"Miss Marchetti." His voice pours over me like warm honey laced with the finest bourbon money can buy, and every cell in my body screams in recognition. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, have a seat."
My pulse detonates. That voice. I know that voice. I've heard it whisper filthy promises against my skin. I've heard it groan my name as pleasure consumed us both.
It can't be. The universe isn't this cruel.
He turns.
And there he is.
Tall. Broad. Devastating in a charcoal suit that fits him like it was sewn onto his body by angels with a grudge against women everywhere. Long dark hair falls past his collar, gathered loosely at his nape with a leather cord, a few rebellious waves escaping to frame his face. That face. Strong jaw beneath a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. Full lips I've tasted. Dark eyes that burned with hunger as he took me apart piece by piece in that candlelit room.
My mystery man. My one perfect night.
Dante.
Except his name isn't Dante. It never was.
"You." The word is pulled from my throat, raw and coated with layers of confusion.
His lips curve into that devastating smile I remember too well. The one that made my knees weak at Scarlet Thorn. The one that now sends my thoughts spiraling into chaos.
"Me." He moves away from the window with a predator's grace, each step deliberate and unhurried. "Please, Miss Marchetti. Sit. We have much to discuss."
"Your name isn't Dante." My voice wavers, barely above a whisper. The room tilts slightly, and I grip the back of the nearest chair to steady myself.
"You gave me a fake name." The hurt in my voice catches me off guard. I didn't care at the time. Why should I care now?
Because I wanted to believe he trusted me with one small detail about himself.My inner voice is quick to reveal my real thoughts.
"I gave you a name for one night." He settles into his chair behind the massive desk, casual as a king taking his throne. "You gave me the same courtesy, if I recall. Just Ilona. No last name. We were both playing the masquerade game."
I open my mouth to argue, but the words dissolve on my tongue. He's not wrong. I didn't offer my last name either. I just wanted one night of freedom, one night where names and families and expectations didn't matter.
"Sit down, Ilona." His voice softens, just a fraction. "Your legs are shaking."
They are. Damn him, they are. I force myself to cross to the leather chair facing his desk, each step feeling like I'm wading through wet concrete. I lower myself into the seat and grip the armrests until my knuckles ache, the cool leather pressing against my thighs in stark contrast to the fire burning through my nervous system. The chair probably costs more than six months of rent. Everything in this office screams power and control, and I'm suddenly very aware that I have neither.
He knew who I was the night Luna gave me his number. The whole weekend he knew. The realization crashes over me in waves, each one pulling me further under. Luna gave her friend Katriana all my details. He knew exactly who would be walking through that door this morning, and he didn't even reach out. Didn't warn me. Didn't give me a single moment to prepare. He just stood there with his back to me, letting me walk straight into this trap.
What a devil.
I watch him settle deeper into his chair, completely at ease while my world crumbles. His fingers steeple beneath his chin, and those dark eyes study me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle and heat bloom unwanted across my chest.
"You knew." The accusation hangs between us like smoke. "Katriana gave you my full name. You knew who would walk through that door."
"I knew." No denial. No excuse. No flicker of guilt across those handsome features. Just calm confirmation delivered with the casual indifference of a man discussing the weather.
It makes me want to scream. Or slap that composed expression right off his face.
Two days. He knew for two days and said nothing. Let me walk in here completely blind while he held all the cards, stacked the deck, and waited to see how I'd play.
"Why not tell me?" My nails dig crescents into the leather armrests. "Why let me walk in here unprepared?"
"Would you have come if you knew?"
No. I would have run in the opposite direction and never looked back. There’s one thing about hooking up with a stranger and something all together different about hooking up with your father’s enemy.
And then working for him.