Chapter 2 Two.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. His grip tightened, not painful but firm, and I felt that pull again—fear and something hotter, twisting together. “Tell me,” he growled, his breath warm against my face.

Before I could answer, a crash echoed from the hallway, and Marco’s voice barked, “She’s here!” Dante’s eyes widened, and he shoved me behind him, pulling a

gun from his jacket. My world tilted. A gun? Who was this man?

“Stay close,” Dante hissed, his body shielding mine as footsteps thundered closer.

My heart slammed against my ribs as Dante pressed me against the wall, his body a solid shield between me and the approaching footsteps. The cold steel of his gun gleamed in the dim light of my office, a stark reminder that I’d stumbled into a world far darker than I’d imagined. Marco’s voice echoed closer, barking orders to someone unseen. “Find her! She heard too much!” My breath hitched, the note from last night—He’s using you—clashing with the raw protectiveness in Dante’s stance. Who was the real threat here?

“Lily,” Dante whispered, his voice low and urgent, his green eyes locking onto mine. “Do exactly as I say. Understand?”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. His hand slid to my wrist, firm but not bruising, and he pulled me toward the private elevator. “We’re going up,” he said, his tone clipped. “My suite. It’s secure.”

“But Marco—” I started, my voice shaking.

“Not now,” he snapped, jabbing the elevator button. The doors slid open, and he yanked me inside just as Marco’s stocky figure appeared at the end of the hallway, his gray eyes narrowing.

“Moretti!” Marco roared, raising a gun of his own. My stomach lurched, but the doors snapped shut before he could aim. The elevator surged upward, the hum of its ascent drowned out by my pounding pulse.

Dante released my wrist, but his presence filled the small space, his cologne—sandalwood and danger—mixing with the metallic tang of fear. “What did you hear?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “And don’t lie to me, Lily. Not now.”

I swallowed, my back pressed against the cool metal wall. “I... I went to the basement,” I admitted, my cheeks burning under his stare. “I got a text. It said to check there for the truth. I heard Marco and some blond guy talking. They said I’m a problem, that you’re... soft on me. They’re planning something tomorrow. With the Eclipse delivery.”

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “A text?” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “From who?”

“I don’t know,” I said, fumbling for my phone. I showed him the message: Check the basement. Truth is there. The number was blocked, untraceable. His eyes darkened as he read it, and for a moment, I thought I saw fear flicker across his face—fear, or something close to it.

“You shouldn’t have gone down there,” he said, his tone sharp but laced with something softer, almost like regret. “That was stupid, Lily.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I just... the accounts don’t add up, sir. Millions are moving to nowhere. I thought—”

“You thought you could play detective?” he cut in, stepping closer, his body inches from mine. The air crackled between us, his heat seeping into me. “This isn’t a game. You have no idea what you’ve stepped into.”

“Then tell me!” I snapped, surprising myself. His eyes widened, and I pressed on, my fear giving way to frustration. “You hired me to do a job, but you’re keeping me in the dark. What’s Eclipse? Who’s Marco working with? And why does someone think you’re using me?”

His gaze softened, just for a second, before hardening again. “You want answers?” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Then you stay alive long enough to earn them.” The elevator dinged, opening to his private suite. He grabbed my hand, pulling me into the dimly lit space—plush carpets, dark leather, and that breathtaking view of Manhattan’s glittering chaos.

He locked the door behind us, the click loud in the silence. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a velvet couch. I obeyed, my legs shaky, as he poured himself a whiskey from the bar. “You’re not leaving until I know what’s going on,” he said, his back to me. “Marco’s been with me for years. If he’s turning, I need to know why.”

I clutched my phone, the text’s warning looping in my mind. “He said you’re soft on me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “That they can use me to... break you.”

Dante froze, his glass halfway to his lips. Slowly, he turned, his eyes boring into mine. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “That you’re just a tool to me?”

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I don’t know what to think,” I admitted. “You hired me without even checking my references. You touch me like...” I faltered, my face flaming. “Like you want something more. But then there’s that note, and Marco, and—”

“Note?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “What note?”

I hesitated, then pulled the crumpled paper from my bag, handing it to him. His face darkened as he read the red ink: Get out while you can. He’s using you. “When did you get this?” he demanded.

“Last night,” I said, my voice small. “Slipped under my door.”

He crumpled the note in his fist, his knuckles whitening. “Someone’s watching you,” he said, more to himself than me. “Someone who knows you’re here.” He tossed the note onto the bar and stalked toward me, his presence overwhelming. “Listen to me, Lily,” he said, leaning down, his hands gripping the couch arms, caging me in. “I don’t play games with my people. If I wanted to use you, you’d know it.”

My breath hitched, his face inches from mine. “Then why me?” I whispered. “Why hire a nobody like me?”

He studied me, his eyes tracing my flushed cheeks, my parted lips. “Because you’re not a nobody,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “You’re... different. Pure. And I don’t mean just your body.” His fingers brushed my jaw, and I shivered, caught between fear and a reckless heat blooming in my core. “You make me want things I swore I’d never want again.”

My heart stuttered. “What things?” I asked, barely audible.

He leaned closer, his lips grazing my ear. “You’ll find out,” he murmured, his breath sending sparks down my spine. “If you survive the night.”

Before I could respond, a sharp beep cut through the air—his phone. He straightened, pulling it from his pocket, his face hardening as he read the screen. “They’re in the building,” he said, his voice clipped. “Marco’s men.”

My stomach dropped. “What do we do?”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward a hidden panel in the wall. “We fight,” he said, pressing a code that opened a secret door to a narrow stairwell. “Or we run. Your choice, Lily.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. Run, and I’d be out of this nightmare—but I’d never know the truth. Fight, and I might lose everything. His eyes held mine, daring me to decide, and I felt that pull again, the dangerous thrill of being near him.

“I’m not running,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smirk returned, dark and approving. “Good girl,” he said, handing me a small knife from his belt. “Stay close. And don’t hesitate to use this.”

We descended the stairwell, the air growing colder, the sounds of chaos—shouts, footsteps—echoing below. At the bottom, Dante paused, his gun raised, his body ten

se. “Whatever happens,” he whispered, “you’re mine now. Understand?”