Chapter 5 Thorns in Silk

Rain beat against the windows like a warning drum, the city skyline bleeding into mist. High above it all, in the glass penthouse fortress that overlooked Verona, Selene Castille stood in heels she hadn't worn since her father's funeral.

In front of her: a room of men.

Behind her: Dante Moretti.

"Gentlemen," Dante said, his voice slow and sharp as a switchblade, "this is Selene Castille. She'll be joining us moving forward. Think of her as..."

A pause.

"...Collateral with claws."

They laughed. Lightly. Uneasily.

Selene didn't smile.

She just raised her chin, remembering Dante's words from earlier that morning.

> "Power is perception. If you want them to fear you, wear silk and speak like thunder."

So she did.

"I'm not here to take notes or serve drinks," she said, her voice slicing through the room like glass. "I'm here because every man who betrayed me is still breathing. And I intend to change that."

Silence.

Then, from the back of the room, the oldest man stood-silver-haired, gold rings, scars beneath his collar.

"She's got her father's eyes," he murmured.

---

Later.

Dante watched her move.

She was different now-shoulders back, steps graceful and lethal, like a dancer learning how to wield a blade. He hadn't expected her to speak. Hell, he hadn't expected her to survive that room. But she did.

And something inside him tightened at the sight.

It wasn't lust. Not entirely.

It was hunger.

A darker, more possessive thing.

"You handled yourself well," he said when they were alone. "You didn't flinch when Carlo mentioned your ex."

Selene sipped wine from a crystal glass. "Flinching is a luxury I can't afford."

He stepped closer. "What do you want, Selene?"

"To burn them."

Her voice was soft, but her eyes? Her eyes were war.

"Good," Dante said. "Then let me teach you how."

---

Training came first.

Not in guns or blades-those came later.

First, he taught her the language of power.

"You'll go to meetings. Listen. Memorize names. Who runs the ports, who owns the police, who hates who. Our world runs on silence and favors. Learn to speak both."

He tested her.

Sometimes with mock deals.

Sometimes with lies.

But Selene had a mind like a locked safe-once she understood the game, no one could outwit her.

"You don't think like them," Dante said one night, circling her as she reviewed the financial ledgers of one of his fronts.

"I'm not them," she said.

He smirked. "You're becoming me."

---

That night, it changed.

Not with sex.

With violence.

They were leaving a gala-a masquerade hosted by one of Dante's allies-when it happened.

Three men.

Motorcycles.

Silencers.

It was over in seven seconds.

Dante's men fired first. One attacker dropped before he reached them. The second got a shot off-hit the bulletproof car door. The third, though... he came for Selene.

She froze.

And then-Dante stepped in front of her.

One hand on the gun, the other gripping the man's wrist, twisting, snapping. Blood sprayed. A scream. Another shot. The attacker crumpled.

Silence fell like snow.

Selene stood behind him, untouched, but changed.

"I froze," she whispered, shaking. "I just stood there."

Dante turned. There was blood on his sleeve. His face was calm. Controlled. But his eyes burned.

"You're not a soldier," he said. "Not yet. But you're not broken either."

He stepped closer, slow.

Then he touched her face. Fingers to cheek. Gentle in the way a man like him should never be.

"You're alive because I was there. But one day, Selene, you'll save yourself. And you'll make them regret ever thinking you needed a man to do it."

---

Back at the penthouse.

Selene paced the marble floors, barefoot, glass in hand, adrenaline crashing like a storm tide. The dress clung to her skin, torn at the hip from when Dante had yanked her behind the car.

She replayed it all in her head.

The gunshot.

The blood.

Dante's voice, calm in chaos.

Then she saw it-on the counter.

A bloodstained mask. His.

She touched it.

And then... she saw him.

Dante stood shirtless, back to her, tattoos snaking across muscle and scars. His reflection in the glass showed more than his body-it showed a man wired for violence and built for control.

Selene didn't speak.

She simply walked toward him.

Dropped the wine.

And pressed her body against his back.

"You saved me," she whispered.

He didn't turn.

"You were never mine to protect," he said. "But I did it anyway. That's the problem."

"Why is that a problem?"

Finally, he faced her.

Because I'm starting to want what I can't afford to need."

---

Their lips met like fire and gasoline.

No hesitation. No pretense.

She kissed him like she was claiming revenge.

He kissed her like he was breaking a rule.

Hands. Teeth. Heat.

Dante grabbed her hips, lifted her onto the marble counter, mouth at her throat, breath hot and hungry.

"You're not a princess anymore," he growled.

"I don't want to be."

He pulled her hair, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"You want danger, Selene?" he whispered, breath ragged. "Then take it."

And she did.