it looked like something designed for a woman who intended to start a war.

​When Elena stepped out of the mansion’s private dressing room on Friday night, Dante was waiting for her in the hallway.

​He was adjusting his cufflinks, wearing a razor-sharp black tuxedo that highlighted the imposing breadth of his shoulders. When his eyes lifted to take her in, he stopped completely. The raw, predatory hunger that flared in his obsidian eyes was so intense it felt like a physical touch.

​"Beautiful," Dante murmured, his voice lower and rougher than usual. He walked toward her, his polished shoes clicking against the floor, and reached into his jacket pocket. He drew out a heavy, platinum necklace dripping with emeralds that matched her dress.

​He stepped behind her, his large hands warm against her bare shoulders as he clasped the jewels around her neck. Elena shivered at the contrast of his cool fingers against her skin.

​"They will all be looking at you tonight, tesoro," Dante whispered near her ear, his breath stirring her loose dark curls. "The bosses, the capos, the politicians in our pocket. They will look for a weakness in you. They will think because you are young, you can be broken."

​Elena turned around in his loose embrace, placing her hands flat against his silk lapels. She looked up at him, her eyeliner sharp, her lips painted a deep, lethal crimson. "Let them try. I’ve handled worse than a room full of men in expensive suits."

​Dante’s lips curved into that dark, enraptured smile. "That is exactly why I chose you."

​The gala was held at The Grand Horizon, a private, high-society estate on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The driveway was packed with Lamborghinis, Maybachs, and armored Suburbans. Inside, the ballroom was a spectacle of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and live classical music.

​But beneath the glittering surface, the air was thick with tension. These were the rulers of the city’s criminal underbelly.

​When Dante entered the room with Elena on his arm, a palpable silence rippled through the crowd. The whispers started immediately. Elena ignored them, keeping her chin high and her posture rigid. She noticed the way the older capos stared at her, trying to read her, trying to evaluate what a college senior was doing on the arm of The Ghost.

​Dante led her straight to the center table, where an elderly man with silver hair and a deeply lined face sat sipping red wine. This was Don Marchetti, Dante’s uncle and the reigning head of the family.

​"Dante," the old man nodded, his sharp, fading eyes instantly locking onto Elena. "And this must be the Vance girl. The driver."

​"Elena," she corrected smoothly, refusing to wait for Dante to introduce her. She extended her hand, looking the Don directly in the eye. "It’s a pleasure, Don Marchetti."

​The old man blinked in surprise at her boldness. Most people trembled in his presence. He let out a dry, wheezing chuckle, shaking her hand. "You have spine, girl. Marcus didn't have half your courage. That's why he's in a ditch."

​Elena didn't flinch at the mention of her brother. "Marcus was a gambler, Don Marchetti. He bet on the wrong hands. I only bet on what I can control."

​Dante’s hand settled firmly on the small of her bare back, his thumb tracing a possessive circle against her skin. "She cleared the Volkov ambush on Route 9 by herself, Uncle. She delivered the cargo intact."

​The Don’s expression hardened into something resembling respect. "Good. Because the Volkovs are here tonight. There is a truce inside these walls, but out there... it is a bloodbath."

​As if on cue, a tall, heavily built man with a thick scar running through his eyebrow approached the table, flanked by two bodyguards. It was Nikolai Volkov, the youngest brother of the Volkov syndicate—and the man whose crew Elena had outrun on the muddy logging road.

​"Marchetti," Nikolai grunted, his accent thick. His eyes slid down to Elena, lingering on her exposed collarbone and the high slit of her dress. A nasty, mocking grin spread across his face. "So this is the little rabbit who drives your cars? I must admit, she looks much better in silk than she did through a rain-slicked windshield."

​Before Elena could speak, Dante stepped slightly in front of her, his entire frame shifting into a posture of absolute, terrifying lethal intent. The temperature in the immediate radius seemed to drop twenty degrees.

​"Watch your eyes, Nikolai," Dante said, his voice dangerously low, a soft growl that made the surrounding bodyguards immediately put their hands near their jackets. "If you look at her like that again, I will carve them out of your skull before the music stops."

​Nikolai sneered, though he took a half-step back. "The commission doesn't allow blood at the gala, Dante."

​"Try me," Dante whispered. "See if I care about the commission’s rules when it comes to what belongs to me."

​Elena reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around Dante’s forearm, pulling his attention back to her. She didn't want a full-scale riot in the middle of a ballroom, but more than that, she wanted to show Nikolai she wasn't a prize to be fought over.

​She stepped out from behind Dante, looking Nikolai dead in the eye. "Your drivers need to learn how to handle a corner in the rain, Mr. Volkov," she said, her voice dripping with sweet, poisonous sarcasm. "Tell them the next time they want to play bumper cars, they should bring a vehicle that can actually keep up with a BMW. It was almost embarrassing how quickly they gave up."

​A few nearby capos who had overheard the exchange choked on their drinks, trying to hide their amusement. Nikolai’s face flushed an ugly, furious purple.

​Dante let out a low, dark laugh, his possessive grip on Elena tightening as he drew her close against his side. "You heard her, Nikolai. Go teach your boys how to drive. Now get out of our sight."

​Nikolai glared at them both, his eyes promising murder, before spinning on his heel and storming off into the crowd.

​Dante turned Elena around, his dark eyes burning with absolute adoration and pride. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple. "You are magnificent," he murmured against her skin. "A true queen of the dark."

​Elena looked up at him, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs. She was officially in the deep end now. There was no going back to simple lectures and library study sessions. She was intertwined with Dante Marchetti, and as she looked out at the room of dangerous men who now feared and respected her, she realized she loved the power just as much as he did.