Soft. Brief.
Unmistakably possessive.
A statement.
When he pulled back, his gaze didn’t linger on me.
It snapped to Dante.
Cold. Dangerous.
“Who is this?” he asked, his voice deceptively gentle as his thumb brushed lightly along my jaw—almost absentmindedly, but not quite.
Dante’s easy composure flickered.
Not gone—but shaken.
His eyes moved between us, quickly processing the situation.
There was a flash of surprise. Then something sharper—calculation.
“Your boyfriend?” he asked, careful now.
Vincenzo’s arm tightened around my waist in immediate response.
“She’s my wife.”
The words landed heavy.
“Oh.” Dante lifted both hands slowly, palms open in a gesture of surrender, taking a small step back. “I had no idea she was married. No ring, so... my apologies.”
“It’s okay, Dante,” I said quickly, before things could escalate further.
A mistake.
Vincenzo’s gaze flicked to me instantly.
“No,” he said.
The word was soft.
But it carried weight. Steel wrapped in velvet.
“It’s not okay.”
Dante’s posture shifted slightly, the sandboard lowering just a bit as the situation sank in.
Vincenzo didn’t look at him anymore.
His attention dropped to my hand.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted my left hand, turning it over as if seeing it for the first time.
His thumb traced over my bare ring finger.
Empty. Unmarked.
Something subtle shifted in his expression—recognition. And beneath that... something more complicated.
