27. Chapter 27 Natalie

Chapter 27 Natalie

T he taste of blood and gunpowder lingers on my tongue as the helicopter blades whir to life. My ears ring, drowning out everything but the frantic pounding of my heart. Dante's arm is an iron band around my waist, his breath hot against my neck as he shouts orders I can barely hear.

We're alive. Somehow, against all odds, we've survived the assault on the villa. But at what cost?

The ground falls away beneath us, the burning ruins of Dante's empire shrinking into the distance. I should feel relieved, triumphant even. Instead, a cold emptiness gnaws at my insides. How many people died today because of me? Because Dante Corleone decided I was a prize worth killing for?

"You okay, solnyshko?" Dante's voice cuts through the fog in my head. His dark eyes search my face, concern etched in the hard lines of his features. It's jarring to see genuine worry there, a crack in his usual mask of cool control.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. Am I okay? I don't even know what that means anymore.

Instead, I nod, not trusting my voice. Dante's grip on me tightens, and I hate how safe it makes me feel. How, even now, some traitorous part of me craves his touch.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he says, his lips brushing my ear. "But I've got you. Nothing's gonna touch you, understand?"

The possessiveness in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. It should repulse me, this claim he's laid on my very existence. But the heat pooling low in my belly tells a different story.

I turn to look out the window, unable to meet his gaze. The Mediterranean stretches out beneath us, a vast expanse of blue that seems to mock the chaos we've left behind. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to slip into those cool depths, to let the waves wash away the blood and sin that stains my skin.

But Dante's presence beside me is an anchor, tethering me to this new reality whether I like it or not.

A burst of static from the cockpit makes me jump. Dante tenses, his hand moving to the gun at his hip.

"Boss," the pilot's voice crackles through the speaker. "We've got company. Two bogies on our six, closing fast."

"Fuck," Dante snarls, his face hardening into a mask of cold fury. "How the hell did they find us so quickly?"

My stomach drops as the implications sink in. "You think someone betrayed us?"

Dante's laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. "In this business? It's not a question of if, but when." His eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense. "But don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll handle it."

I bristle at his patronizing tone. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Dante. I can handle myself."

His smile is all teeth, a predator's grin that sends a thrill of fear – and something darker – through me. "Oh, I know you can, solnyshko. That's what makes you so fucking irresistible."

Before I can respond, the helicopter banks sharply to the left. My stomach lurches as we drop altitude, skimming dangerously close to the waves.

"Hold on tight," Dante growls, pulling me flush against him. "This is gonna get rough."

The next few minutes are a blur of terror and adrenaline. The pilot weaves through a series of heart-stopping maneuvers, trying to shake our pursuers. I cling to Dante, my face buried in his chest, inhaling the scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne.

Just when I think we've lost them, a deafening explosion rocks the helicopter. Alarms blare as we start to spin, the world outside becoming a dizzying kaleidoscope of sea and sky.

"We're hit!" the pilot shouts. "Brace for impact!"

Dante's arms tighten around me, his body curling protectively over mine as we plummet towards the unforgiving sea. In those final seconds, a strange calm washes over me. If this is how it ends, at least I'm not alone.

The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. Icy water floods the cabin, shocking me back to awareness. Dante's already moving, kicking out the shattered window.

"Can you swim?" he asks, his voice urgent.

I nod, too dazed to speak. He grabs my hand, pulling me towards the opening. "Deep breath," he commands. "On three. One, two–"

We plunge into the Mediterranean, the cold stealing what little air I managed to gulp down. Dante's hand is an iron grip around mine as we kick towards the surface. My lungs burn, spots dancing at the edge of my vision.

Just when I think I can't hold on any longer, we break through. I gasp, sucking in great lungfuls of salty air. Dante treads water beside me, his eyes scanning the horizon.

"There," he says, pointing to a small island in the distance. "We need to move. Now."

I nod, forcing my exhausted limbs into motion. We swim side by side, the sound of our labored breathing the only thing breaking the eerie silence. No sign of our pursuers, but that doesn't mean they've given up.

By the time we drag ourselves onto the rocky shore, every muscle in my body is screaming. I collapse onto the rough sand, panting. Dante stands over me, his expression grim as he surveys our surroundings.

"We can't stay here long," he says. "They'll be looking for bodies."

I struggle to sit up, wincing at the myriad of cuts and bruises making themselves known. "And go where, exactly? In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of stuck."

Dante's lips quirk in a humorless smile. "You underestimate me, solnyshko. I always have a backup plan."

He pulls a waterproof bag from inside his jacket – how the hell did that survive the crash? – and retrieves a satellite phone. As he punches in a series of numbers, I take stock of our situation.

