Chapter 4: The Aftermath of the Storm
The mansion was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace in the study.
Dante sat in his chair, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked exhausted, the weight of the night clearly taking its toll.
Bridget stood in front of him, her hair pinned up, wearing a simple silk robe. She had cleaned the scrape on her arm, the result of her struggle in the hallway.
Dante watched her with an expression that was a complex blend of relief, anger, and something else—something softer.
"You could have died," he said, his voice raw.
"I could have also been fired," she replied, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "I had to protect the spreadsheet."
Dante stood up and walked toward her, closing the distance between them. He reached out, his fingers tracing the bruise on her arm. "You are the most infuriating, reckless, and capable person I have ever met. Why are you doing this, Bridget? You could have left. You could have taken the severance pay and gone back to Queens."
"And let you deal with these snakes alone?" Bridget looked up at him, her eyes fierce. "You think because you're a mob boss that you're invincible. You aren't. You’re just alone. You’ve been alone for so long you’ve forgotten how to trust someone else to watch your back."
Dante sighed, a sound of profound release. He moved closer, his hands framing her face. "I trust you, Bridget. That is the most dangerous thing in my world."
He leaned down, his lips brushing hers—a hesitant, searching kiss that quickly deepened into something frantic and hungry. It was a kiss that tasted of espresso and danger, of secrets and truths.
May you like
When they pulled apart, Dante rested his forehead against hers. "My uncle has been neutralized. The rival syndicate is in retreat. But this world... it never stops coming for us."
"Then we’ll just have to audit them to death," Bridget whispered, a small, genuine smile forming on her face.
