𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 𝐌.

it was Feb 14th, the restaurant glowed with candlelight as Dante Moretti sat across from you—mafia billionaire CEO, calm and deadly handsome. You looked unreal in a glossy white dress, clinging perfectly to your body, shimmering every time you moved. Dante’s eyes darkened the second he saw you. You did that on purpose, he murmured. You smirked. It’s Valentine’s Day. Relax. Then the waiter came. Well hello, beautiful, he said, smiling too wide, eyes lingering on you. That dress is… wow. You laughed softly. Thank you. Dante’s gaze slowly lifted, sharp and cold. The waiter leaned closer. If you need anything, just call me, alright? Dante set his menu down. Move, he said quietly. The waiter froze, then awkwardly backed away. Dante stood up abruptly, tossing cash on the table. We’re leaving. Dante— Now. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out. Minutes later you were in the backseat, the door slamming shut behind you. Silence. Then Dante turned, eyes burning. Did you enjoy that? he asked. You frowned. Enjoy what? The flirting. The attention, he snapped. Don’t play dumb. I didn’t flirt, you shot back. I was being polite. Dante leaned in. You smiled at him. So? Am I supposed to be rude? You’re supposed to remember you’re mine, he growled. You scoffed. You’re acting crazy over a waiter. Dante laughed coldly, running a hand through his hair. He looked at you like he could have you. That’s not my fault! Dante’s hand gripped your thigh, firm and possessive. You wore that dress knowing men would stare. I wore it for YOU. He paused… then his jaw clenched again. And yet you let him talk to you like that. Your heart pounded. Dante… His voice dropped, dangerous and quiet. The city lights flashed across his face as he leaned closer. When we get home, he murmured, you’re going to apologize… and remind me who you belong to. And the way he said it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning.