The following weeks were a blur of luxury and tension. My life had become a series of scheduled events: breakfast in the sun-drenched morning room, hours spent in the library where I pretended to study while Dante watched me from across the room, and nights that were consistently, breathlessly erotic.
Dante was a contradiction. In the boardroom or when dealing with his "associates," he was a glacier—cold, immovable, and terrifying. But behind the closed doors of our bedroom, he was a fire. He explored my body with a hunger that never seemed to be satisfied, teaching me things about my own pleasure that I had never dared to imagine.
Yet, the shadow of the mafia always loomed. I saw the way the guards looked at me—not as a guest, but as a prize. I heard the hushed conversations in the hall
