Chapter Twenty Two
Nina's POV
After Isabela followed Enzo toward the guest house, the air felt too heavy to breathe.
My mind kept going back to the bedroom.
To the way Dante had pulled me close earlier.
To the way his mouth had claimed mine.
To the way my body had leaned in, ready to forget everything else and just fall.
We had kissed. Deep and hot and dizzying. His hand had slid into my hair, mine had grabbed his shirt. I had felt that same wild pull that always came when he was near.
But then he'd stopped.
He'd pulled back, his breathing rough, his eyes dark.
"Not tonight," he'd said. "You're tired. You're shaken. You almost died in a warehouse three hours ago. I won't touch you like that when your head isn't clear."
Nothing had happened after that.
No sex.
Just his hand cupping my cheek. His forehead leaning against mine. A soft kiss on my lips, then on my brow.
"Sleep," he'd whispered. "You're safe. That's enough for tonight."
At the time, it had felt sweet. Kind. Like he was holding back for me.
Now, standing in the hallway after the alarm, after seeing Isabela again, I wasn't so sure.
I tried to follow Nana when Dante said he needed to question her. I tried to stay by her side. By his side.
But he'd blocked me.
"I need to be alone with her," he'd said.
"Why?" I'd asked. "She's scared. I should be there."
"She won't talk if you're in the room," he'd replied, voice flat. Boss voice. "She'll try to protect you. I need the full truth, Nina. No filters. Go to your room. I'll send her to you when we're done."
Nana had touched my arm. "It's okay, mija. I'll come as soon as we finish."
So I had gone.
Back to my room. Back to the bed that still smelled like Dante's cologne. Back to the space where my lips still tingled from his kiss.
I tried to sit.
I couldn't.
I paced instead. Back and forth across the room. My stitches ached, but I kept moving.
Something felt wrong.
Too many things had happened at once. Isabela showing up. Nana bloody and shaking. Dante sending me away.
Fifteen minutes passed.
No Nana.
No knock.
No message.
My chest grew tighter with each minute.
What are they talking about?
Why is it taking so long?
Why do I feel like my skin is crawling?
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I opened my door and stepped into the hall.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
No low voices from Dante's wing. No sound of Nana's soft laugh.
I walked toward his room.
Each step felt heavy. Loud. Wrong.
A small light showed under his door. Not bright. Just a warm glow from a lamp.
I stopped in front of it.
My hand lifted on its own. I knocked softly.
"Dante? It's me. Is Nana still with you?"
Silence.
My heart stuttered.
I knocked again. Harder this time. "Nana? Are you okay? It's Nina."
Still nothing.
Cold slid down my spine.
I wrapped my fingers around the handle and turned it slowly.
The door wasn't locked.
It opened with a quiet click.
I stepped inside.
At first, my brain refused to understand what I was seeing.
The room smelled like his cologne and something heavier. The bed was untouched, covers smooth and neat. No sign of Nana's shawl or the little cup of tea she always carried.
Instead, my eyes went straight to the chair by the window.
Dante was there.
His shirt was open, hanging loose off his shoulders. His head was tipped back against the chair, jaw tight, throat working, eyes half closed like he was fighting something inside himself.
And in front of him, on her knees between his spread legs, was Isabela.
Her dress rode up her thighs. Her back was straight, her head low in his lap, too close, moving just enough for my stomach to turn.
One of his hands gripped the arm of the chair. The other was tangled in her dark hair, fingers buried deep, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
No one said a word.
No one had to. My body understood before my brain did.
The floor seemed to tilt under my feet.
He told me he needed to talk to Nana alone.
He told me to go and rest.
He told me nothing would happen tonight because I was tired. Because I'd been through too much. Because he "respected" me.
And now here he was.
Open shirt. Head tipped back. Hand in her hair.
Letting another woman kneel between his legs like she belonged there.
I didn't realize I'd let go of the door until it creaked softly as it shifted.
That tiny sound sliced through the heavy air.
Dante's eyes flew open.
He saw me.
For one long heartbeat, everything in his face changed. Shock. Guilt. Anger. Something sharp and ugly that flashed through his eyes before he could hide it.
His hand twitched in Isabela's hair.
She froze.
Then, slowly, she turned her head just enough to see me in the doorway.
Her lips were already wet and swollen. Her mascara was perfect. Not a single tear on her face. No smear. No sign of fear now.
Only satisfaction.
The corner of her mouth curled.
Not a full smile. Just a tiny, cutting twist. A private little curve meant only for me.
Cold. Knowing. Cruel.
She held my gaze while she stayed on her knees between his legs, while his open shirt framed his chest, while his fingers still rested in her hair like they belonged there.
That small, slow smirk was all I could see.
All I could feel.
Sharp as a knife.