The roaring cascade of golden grain continues to echo through the cavernous underground silos, a deafening testament to the new order of Chicago. The air on the pier is thick with the sweet, dusty scent of harvested wheat and the sharp, biting ozone of the freezing lake.
Miller doesn't stay to watch the rest of the fleet unload. He barks a few frantic orders to the remaining drivers, climbs into a sleek sedan, and tears away from the North Avenue pier, his tires spinning wildly on the fresh ice.
"He's going to drive straight back to Silvio and cry into his scotch," Leo remarks, stepping up to the edge of the concrete platform. He looks down at the digital readout on his tablet, a genuine, rare smirk breaking through his usually stoic expression. "The extra five percent just cleared the routing filters. Silvio’s entire winter profit margin just got cut in half."
"Silvio will survive," I say quietly, my fingers still wrapped tightly around the warm plastic of the encrypted terminal. "But he’ll think twice before he tries to negotiate on my docks again."
"He won't negotiate at all," Dante rumbles from behind me.
Before the cold can seep any deeper into my boots, his massive arms wrap around my shoulders, lifting me slightly until my heels clear the concrete. He pivots, shielding my body entirely from the brutal wind as he guides me back through the heavy iron doors of the foundry.
The moment the steel doors click shut, the deafening roar of the diesel engines drops into a low, muffled hum. The pressurized warmth of the indoor heating grid hits us instantly, carrying the rich, intoxicating scent of caramelized sugar from the grand display cases on the main floor.
Dante doesn't let go. He marches me straight past the towering brick ovens, his large hand locked firmly over my hip, anchoring me to his side until we reach the secluded privacy of the executive office overlooking the pier. He shoves the oak door shut with his boot and presses me flat against it.
The heavy charcoal overcoat he wore outside is gone, leaving him in just his dark waistcoat and white shirt. The top buttons are stretched taut against his chest, his breathing heavy and synchronized with the possessive flare in his amber eyes.
"You're reckless, Gianna," he growls softly, his voice dropping into that terrifying, delicious purr that completely dictates my pulse. He reaches up, his large, calloused hands framing my face, his thumbs wiping away the stray flecks of frost and flour dust from my cheeks. "Pushing Silvio’s man like that in the open. If one of those drivers had been stupid enough to pull a piece—"
"Leo had the perimeter covered, and you were standing right behind me," I interrupt, looking up into the fierce, untamed depths of his gaze. The tiny pale scar through his left eyebrow twitches, his jaw setting into a handsome, unyielding sheet of marble. "I knew exactly how far I could bend them before they broke."
A low, dark chuckle vibrates through Dante's chest. The predator’s anger melts instantly into a fierce, consuming satisfaction. He leans down, his hot breath brushing my lips, his grip on my jaw tightening just enough to send a violent, familiar shiver straight down my spine.
"You're adapting too fast, little baker," he whispers, his amber eyes burning with an intensity that leaves me breathless. He lifts my left hand between our faces, his thumb dragging roughly over the square-cut diamond that marks me as his. "You tasted their fear out there, didn't you?"
"I tasted our victory," I breathe against his mouth.
"It’s the same thing in this town," Dante promises softly. He closes the final fraction of an inch between us, his mouth capturing mine in a deep, bruising, and utterly dominant kiss that tastes of freezing winter and dangerous forever, sealing my perimeter completely within his arms while the golden wealth of the city pours steadily into our vaults.