Hanging up, I offered a clipped excuse. "Family business." Dante didn't press, his expression dismissive.
My voice was ice.
"What are you doing in my house?"
Dante sank onto the sofa as if he owned the place, crossing his long legs.
"I want to reserve the entire top-floor restaurant your family owns. I'm throwing a welcome party for Isabella. I remember she likes the ocean, and that place has the best view. Let me have it for a day."
He patted my shoulder, his touch making my skin crawl.
"We're the best of friends. You'll help me win her over, right?"
Friends. There it was again.
Dante had to drop that word into every other sentence. Was he trying to remind me not to get any ideas?
Too bad for him. He was wasting his breath.
"Fine. Whatever you want."
I couldn't be bothered to waste another breath on him and turned to go upstairs.
Behind me, I caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
The next day, as soon as I arrived at the restaurant, I was hit by the scent of a thousand air-freighted Blue Enchantress roses. The room was a fairytale landscape.
Dante had said he planned to propose to Isabella here tonight; of course he'd pour his heart into it.
I remembered a time I’d casually mentioned I liked roses.
Dante had sneered.
"Aria, how old are you? We've slept together hundreds of times. What do you need flowers for? It's tacky."
Now, breathing in the extravagant floral scent, I finally understood.
It wasn't that Dante didn't understand romance; it was simply a question of who he deemed worthy of it.
Two hours later, the party began.
The city's underworld elite, along with Isabella, arrived in a steady stream.
After seven years, her every move was still polished, elegant, and regal.
Dante's eyes were glued to her, constantly steering the conversation back her way.
Finally, someone couldn't resist a joke.
"Dante, you and our Principessa here, you two about to make it official?"
Dante's expression soured instantly. He snapped, "What are you talking about? Aria and I have a bond forged in blood. We're friends. Don't you dare tarnish Isabella's reputation with that talk."
"Besides, I like classy, pure women like Isabella. That scar on Aria's back from taking that bullet for me? It's ugly as sin, like a centipede. I lose my appetite just looking at it. How could I ever be with her?"
My breath hitched. My nails dug into my palms so hard I thought I'd draw blood.
Five years ago, drunk and pining for Isabella, Dante had provoked a rival family.
At the critical moment, I threw myself in front of him and took the bullet.
A deep, jagged scar remained on my back.
At the time, Dante's eyes had been so red I thought they would bleed. He swore to God his life was mine.
He said he would spend the rest of his life protecting me, that he would never let me suffer so much as a scratch.
But now, just to put distance between us for Isabella's sake, he was parading my sacrifice in public like a dirty secret.
"Dante, that's cruel. Aria is a woman, you can't speak about her that way."
Just as the air grew thick with tension, Isabella spoke up, her voice soft.
Dante immediately clicked his tongue.
"Aria's no delicate flower. She's got thicker skin and a stronger stomach than any man in this room."
"Don't worry about it, Isabella. We've known each other for years. I know her better than anyone."
"Isn't that right, Aria?"
With that, in a blind spot where no one could see, Dante’s hand shot out and squeezed the soft flesh of my inner thigh, a silent command for me to agree.
Disgusted, I slapped his hand away and said coldly, "Are you kidding, Dante? Seven years ago, you were thrown away like a dog. Now, the second she's back, you're on your knees fawning over her."
"You seem to have forgotten how you acted like your world was ending. When it comes to having a strong stomach, nobody here can beat you."