Shadows of the vow

Chapter 6: The Breakfast War

The morning sun bled through the heavy velvet curtains of my suite, turning the room into a hazy, amber-lit cage. I hadn't slept, my mind a repetitive loop of Dante’s voice in the basement: “Let her think she has agency.”

He wanted a snake? I would give him a viper.

I dressed with deliberate care, choosing a silk slip dress that hugged my curves and a thin cashmere robe. I applied my makeup—a sharp, winged eyeliner that made my gaze look predatory rather than panicked. When I descended the stairs, I found Dante already in the dining room, a mountain of financial reports and encrypted tablets spread across the table.

He didn't look up when I entered. He simply gestured to the chair opposite him.

"You look different this morning, Elena," he said, his eyes still fixed on a document. "Less like a bride, more like a challenger."

"The wedding is over, Dante," I replied, sitting down with a grace I didn't feel. "I assume you expect me to stop acting like a prop."

He finally looked at me. His gaze drifted over my attire, slow and deliberate, and I felt a hot, prickling flush climb my throat. He didn't look offended. He looked amused.

"I expect you to know your place," he countered. "And if you’ve decided your place is at the center of the storm, you’d best be prepared for the fallout."

He stood up and walked around the table. Before I could register his movement, he leaned over me, his hands bracing the armrests of my chair. He trapped me, the heat radiating from his body an almost physical weight. He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and forcing me to meet his eyes.

"You were creeping around the service wing last night," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Don't bother denying it. The floorboards in the west corridor are warped; they creak under anything heavier than a ghost."

My heart hammered, but I didn't blink. "I couldn't sleep. The house is loud."

"Is it?" He leaned closer, his lips hovering inches from mine. The scent of him—caffeine, leather, and raw, masculine dominance—drowned out my reason. "Or were you looking for a way out?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He kissed me, but it wasn't the possessive, ceremonial kiss of the altar. This was a claiming. It was aggressive and hungry, a direct assault on my composure. His tongue swept into my mouth, demanding a surrender I was terrified to give.

I clawed my fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, letting out a sharp, ragged gasp as his hand slid from my chin to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. The kiss deepened, becoming chaotic and desperate. He hoisted me out of the chair, his grip on my waist bruising, and slammed me against the cold marble of the table.

The contact was a shock of cold against the heat of his skin. He didn't break the kiss. His hands moved with an impatient, possessive fervor, sliding under the silk of my robe to trace the curve of my hip. Every touch felt like a question he was forcing me to answer.

"You think you can play the snake, Elena?" he growled against my lips, his hands exploring the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, pushing the silk higher. I arched into him, a traitorous sound escaping my throat, and he swallowed it, his hand finding the center of my heat, his fingers firm and knowing.

I was trembling, caught in the friction of my own desire and the cold, calculated realization that he was using this to break me. But in the haze of the sensation, I didn't care. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him flush against me, wanting to lose myself in the sensation if only to stop thinking for a moment.

He pulled back, his eyes dark with a mixture of dark hunger and a terrifying, smug victory. He stared at me, his chest heaving, his thumb tracing the swollen, reddened line of my lower lip.

"You aren't a snake," he whispered, his voice a lethal promise. "You're just a girl who’s finally waking up to the fact that you’re exactly where you belong."

He kissed me one last time, deep and bruising, before pulling away and adjusting his cuffs. He looked as composed as if he’d simply walked into the room, while I felt like I’d been shattered and put back together in the wrong order.

"Eat your breakfast, Elena," he said, his voice returning to that flat, cold tone. "We have a dinner at the club tonight. A few associates from the Northside. I expect you to be there, and I expect you to smile."

He turned and strode out of the room, leaving me sitting on the table, my pulse thundering, my skin humming with the memory of his touch. I looked at his empty chair and then at the reports he’d left behind.

He thought he’d won the battle. He thought that by exerting control, he’d silenced the viper. But as I reached out and took one of the files from the table, my hands still shaking slightly, I knew the truth.

He’d given me access to his desk. And he had no idea what I was capable of when I wasn't distracted.