The moon hangs high over Lake Michigan, casting a long, silver blade of light across the concrete floor of the foundry. The world outside our reinforced glass sanctuary is quiet, but inside, the air remains thick with the heavy, intoxicating aftermath of our victory.
Dante doesn't break the kiss immediately. He takes his time, his lips moving against mine with a slow, possessive luxury that claims every breath in my lungs. When he finally pulls back by a fraction of an inch, his amber eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, and wild with a fierce, lethal satisfaction.
"You're shivering, Gianna," he murmurs, his gravelly baritone vibrating against my mouth.
"The wind off the lake," I lie softly, my fingers digging into the crisp white cotton of his shirt as I try to find my footing on the polished floor.
A dark, knowing smile cuts across Dante's face—the predator fully aware of the effect he has on his prey. He hovers over me, his massive chest trapping me against the cold marble pastry slab, but there is nothing cold about the heat radiating from his skin.
"The wind doesn't dictate your pulse," he whispers, his voice dropping into that razor-sharp purr that completely unravels me. He slides his large, calloused hand from my chin down to the nape of my neck, his thumb tracing the frantic, heavy beat of my artery. "I do."
He reaches behind him without breaking eye contact, his long fingers finding the heavy gold key he had given me earlier, which now sits on the marble ledge. He presses the cold metal into my palm, wrapping his large hand over mine until the jagged edges of the key bite gently into our skin.
"Tomorrow, the first shipment of grain arrives from the western sectors," Dante commands softly, his jaw setting into that rigid, handsome line of absolute authority. "Leo will be at your side, but the signature on the manifest will be yours. The city will see you running this pier, and they will know that crossing you means invoking my wrath."
I look down at our joined hands, the diamond wedding band glittering beneath his scarred knuckles. "And if they try to look for weakness in the seams?"
Dante leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath my jaw, his hot breath sending a violent, final shiver straight down my spine.
"There are no seams in my perimeter, little baker," he whispers into the dark, quiet expanse of our new empire. "We burned the old guard to the ground, and we built a fortress out of the ashes. You are my Donna, you are my queen, and this city belongs to us forever."
He lifts me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me out of the shadows of the kitchen and toward the waiting caravan below, leaving the glowing ovens behind us as we step out to claim the night.