6. Chapter 6 Dante

Chapter 6 Dante

I stare at the live feed playing across the array of screens before me, my eyes devouring her every move. The way she worries that plump lower lip as she paints, the graceful arc of her throat as she throws back another shot of whiskey. Even in these stolen, unguarded moments, she takes my breath away.

A dark angel, oozing raw sensuality and tortured genius.

My fingers itch to touch her, to trace the delicate curve of her collarbone, to tangle in the inky mass of her hair. But she's not here. She's in her dingy little apartment, blissfully unaware of the storm that's about to descend upon her.

The memory of her rejection at the gala burns like acid in my veins. The way she'd looked at me, equal parts desire and terror, before turning tail and fleeing into the night. It was... unprecedented. Infuriating. Intoxicating.

No one says no to Dante Corleone. No one.

"Boss?" Alonzo's gruff voice breaks through my reverie. "The car's ready. Are you sure about this?"

I turn to face him, my most trusted lieutenant, my human attack dog. The concern etched on his craggy features would be touching if it wasn't so fucking irritating.

"Tell me, Alonzo," I drawl, my voice dripping with lethal calm. "When was the last time someone questioned my decisions and lived to tell about it?"

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in choppy waters. "Never, boss. I just... this girl. She's got you all twisted up. Maybe it's best to let her go, yeah? Plenty of other fish in the sea and all that."

A laugh tears itself from my throat, jagged and mirthless. "Let her go?" I stalk towards him, a predator scenting weakness. "Oh, my simple friend. You don't understand. Natalie Quinn isn't some common whore to be used and discarded. She's... everything. The missing piece to my empire, the dark queen to rule by my side."

I grip his shoulder, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit. "She just doesn't know it yet. But she will. Oh, she will."

Alonzo nods, knowing better than to argue further. Smart man. I've broken bigger, stronger men for far less.

The ride to Natalie's apartment is a blur of neon and shadow, the city's underbelly pulsing with nocturnal life. But I'm blind to it all, my mind consumed with visions of alabaster skin and storm-gray eyes.

I can almost taste her fear, her desire. The intoxicating cocktail of emotions that radiate off her in waves whenever I'm near. It's addictive, this push and pull between us. A dance of predator and prey, though I'm not always sure which is which.

The lock on her door is laughably easy to bypass. A flick of my wrist, a twist of a pick, and I'm in. The scent of her hits me like a physical blow – paint and turpentine, cheap whiskey and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Natalie.

My cock stirs, straining against the confines of my tailored slacks. Just being in her space, surrounded by the detritus of her life, is enough to set my blood on fire.

I move through the cramped apartment like a wraith, taking in every detail. Half-finished canvases litter every surface, splashes of color and violence that mirror the chaos in her soul. Empty liquor bottles and overflowing ashtrays speak to her desperate attempts at self-medication.

My lip curls in disgust as I spot a baggie of white powder tucked behind a stack of art books. Cocaine. Of course. My beautiful, broken angel, trying to numb herself to the world's cruelties.

I pocket the drugs, a hot curl of possessiveness unfurling in my gut. I'll be her only addiction from now on. The only high she'll ever need.

A soft whirr draws my attention to the nightstand. There, nestled among the clutter, is a sleek, purple vibrator. The sight of it sends a jolt of white-hot fury through me. The thought of her pleasuring herself, finding release without me... it's unacceptable.

With a growl, I snatch up the toy and its charger. She won't need this anymore. Not when she has me to satisfy her every dark desire.

And then I see her.

Natalie lies sprawled across the bed, a tangle of ink-black hair and pale limbs against cheap cotton sheets. She's wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, riding up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of lace panties.

My breath catches in my throat. She's even more beautiful like this, vulnerable and unguarded in sleep. I want to devour her whole, to crawl into her skin and make a home there.

Instead, I perch on the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight of her. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes against porcelain cheeks. She looks so young, so innocent. It makes the darkness inside me roar with the need to corrupt, to possess.

"Oh, solnyshko," I murmur, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "What am I going to do with you?"

She stirs at my touch, brow furrowing in confusion. Those stormy eyes blink open, clouded with sleep and then sharpening with sudden, horrified awareness.

"What the fuck?" she yelps, scrambling back against the headboard. "How did you– What are you doing here?"

I smile, slow and predatory. "Now, now, little painter. Is that any way to greet your gracious benefactor? The man who's made all your dreams come true?"

Realization dawns in her eyes, quickly followed by a maelstrom of emotions – fear, anger, and underneath it all, a flicker of unmistakable desire.

"You," she breathes, voice raw with sleep and shock. "You're the one who bought my paintings. Who's been... watching me."

I nod, pleased by her quick deduction. "Smart girl. I knew there was more to you than just a pretty face and a talented hand."

She pulls the sheets up to her chin, as if the flimsy fabric could shield her from my hungry gaze. "Get out," she snarls, eyes flashing with defiance. "Get the fuck out of my apartment before I call the cops."

