"Stop—"
"Stop what? Pointing out that you're turned on right now? That despite your anger, despite your defiance, you want this?" He presses against me, and I can feel exactly how much he wants it too, how achingly hard he is. "Should I stop touching you? Stop reminding you that you're mine?"
"I'm not yours?—"
"Yes, you are." His hand moves to my breast, rough and possessive over my clothes. "Every inch of you. Whether you admit it or not."
I should push him away. Should slap him. Should do anything except stand here letting him touch me while heat pools between my legs and my breathing goes ragged.
"Dante—"
His phone rings.
He ignores it.
But then the damned thing rings again.
"Answer it," I manage.
"No."
Third ring. Fourth.
He pulls it out with a vicious curse, glances at the screen. "Fuck."
"What?"
"It's Matteo." He answers, stepping back but keeping one hand on my waist. "This better be important."
I can't hear what Matteo says, but I watch Dante's expression shift from anger to something colder.
"When?" Pause. "How many?" Another pause. "I'll be there in twenty."
He hangs up.
"There's a problem," he says, his voice completely changed. Professional now. Detached. "The Corsetti situation. I have to go handle it."
"Now?"
"Now." He releases me, steps back. "You have two hours to get ready. Hair, makeup, the dress I picked—all of it. Tony will drive you to my father's house. I'll meet you there."
"You're not coming with me?"
"I don't have a choice." He's already moving toward the door. "Marco and Sal will accompany you. They'll stay close the wholetime. If anything feels wrong, anything at all, you tell them immediately."
"Dante—"
"Be punctual, Bianca. I'll meet you at six-thirty sharp in front of the house." He pauses at the door. "And wear the damn dress I chose. No arguments. No substitutions. If you show up in something else, there will be consequences." He suddenly walks back to me, and his hand comes up to grip my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "Have you forgotten why you're here? Why you agreed to this?"
I haven't. God, I haven't forgotten for a single second.
"What happens to disobedient girls, Bianca?"
His thumb brushes my lower lip. "Do you need another reminder?"
My breath catches. Because I remember. Remember his hand between my legs. Remember how I came apart for him even though I hated myself for it.
"No," I manage.
