The silence of the hallway is a stark contrast to the suffocating tension we left behind in the study. The heavy oak doors click shut, sealing the defeated West underbosses inside, but the electric current running through Dante’s grip doesn't fade.
He doesn't let go of my waist. Instead, he guides me down the corridor with a slow, deliberate stride, his boots clicking rhythmically against the polished hardwood.
"They looked at you and saw their executioner," Dante murmurs, his deep baritone rich with a dark, lethal pride. He stops at the tall arched windows at the end of the hall, where the winter frost is thicker, blurring the view of the iron gates below.
"I only said what was on the pages, Dante," I whisper, leaning my head back against his shoulder. My heart is still hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm born from the sheer adrenaline of staring down men who have ordered hits for breakfast. "I just gave them the numbers."
"You gave them an ultimatum," Dante corrects, turning me around in his arms until the cold glass of the window is at my back and his massive chest is blocking out the light. "And you did it without blinking. My father spent half his life trying to make those men bend their knees. You did it in three sentences."
He reaches out, his large, calloused fingers tracing the collar of my ivory silk blouse, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of my throat. A familiar, violent shiver ripples straight down my spine at the contact, my eyes locked onto the fierce, unchecked fire in his amber gaze.
"The first fleet of trucks will hit the North Avenue pier in an hour," he whispers, his voice dropping into that dark, razor-sharp purr that completely commands my chest. "Leo is already en route to oversee the offloading. Every grain of that shipment is yours to allocate."
He lifts my left hand between us, his thumb pressing hard against the square-cut diamond, embedding the metal into my skin just enough to remind me of the beautiful, dangerous cage we’ve built together.
"They thought the Romano name was dead, Gianna," Dante growls softly, his jaw tightening into a handsome, unyielding sheet of marble as his lips hover inches from mine. "But you’re going to show them that a Marchetti Donna is far more dangerous than anything they ever feared from your father. The city is crawling at your feet, little baker. Let’s make them stay there."
He closes the distance between us, his mouth capturing mine in a deep, heavy, and utterly possessive kiss that tastes of freezing winter and absolute, undisputed victory.