“A male who would sell me out and never look back at the wreckage he left behind. Because he doesn’t care about anything but himself.”
At that, Dante’s smile vanished entirely.
“You’rethe one who agreed to this arrangement,” he growled dangerously. “Last I checked, no one held a knife to your throat in that chapel.”
“The priest literally had a knife in his hand. You forced me to marry you, then you kidnapped me,” I shouted. “I distinctly remember being tossed over your shoulder. Like a sack of flour.”
“And you could have slit my throat at any point,” he shot back. “You didn’t.”
“You took my knives, asshole,” I reminded him. “Otherwise, that,”—I jerked my head at the poor, impaled dummy—“would be you, Dante Dominico. Pincushion, remember?”
The air between us crackled, thick with everything we weren’t saying.
Would never fucking say because why bother?
I turned away from him, yanking the knives from the wall a little too aggressively and dumping them into a pile well within reach. Maybe a mistake, maybe not; the day was still young.
“I can’t trust you.” I blew out a shaky breath. “Notanymore. Not even as my pretend husband in our pretend marriage.”
Not with how I was reacting to last night’s debacle. Not with him meeting with Nico and gods-know-who-else behind my back. I was losing sight of my purpose, I had no safety net, and I fucking hated feeling so untethered.
I threw the knife. It hit the target dead center.
Behind me, Dante exhaled.
“I was only playing a part,” he offered, his voice tight. “Valeria was a convenient prop. And you’re right about it all. Rocco blackmailed me into doing a job for him, but it’s a setup. Valeria assured me she would make a better wife than you ever would.”
“How fucking wonderful for you,” I snapped, pulling another knife down from the shelf. “I hope the two of you are happy and have the lives you deserve.”
“That’senough, Em,” he growled, starting toward me.
I took a step back.
“Only my brother is allowed to call me that. Stay right there,” I warned, holding the knife between us. “Or I swear, I will stab you for real.”
He kept coming.
“Dante.”
He lunged, his hand closing around my wrist, then my back was flat against the wall, knife hand neutralized, his body heat scorching my front, infuriatingly, horribly tempting.
“She won’t make me a better wife; do you want to know why?” He leaned in, eyes so close to mine, I saw every fleck of gold around the edges.
“I don’t give a good godsdamn about your future marital plans. You can fuck all the way off, Dante Dominico. You and Valeria and Rocco and the rest.” I tried to twist free. Hetightened his hold, pinning me in place, and I gritted my teeth in frustration.
I shifted my weight, snapped my knee toward his crotch. He pivoted, his muscled thigh absorbing the impact, using my own momentum to trap me with his body. I tried to twist away, and the knife dropped from my fingers.
He caught the blade before it even touched the mat.
Show-off.
We struggled, bodies pressed close, angry breaths and insults—mostly from me—rasping between us. His hand captured my other wrist and pinned it above my head, the wood cold against my knuckles.
“Let. Me. Go,” I grated.
“Not until you stop trying to kill me,” he grunted as I knocked my knee into his thigh again, aiming for his fucking elusive balls. “Let me talk, Ember, just give me one minute.”
“No, you won’t get another of those from me,” I shot back. “Play your games with the rest of them, but I won’t stand by and be made a fool.”
