The master suite is silent when we return, the deep velvet curtains drawn tightly against the encroaching dawn. The city outside is settling into that dead hour before the rest of the world wakes up, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins refuses to quiet down.
I stand at the foot of the bed, shedding the dark trench coat. It hits the floor with a soft, heavy thud, leaving me in just the silk blouse and tailored trousers. My hands are still slightly stiff, the phantom weight of the gold key and the concrete foundry floor still clinging to my senses.
Dante stands by the arched windows, his back to me. He has fully unbuttoned his white shirt, letting the fabric hang open to reveal the hard, scarred canvas of his chest and the dark ink of the syndicate tattoos creeping up his ribcage. He looks out at the iron gates of his estate, a solitary king inspecting his fortress.
"You're thinking about your father," he says, not needing to turn around to know exactly where I am or what is running through my head.
"I'm thinking about how much he hid," I say quietly, walking toward him until I'm standing just a pace behind his massive frame. "He spent ten years collecting secrets to protect himself from the Commission. He thought that book was his life insurance. In the end, it was just a countdown."
Dante turns slowly, his amber eyes catching the dim light of the singular lamp burning in the corner of the room. The tiny pale scar through his left eyebrow seems sharper in the shadows, his jaw a rigid line of absolute certainty.
"Your father was a businessman, Gianna. He thought like a merchant," Dante rumbles, stepping into my space until the heat radiating from his bare skin completely wraps around me. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand settling under my chin, his fingers splaying across my jawline with that familiar, possessive weight. "He thought leverage could buy him safety. He didn't understand that in our world, leverage only works if you have the stomach to bleed the man you're holding it over."
He tilts my face up, his thumb pressing firmly against my lower lip, tracing the soft contour before forcing my gaze higher, locking me into the fierce, untamed depths of his amber eyes.
"You don't need to look at that ledger again," Dante whispers, his voice dropping into that dark, razor-sharp purr that completely dictates the rhythm of my heart. "The names in that book don't matter anymore. They answer to me now, and I answer to no one. Your perimeter is solid, little baker."
He slides his hand down to my waist, his fingers digging into the silk of my blouse as he pulls me flush against his hard torso. The contrast between his rough, scarred skin and the smooth fabric is a violent, intoxicating reminder of exactly what I’ve bound myself to.
He lifts my left hand, his eyes dropping to the square-cut diamond that glints in the shadows—the permanent brand of his empire.
"The foundry opens for production at dawn," Dante murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending a delicious, inescapable shiver straight down my spine. "The trucks will roll, the gold will transfer, and the city will bow. Rest now, my queen. Tomorrow, we watch them crawl.”