Chapter Two: The Proposition
He stood abruptly, pulling out his phone.
“Antonio. Yes. Cancel everything. Everything. I don’t care. Handle it.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. His attention never leaving her.
“You’re not signing anything today.”
“What? No. Dante, I have to—”
“The only thing you have to do right now is come with me. We need to talk. Really talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Emma.”
He crouched down again. And this time, when his hand moved to her belly, he made contact.
His palm was warm through her dress. Possessive and gentle all at once.
The baby kicked against his hand.
Emma watched his entire expression transform.
Wonder.
Pure, unfiltered wonder.
“Please.” His voice cracked. “Just give me an hour. If you still want to sign those papers after we talk, I won’t stop you.”
She should have said no.
Should have stood up. Walked away. Protected herself and her baby from the magnetic pull of this dangerous man.
But there was something in his voice. Something vulnerable beneath all that controlled power that made her hesitate.
“One hour,” she heard herself say. “And then I’m leaving.”
He stood, offering her his hand.
She stared at it for a long moment. That hand that had held weapons. That had signed death warrants. That had once traced her skin like she was something precious and breakable.
She took it.
His fingers closed around hers. And she felt the tremor that ran through him when she struggled to stand, weighted down by pregnancy and exhaustion.
He slipped his other arm around her waist. Supporting her with a gentleness that felt like a knife to the chest.
“When did you last eat?” he asked, studying her face with an intensity that made her want to look away.
“This morning.”
“You’re pale. And you’ve lost weight everywhere except—”
He gestured to her belly.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?”
“As well as I can on a waitress’s salary.”
The words came out sharper than she’d intended. But they had the desired effect.
His expression darkened. And she saw the guilt flash across his features.
Good.
He should feel guilty. He was the reason she’d been surviving on ramen noodles and free diner food. The reason she’d been working double shifts until her feet swelled so badly she could barely walk.
“That ends now,” he said quietly.
“You don’t get to—”
“Emma.”
He turned to face her fully. His hand still at her waist. His other hand rising to cup her cheek.
The gesture was so familiar it hurt.
“I know I don’t get to make demands. I know I have no right to anything after what you went through living in my world. But that’s my baby. Our baby. And I will not allow you to struggle.”
“You don’t control me anymore.”
“I never controlled you. I loved you.”
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone.
“I still—”
The elevator chimed.
They both turned to see one of his men stepping out. Eyes carefully averted from the intimate scene.
“Mr. Castellano. The car is ready. And I’ve contacted Dr. Morrison. She’s standing by at the penthouse.”
“Good.”
Dante’s hand tightened fractionally on her waist.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait. What? I’m not going to your penthouse. And who’s Dr. Morrison?”
“My personal physician. You’re eight months pregnant, Emma. You need to be examined. Make sure everything is—”
He stopped.
And she saw fear flash across his face. Actual fear.
“Make sure you and the baby are healthy.”
The protective instinct in his voice undid something inside her.
This was the Dante she’d fallen in love with. Before she’d learned what he really was. The man who’d brought her soup when she was sick. Who’d listened to her rambling stories about nothing. Who’d made her feel like she was the center of his universe.
But that man was an illusion.
The real Dante was the one who ran an empire built on fear and violence.
Wasn’t he?
“One hour,” she repeated, her voice barely steady. “And I get to decide if I see the doctor.”
“Fair enough.”
He guided her toward the elevator. His hand never leaving her waist.
As they stepped inside and the doors closed, sealing them into that small space together, she caught their reflection in the polished metal.
They looked like strangers.
And yet, the way his body curved toward hers — protective and possessive — told a different story entirely.
The elevator began its descent.
Emma wondered if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Or if, maybe, just maybe, she’d made the only choice she could.
