Chapter 141: I want to dance with my wife
Gianna’s POV
I stiffened. “This is what’s meant to be. Dante’s not that bad.”
“I won’t fight you on this.” He paused. “If you say so.”
The doubt in his voice was clear.
The music shifted then, a slow Italian melody drifting through the speakers.
Niccolo’s expression changed, becoming almost vulnerable. He held out his hand and pleaded, “One last dance, pretty please? Before you become Mrs. De Luca and I lose my chance forever?”
I should have said no. I should have remembered Dante’s warning about dancing with other men.
But Selene’s voice echoed in my head. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Choose me.
And those women at the bar. He’ll get bored. He’ll take mistresses. You’re not special.
Jealousy burned through every part of me, and I wanted to hit him back. Make him feel what I was feeling.
I nodded.
“Yes. One dance.”
Niccolo’s eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he smiled. He took my hand
and led me onto the dance floor.
Other guests were already dancing, swaying to the romantic melody. As we approached the center of the floor, I felt eyes following us. Warning eyes. Gossiping eyes. Eyes that screamed how could she be dancing with another man?
I didn’t care.
Bruno appeared suddenly, stepping between Niccolo and me just as we reached the dance floor.
“Miss Gianna.” His voice was low. “I don’t think Don would be too happy about this.”
I lifted my chin defiantly. “Well, he isn’t here to stop me, is he?”
Bruno’s jaw tightened. “He only stepped away to sort out some issues. He will return soon.”
“Still. I don’t feel like obeying his rules right now. So please step away. You’re causing a scene.”
He didn’t budge. His legs were planted firmly.
I widened my eyes innocently, using reverse psychology. “Would Don like that as well?”
Bruno’s frown deepened, his entire body radiating barely contained anger. He looked at Niccolo with
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Chapter 141 want to danes with my wife
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open hostility. “I would think you would do the right thing to avoid a repeat of what happened last time.”
He was referring to Dante’s jealous outburst. Almost punching Niccolo to death in that restroom.
Niccolo gave him a smug grin. “I’ll take my chances.”
Bruno’s eyes twitched. “As you wish.”
The words came out cool and certain, as though he knew exactly what was coming. And maybe I knew too, but I didn’t care.
Bruno stepped away, leaving us alone.
Niccolo turned back to me. “Where were we?”
“About to dance.”
He pulled me closer, his hand finding mine, his other hand settling on my waist. I’d danced with him before, at some charity event months ago. He was a good dancer, smooth and confident.
We began to move.
“I’m sad you’re getting married.” His breath was warm against my ear. “But you should know, Gianna, that if you change your mind, say the word and my father and I would come get you.”
“Niccolo.”
“I’m serious.” His grip tightened slightly. “If you still go on to marry him and things ever don’t work out, if you ever need anything, or somewhere to go, I’ll always have a place for you.”
“You know that would only start a war. And I don’t think either of our families needs more bloodshed.”
“My dad’s been ready for a war. Besides, if it means freeing you from this bondage.”
Bondage.
The word hit me. Hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
Because it didn’t really feel like bondage anymore. It had stopped feeling like that for some time now. Weeks ago, the thought of escaping would have sounded thrilling. And now.
Now I wanted Dante.
I didn’t speak.
Niccolo searched my face, his expression earnest. “Just say the words, Gianna. What’s it going to be?”
My throat felt dry. Just as I was about to tell him no.
A sharp vibration pulsed deep inside me.
I gasped, my head dropping forward as my grip tightened on Niccolo’s shoulder.
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“Gianna?” He looked down at me, concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?”
The vibrator. The damn egg Dante had placed inside me hours ago.
I’d completely forgotten about it.
Another pulse. Stronger this time.
My anger mixed with desire, a cocktail of emotions that made my head spin. You bastard. You absolute
bastard.
My eyes darted across the hall, searching.
I couldn’t find him anywhere, but I knew he had to be somewhere close. Watching. Jealous. Intentionally
doing this to humiliate me in Niccolo’s arms.
I lifted my head and tried to act like everything was fine, but then another vibration rolled through me,
and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
Niccolo frowned. “Gianna, you’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” My voice came out breathless and shaky.
“You don’t look fine.” Worry filled his voice. “You look flushed. Like you’re about to pass out.”
The sensation rolled through me again, deeper this time, and I had to suppress the sound threatening to escape my throat. I gathered myself, trying to form words, trying to think past the pulsing heat between my legs.
That’s when my eyes found him.
Dante moved through the crowd like a predator stalking prey. The look on his face, dark, possessive, murderous, made every person in his path step aside. Conversations died. Heads turned. A ripple of awareness spread through the hall as everyone tracked his movement.
My heart hammered against my ribs, caught between fear and something far more dangerous. Desire.
He reached us in seconds.
His hand clamped down on Niccolo’s shoulder with enough force to tear him away from me.
“I want to dance with my wife.” The words came out rough, loud enough for half the room to hear.
Niccolo’s face shifted from shock to anger, but he stepped back. “She’s not your wife yet.”
“Close enough.” Dante’s eyes locked onto mine, a warning blazing in their depths that told me not to object, not to say a single word.
His arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me against his chest before Niccolo could respond. “And she’s done dancing with you.”
Niccolo held my gaze, fury radiating from him. “For now. But we’ll see how this ends, won’t we?”
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Dante’s jaw clenched. “If you don’t get the fuck away from her right now, I’ll break that plastic jaw of yours and give you a replay of last time. And I assure you, no plastic surgeon will repair the damage.”
His voice carried across the floor.
日
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
