Chapter 3 Touch of Fire

Selene couldn't sleep.

The penthouse was too still. Too quiet. Too alive.

Even in the darkness, everything reeked of him. The leather on the chairs. The scent of expensive scotch. The faint gun oil she caught near the edge of the hallway. It was like Dante Moretti existed in every corner of the air-and now, so did she.

The bedroom wasn't hers. He'd made that clear.

Not yet.

Instead, she stayed in the guest room, curled in black silk sheets that smelled like money and secrets. Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt. The one he'd left on the bed for her-plain, oversized, and impossibly soft.

It was the first thing she hadn't had to fight for in weeks.

---

Midnight.

The sound of ice clinking in a glass drew her down the hall. Barefoot, she stepped into the kitchen. And stopped.

He was shirtless.

Tattoos sprawled across his chest like war paint. A lion's head. A rosary with blood drops. A blade wrapped in barbed wire. He leaned against the counter with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, backlit by the soft blue glow of the city through the glass wall behind him.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked without turning.

"No."

"First night's always the hardest," he said. "It's when silence screams the loudest."

She nodded, unsure what to say.

Dante turned now. Fully. Let her eyes take him in.

He was carved like something out of a myth. Muscle, menace, and power laced together beneath inked skin. And yet, the most dangerous thing about him was still his eyes-gray, unreadable, and calm in a way that made your skin crawl and your thighs ache.

Selene swallowed. "Why are you awake?"

"I never sleep much. Rest is for men who can afford peace."

He motioned to the counter. "Drink?"

She shook her head. "You're trying to break me, aren't you?"

He raised a brow. "Trying?"

"You said you wanted control. Obedience. Loyalty that hurts."

Dante exhaled smoke. It curled toward her like temptation. "I don't need to try, Selene. You're already halfway there."

She stepped closer, heart hammering.

"Why me?" she asked.

"Because you're the last good thing your father gave this world. Because you're drowning and too proud to scream. And because part of you wants this-what I offer. Not just the safety. The submission."

She flinched. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?"

He set his glass down. Took slow steps toward her.

"Good girls don't come to men like me," he murmured. "And they definitely don't stay."

"I'm not staying because I want you."

"No," he said, voice dipping low. "But you will."

---

She should've run.

She should've screamed.

But instead, Selene stood still as Dante reached out and dragged his knuckles along her collarbone, down the slope of her shoulder. His touch was light. Teasing. Testing.

"You smell like hesitation," he said. "And fear."

"I'm not afraid of you."

He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Then prove it."

Her breath caught.

"Take your shirt off."

---

Her hands trembled. She didn't move. He didn't press.

Just waited, like a god demanding worship.

"Don't mistake this for sex," Dante said. "This is about power. About fire. About what happens when the world tries to gut you and I turn you into the blade instead."

Selene's chest rose and fell.

Then, slowly, she lifted the hem of her shirt. Her skin glowed pale and soft in the moonlight. She stopped just before her bra.

Dante's voice was a growl now. "All of it."

And she obeyed.

---

The shirt slipped to the floor.

He didn't touch her-not yet. Just looked. Drank in every inch like a man memorizing scripture.

"You don't even know how beautiful you are," he said softly.

Selene reached for the shirt again, suddenly ashamed.

But he caught her wrist.

"Don't you dare hide from me."

Their eyes met. Her body trembled-but her spine straightened.

Something shifted in her chest. Something deep. A spark she hadn't felt in years.

He let go of her wrist. Walked behind her. And whispered-

"Come to my bed."