We're alive, which is more than I expected a few minutes ago. But we're also alone, cut off from Dante's resources and men. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, we're on somewhat even footing.

Dante's voice pulls me from my plotting. "Enzo? Yeah, it's me. We need an extraction. Sending coordinates now." He pauses, listening. "No, just me and Natalie. The others... didn't make it."

A pang of guilt hits me at the reminder of the lives lost today. How many more will die before this is over?

Dante ends the call, turning back to me. "Help's on the way. Should be here within the hour."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving me shaky and nauseous. Dante must notice, because his expression softens slightly.

"Come here," he says, holding out his hand. "Let me take a look at you."

Part of me wants to refuse, to maintain what little distance I can. But exhaustion wins out. I let him pull me to my feet, steadying myself against his solid frame.

His hands are surprisingly gentle as they move over me, checking for injuries. When he reaches a particularly nasty gash on my arm, I can't hold back a hiss of pain.

"Sorry, solnyshko," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. "I'll be more careful."

I look up, startled by the tenderness in his voice. Our eyes lock, and suddenly I'm acutely aware of how close we are. Of the heat radiating from his body, the way his wet clothes cling to every hard plane of muscle.

Dante's gaze darkens, his pupils dilating with unmistakable hunger. "Natalie," he growls, my name a warning on his lips.

I should pull away. I should run, put as much distance between us as I can. But my traitorous body has other ideas.

Instead, I lean forward, crushing my mouth to his. Dante responds instantly, one hand tangling in my wet hair as the other grips my hip, pulling me flush against him. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and pent-up need.

I pour everything into it – my fear, my anger, my confusion. Dante takes it all, giving back just as fiercely. His hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

"Fuck," Dante pants when we finally break apart. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

I can't help the breathless laugh that escapes me. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."

His answering grin is wicked, full of dark promise. "Oh, solnyshko. I'm just getting started."

Before I can process what's happening, Dante has me pinned against a nearby boulder. His mouth is hot on my neck, biting and sucking marks into my skin. I should be outraged at this blatant claiming, but all I can do is moan, my hips grinding shamelessly against his.

"Tell me you want this," Dante growls, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of my soaked pants. "Tell me you want me."

"I – ah!" My words dissolve into a gasp as his fingers find my clit, circling with maddening precision. "Dante, please..."

He chuckles darkly, nipping at my earlobe. "That's not an answer, solnyshko. Use your words."

I want to hate him for this, for reducing me to a quivering mess with just a few touches. But the heat coiling in my belly drowns out any semblance of rational thought.

"Yes," I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I want you. Please, Dante–"

My plea is cut off by his mouth crashing into mine, swallowing my moans as he slides two fingers inside me. The angle is awkward, our wet clothes a frustrating barrier, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the exquisite friction of his fingers pumping in and out, his thumb circling my clit with practiced skill.

"That's it," Dante murmurs against my lips. "Let go for me, Natalie. Show me how much you need this. How much you need me."

His words push me over the edge. I come with a strangled cry, my body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash over me. Dante works me through it, drawing out every last aftershock until I'm a trembling, overstimulated mess.

As I come down from my high, reality starts to seep back in. What the hell did I just do? How could I let myself get swept up in the moment like that?

Dante must sense my inner turmoil, because his expression shifts from smug satisfaction to something almost gentle. "Hey," he says, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "No regrets, okay? What happens between us... it's inevitable. You can keep fighting it if you want, but we both know how this ends."

I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong. But the words stick in my throat, because deep down, I know he's right. Whatever this thing is between us – love, lust, Stockholm syndrome – it's too powerful to deny forever.

The sound of an approaching helicopter shatters the moment. Dante tenses, his hand going to the gun at his hip. But as the aircraft comes into view, he relaxes slightly.

"It's Enzo," he says, relief evident in his voice. "We're safe. For now."

As the helicopter touches down on the rocky shore, kicking up a spray of sand and seawater, I can't help but wonder – is anywhere truly safe when you're with Dante Corleone?

The ride to wherever Enzo is taking us is tense, filled with meaningful glances between Dante and his right-hand man. I catch snippets of their hushed conversation – words like "traitor" and "retaliation" that make my stomach churn.

By the time we land at a secluded villa nestled in the hills, night has fallen. Enzo ushers us inside, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by grim determination.

"The safe room is ready," he tells Dante. "I've got men sweeping the perimeter, but we should be clear for now."

Dante nods, his arm a possessive weight around my waist. "Good. We need to regroup, figure out our next move." He turns to me, his dark eyes intense. "You should get some rest, solnyshko. It's been a long day."

