The restaurant was too quiet.
Too expensive.
The kind of place where the wine list had its own leather-bound bible and no one dared raise their voice above a whisper. Cassian sat across from me, a glass of red in hand, his other resting lazily on the table, fingers drumming against the linen like he owned time itself.
"You're tense," he said, eyes gleaming over the rim of his glass. "Relax."
I tried. I really did.
But the dress he picked out for me clung too tightly. The slit too high, the neckline too low. I looked like something you auctioned off, not someone you took out to dinner.
"Is this a date?" I asked.
Cassian smiled—sharp, unreadable.
"It's a performance."
Before I could ask what the hell that meant, I heard it:
Boots.
Not polished. Not quiet.
The doors of the restaurant opened and time stilled.
Dante Morelli walked in like he'd been born for war.Black-on-black. No tie. No apologies.Behind him: three men. Built like sin, silent as shadows.
Heads turned. The maître d' froze mid-sentence.And Cassian's eyes narrowed, the first crack in his perfect, porcelain mask.
"Shit," I whispered.
Dante didn't pause. He didn't ask.
He came straight to our table, his men fanning out like a quiet warning to everyone watching.
"Hope I'm not interrupting."His voice was calm. Too calm.
Cassian stood slowly.
"Morelli," he said. Not a greeting. A threat.
"Vale." Dante smiled like he'd just smelled blood.
He looked at me then.
Not with warmth. Not even with anger.
With possession.
"You clean up nice, baby," he said. "Shame about your taste in company."
Cassian stepped between us. Just enough to block the line of sight. But not enough to hide the tension crackling in the air like a fuse waiting to blow.
"Leave," Cassian said.
Dante's grin widened. "Or what? You'll sue me?"
Lexa.Me.Still seated.Still trying to breathe.
Still bleeding from the inside out.
Cassian's fingers twitched, but he didn't move.
Dante leaned down, eyes on me now.
"You gonna let him speak for you now, princess? Or do you still remember how to scream my name?"
The wineglass shattered between Cassian's fingers.
And I realized:This wasn't dinner.This was war.And I was the fucking prize.