I laugh, the sound rich and dark in the stillness of the room. "Oh, solnyshko. Always so quick to bare those little claws. It's adorable, really. But we both know you're not going to do that."

"And why the hell not?" she demands, chin jutting out stubbornly.

I lean in close, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, to smell the lingering traces of whiskey on her breath. "Because deep down, in that beautiful, twisted soul of yours, you know you belong to me. You've known it since the moment our eyes met across that gallery."

She shakes her head, but there's a tremble in her lower lip that betrays her. "You're insane," she whispers. "I don't belong to anyone. Least of all some psycho stalker who breaks into my fucking apartment."

My hand shoots out, fingers tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. She gasps, pupils dilating with a heady mixture of fear and arousal.

"Careful, little girl," I growl, my lips a hair's breadth from hers. "I've been patient. I've played by the rules, given you time to come to terms with your destiny. But my patience has limits. And you, my darling Natalie, are rapidly pushing me to the edge of them."

I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my palm, the way her breathing has gone shallow and quick. She's like a bird in my grasp, fragile bones and racing heart. I could snap her neck with a flick of my wrist, extinguish that defiant light in her eyes forever.

But that would be such a waste.

Instead, I gentle my grip, letting my fingers card through the silken strands of her hair. "I saw you. At the gala. You were breathtaking, a dark goddess among mere mortals. But then you ran from me. Denied the connection between us."

She swallows hard, throat working against my palm. "There is no connection," she insists, but the words lack conviction. "You're just some rich psycho with a fucked-up obsession. I'm not your plaything, your possession. I'm a person, with my own life and dreams and–"

I silence her with a bruising kiss, swallowing her protests and pouring every ounce of my twisted devotion into the clash of lips and teeth and tongue. She fights me for a moment, hands pushing ineffectually against my chest. But then she melts, a broken whimper escaping her as she yields to the inevitability of us.

When I finally pull away, we're both panting, lips swollen and eyes wild. I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the intoxicating cocktail of her fear and arousal.

"Tell me you didn't feel that," I rasp, my voice rough with need. "Tell me you don't ache for me the way I ache for you. That you don't see the glorious darkness we could create together."

She shakes her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I can't," she whispers. "I won't let you drag me down into your sick, twisted world. I've worked too hard to claw my way out of the darkness."

I laugh, the sound edged with equal parts amusement and frustration. "Oh, moy voron. You sweet, naive thing. You are the darkness. It's in every brushstroke, every line of your art. You can't escape it any more than you can escape your own skin."

My hand drifts lower, skimming over the delicate arch of her throat, the jut of her collarbone. She shivers beneath my touch, a full-body tremor that sets my blood on fire.

"I'm offering you everything," I murmur, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Power, wealth, a kingdom to rule by my side. All you have to do is surrender. Give in to the inevitable."

For a moment, I see the temptation in her eyes. The longing for everything I'm promising, everything she's ever dreamed of. But then that stubborn pride reasserts itself, hardening her gaze into chips of gray ice.

"Get out," she says again, voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs. "I'm not interested in your sick fantasies or your blood money. Find someone else to be your twisted Barbie doll."

I pull back, studying her with a mixture of admiration and frustration. She really is magnificent in her defiance, a lioness baring her teeth even as the hunter's noose tightens around her throat.

"Very well," I say, rising from the bed with fluid grace. "Have it your way, for now. But know this, Natalie Quinn – you can't run from destiny. And you are my destiny, whether you like it or not."

I move towards the door, pausing on the threshold to glance back at her. She's a vision, all tousled hair and flushed cheeks, the sheet barely preserving her modesty. It takes every ounce of my considerable willpower not to go back, to pin her to the bed and claim her the way every fiber of my being is screaming to do.

Instead, I reach into my pocket and withdraw the vibrator's charger, dangling it between my fingers with a wicked smirk. "Oh, and Natalie? You might want to invest in some batteries. I have a feeling you're going to need them in the coming days."

Her eyes widen in outrage, a string of colorful curses falling from those lush lips. But I'm already gone, melting into the shadows of the hallway with her furious imprecations ringing in my ears.

As I slide into the waiting car, I can't help the dark chuckle that escapes me. Oh, my beautiful, stubborn Natalie. You have no idea what's coming for you. The sweet torments I have planned, the exquisite agonies that await.

You think you can resist me? Think you can deny the pull between us, the inexorable gravity dragging you into my orbit?

You're only delaying the inevitable, cara mia. And when you finally surrender, when you give in to the dark destiny that binds us...

It will be glorious.

I settle back into the buttery leather seat, already plotting my next move. The pieces are in motion, the board set for our grand game of cat and mouse. And I, Dante Corleone, am nothing if not a master strategist.

Sleep well, my dark angel. Dream sweet dreams of defiance and rebellion. Because when you wake...

The real game begins.

And I play for keeps.