I bristle at being dismissed so easily. "I'm not some child you can send to bed, Dante. I deserve to know what's going on."

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but before he can respond, Enzo steps in. "Perhaps the signorina would like a hot shower first? I'm sure we can find some clean clothes for her as well."

The thought of washing away the grime and salt is tempting, but I hesitate, not wanting to be shuffled off and kept in the dark.

Dante must sense my reluctance, because his expression softens slightly. "Go on, Natalie. Get cleaned up. I promise we'll talk after, okay?"

I study his face, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, I nod reluctantly. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that promise."

As I follow one of Enzo's men to a lavish bathroom, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something crucial. That beneath the surface of Dante's cool exterior, a storm is brewing.

And I have a sinking suspicion that I'm going to be caught right in the middle of it.

The hot water sluicing over my battered body is heaven, washing away the physical reminders of the day's chaos. But no amount of soap can cleanse the turmoil in my mind.

I replay the events of the past few hours on a loop – the attack on the villa, our harrowing escape, that moment of raw desperation on the beach. My cheeks burn at the memory of Dante's hands on me, the way I'd shamelessly begged for his touch.

What the hell is wrong with me? How can I still want him after everything he's done?

But even as I berate myself, I know it's futile. The pull between us is magnetic, an inexorable force that defies logic or reason. I'm drawn to Dante's darkness as much as I fear it, craving the intensity he brings out in me even as I long for freedom.

I step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a plush towel. The clothes laid out for me are simple but expensive – soft leggings and an oversized sweater that smells faintly of Dante. The possessive gesture should irritate me, but instead, it sends a shiver of something like anticipation down my spine.

Dressed and marginally more composed, I make my way back to the main living area. Voices drift from behind a closed door – Dante and Enzo, their tones hushed but urgent.

I hesitate, torn between respecting their privacy and satisfying my burning curiosity. In the end, the need for information wins out. I creep closer, pressing my ear to the smooth wood.

"–can't trust anyone right now," Dante is saying, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Whoever sold us out to the Corsinis, they're gonna pay. In blood."

Enzo's response is too low for me to make out, but Dante's snarl comes through loud and clear.

"I don't give a fuck about collateral damage. Anyone who even breathed in Natalie's direction is fair game. Understand?"

My breath catches in my throat. The casual way he talks about murder, about unleashing hell on anyone he perceives as a threat... it's a stark reminder of who Dante really is. Of the monster that lurks beneath the surface, always ready to bare its teeth.

I must make some small sound, because suddenly the voices go quiet. Footsteps approach, and I barely have time to step back before the door swings open.

Dante fills the doorway, his expression unreadable as he takes me in. "Eavesdropping, solnyshko? Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?"

I lift my chin, refusing to be cowed. "And satisfaction brought it back. You promised we'd talk, Dante. I want to know what's going on."

He studies me for a long moment, something dark and possessive flickering in his eyes. Finally, he steps aside, gesturing for me to enter.

"Alright then. Let's talk."

The room is clearly meant to be a study, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive oak desk. Enzo stands by the window, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by tense watchfulness.

Dante moves to pour himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing into a crystal tumbler. "Want one?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head. I need a clear head for whatever's coming next.

He shrugs, knocking back half the whiskey in one swallow. The burn doesn't even make him flinch.

"So," Dante says, his voice low and dangerous. "You want to know what's next? How we're going to crush the Corsinis and anyone else who dares to challenge us?"

The casual way he talks about destruction sends a chill down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. "And what about the collateral damage? The innocent lives caught in the crossfire of your war?"

Dante's eyes darken, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "There's no such thing as innocence in this world, solnyshko. You of all people should know that by now."

He stalks towards me, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Everyone has blood on their hands. The only difference is, I'm honest about it."

I should be terrified. I should be running for the hills. But something in his words, in the raw honesty of his declaration, ignites a fire in my belly that I can't ignore.

"And what about my hands, Dante?" I ask, my voice stronger than I feel. "How much blood will be on them when this is over?"

His laugh is dark, almost cruel. "Oh, Natalie. Your hands have been stained since the moment you caught my eye. But don't worry..." He reaches out, intertwining our fingers. "Red suits you."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue as his thumb traces my lower lip. The simple touch sends sparks racing through my body, igniting nerve endings I didn't even know I had.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Dante murmurs, his face inches from mine. "Tell me you don't crave this – crave me – and I'll let you walk out that door right now. No questions asked."

It's a lie, and we both know it. There's no scenario where Dante Corleone lets me go. But in this moment, with his dark eyes boring into mine and the heat of his body calling to something primal inside me, I almost wish it were true.

