CHAPTER 3 — THE MAN BEHIND THE LIBRARY DOOR
Chloe did not know his name.
That was the first problem.
The second problem was that she could not stop staring at him.
Men like Bradley Hayes filled rooms with noise—perfume, ego, laughter that demanded attention. This man did the opposite. He made silence heavier.
“I didn’t ask for a lecture,” Chloe said quietly, still trembling.
“I didn’t give you one,” he replied. “I stated a fact.”
She swallowed. “You don’t even know me.”
His gaze didn’t move.
“I know enough.”
That should have ended it. It didn’t.
Because somewhere in the ballroom outside, laughter erupted again—Bradley’s laugh. Sharp, familiar, venom disguised as charm.
Chloe flinched without meaning to.
The man noticed.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You’re afraid of him,” he said.
“It’s complicated.”
“No,” he corrected. “It isn’t.”
He stepped closer, and now Chloe could see him clearly. There was a faint scar near his left hand. A watch too expensive to be fashionable. A posture that suggested he had never once asked permission to exist.
“You don’t belong in fear,” he said.
Chloe gave a short, broken laugh.
“That’s not how the world works.”
“It is,” he said. “You’ve simply been taught otherwise.”
Before she could respond, the library door opened sharply.
A waiter froze in the doorway.
“Sir,” he said nervously, looking at the man in the room, “they’re asking for you in the main hall.”
The man didn’t look away from Chloe.
“Tell them I’m occupied.”
The waiter hesitated.
Then saw Chloe.
And left faster than he arrived.
Chloe blinked.
“Who are you?” she asked.
A pause.
Then—
“Dante Moretti.”
The name hit the room like a shift in gravity.
Chloe had heard it before. Everyone in Chicago had. Not spoken loudly. Not in public.
A name attached to organizations no one admitted existed.
A man people did not approach unless invited.
Her breath caught.
“You’re—”
“Yes.”
She stepped back instinctively.
“You’re dangerous.”
His expression didn’t change.
“To people who deserve it.”
A beat.
Then Chloe whispered, “Bradley doesn’t deserve anything. He just likes hurting people.”
Something flickered in Dante’s eyes.
May you like
Recognition. Cold and sharp.
“Then he chose the wrong night to speak freely,” he said.
