And so we did. Over the next few days, our morning boxing sessions became a ritual. Sometimes we talked about nothing important, just an easy conversation to fill the quiet. Other times, we worked in comfortable silence.
I grew stronger, more confident with each session. And something else grew too—a familiarity, a comfort in Dante’s presence that I once thought would be impossible to achieve.
On the fifth night, Dante suggested we try something new.
“You’ve got the basics down,” he said as we wrapped our hands. “Let’s see how you do with a moving target.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You want me to hit you?”
He laughed. “You can try.”
He led me to the center of the room, then raised his hands, palms facing me. “Aim for my hands. Don’t worry, I’ll move them. The goal is to test your speed and accuracy.”
I nodded, settling into my stance. His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, I forgot what we were doing. Then I snapped back to reality and threw a jab at his right hand.
He moved it easily, making me miss.
“Too slow,” he teased. “Again.”
I tried again twice more, but he evaded both.
“Your eyes give you away,” he said. “Don’t look where you’re going to hit.”
I gritted my teeth and tried again. This time, I landed a weak blow on his palm.
“Better,” he grinned. “Keep going.”
I hadn’t slept well again the previous night. I’d been thinking of my father again. Something kept creeping into my mind: Doubt. I knew my father was involved in the Bratva, but what I wondered was whether they’d cornered him into a spot so tight that he saw no way out and was willing to risk it all, including his reputation and daughter, or had he joined willingly, for just a little extra cash.
But in the gym, Dante and I fell into a pattern—me attacking, him defending. Around him, my father never came to mind, and the constant analyzing stopped.
“You’re holding back,” he said after a while. “Don’t be afraid to put some power behind it. I can take it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. “You sure about that?”
He grinned. “Try me.”
I gathered myself, focusing all my energy into a single, powerful cross. But as I threw it, my foot slipped and I lost my balance, stumbling forward with a squeal.
Dante’s arms were around me in an instant, one around my waist, the other against my shoulder, steadying me against his chest.
“Whoa,” he said, his voice low in my ear. “I got you.”
My hands had instinctively grabbed onto his biceps, feeling them flex beneath my fingers. I felt his fingers dig into my waist, and his eyes flickered between mine.
Time seemed to slow down, and I became hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his hand on my waist, my shoulder against his chest, his perfume beneath the sweat.
I let out a shuddering breath, and his eyes dropped to my lips, and that’s when I felt myself coil tight. He didn’t push me away, and I thought with bated breath that at last, this time around, we might just—
Tring, tring.
Fuck. His phone rang.
For a second, neither of us moved, and I thought he’d ignore it. But then, with a sigh, he loosened his grip on me and sent my heart crashing.
“I should get that. It’s my emergency line.”
Chapter 11 - Dante