Because the truth? The truth is that I do want this. Want him. With an intensity that terrifies me.

"I can't," I whisper, the words barely audible. "God help me, Dante, I can't."

The smile that spreads across his face is triumphant, predatory. "That's my girl," he growls, and then his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding.

I melt into the kiss, all thoughts of resistance flying out the window. Dante's hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

A discreet cough reminds me that we're not alone. I break away, face burning as I remember Enzo's presence. But Dante doesn't seem to care, his arm a steel band around my waist as he turns to face his friend.

"Give us the room," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Enzo nods, a knowing smirk playing at his lips as he heads for the door. "I'll make sure you're not disturbed," he says, and then we're alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Dante is on me again. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the massive desk. Papers scatter to the floor, but neither of us pays them any mind.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Dante growls, his hands sliding under my sweater. "How fucking crazy you make me?"

I gasp as his fingers find my bare skin, tracing patterns that make me shiver. "Show me," I breathe, surprising myself with my boldness. "Show me what I do to you, Dante."

His eyes flash with something dark and hungry. "Careful what you wish for, solnyshko. You might not be able to handle it."

"Try me," I challenge, and it's like a dam breaking.

Dante surges forward, crushing his mouth to mine in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands are everywhere, touching, claiming, branding me as his. I give as good as I get, my nails raking down his back as I pull him closer.

Clothes are shed with frantic urgency, landing in haphazard piles on the floor. When we're finally skin to skin, I can't hold back the moan that escapes me. Dante feels like fire incarnate, his body hard and unyielding against my softer curves.

"Fuck, Natalie," he pants, pulling back to look at me. His eyes are blown wide with lust, a thin ring of brown around pupils dark as night. "You're so fucking beautiful."

The raw honesty in his voice makes my heart stutter. I reach up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "So are you," I whisper, and I mean it. Dante Corleone is many things – dangerous, ruthless, borderline sociopathic – but in this moment, he's also the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen.

He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that's almost reverent. Then, without warning, he flips me onto my stomach, bending me over the desk.

"Hands on the wood," he commands, his voice rough with need. "Don't move them unless I say so. Understand?"

I nod, a thrill of anticipation racing through me. "Yes, I understand."

"Good girl," Dante purrs, and the praise sends a shiver down my spine.

His hands ghost over my back, tracing the curve of my spine before coming to rest on my hips. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing but not quite breaching.

"Tell me you want this," Dante says, his grip tightening. "Tell me you want me to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

"Please," I whimper, past the point of pride or shame. "Please, Dante, I need you. I need–"

He slams into me, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. I cry out, the stretch bordering on pain but so, so good. Dante gives me no time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that has the desk creaking beneath us.

"Is this what you needed?" he growls, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. "To be filled, claimed, fucked like the dirty little slut you are?"

His words should offend me, but instead, they send liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "Yes," I gasp, meeting him thrust for thrust. "God, yes, don't stop."

Dante's hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back. "Look at yourself," he commands, and I realize we're facing a mirror on the opposite wall. "Look at how perfectly you take my cock. How beautiful you are when you're being ruined."

I force my eyes open, taking in the sight of us reflected back. It's obscene, pornographic – me bent over the desk, Dante looming behind me like some dark god of lust. But it's also the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"That's it," Dante purrs, his free hand snaking around to rub tight circles on my clit. "Watch yourself fall apart for me. Let me see you come undone."

The dual stimulation is too much. I shatter with a keening cry, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. Dante fucks me through it, drawing out every last aftershock until I'm a trembling, oversensitive mess.

Just when I think I can't take anymore, Dante's rhythm falters. He buries himself deep with a guttural groan, his release pulsing hot inside me.

For a long moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing. Dante drapes himself over my back, his weight a comforting anchor as I come down from my high.

"You okay?" he murmurs, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to my shoulder.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Dante pulls out slowly, and I can't hold back a whimper at the loss. He turns me gently, gathering me into his arms.

"I've got you," he says softly, stroking my hair. "I've always got you, Natalie."

As the afterglow fades, reality starts to creep back in. What have I done? How can I keep fighting this – fighting him – when my body so clearly craves what only Dante can give me?

But even as doubt gnaws at me, I can't deny the sense of rightness I feel in his arms. Like I've finally found where I belong, even if it's the last place I ever expected.

Dante must sense my inner turmoil, because he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Stop overthinking, solnyshko," he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "This is where you're meant to be. With me."

I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong. But the words stick in my throat, because deep down, I'm starting to wonder if he might be right.