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"It’s so beautiful," I murmur. “Thank you.”

I look down at the cuff. The diamonds catch every flicker of light and scatter them across my skin in tiny bursts of white fire.

"None of this feels real," I whisper.

He lifts his hand to my face, and his thumb traces my cheekbone.

"It's real," he says. "Every single second of it."

He kisses me, and this kiss is nothing like the ones before it. This one is slow and deep, so damn perfect it makes me weak in the knees.

He slides one hand to the small of my back and pulls me flush against him until there's no space left between us, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this.

I melt into him, my fingers curling into his lapels as the kiss deepens and turns hungrier.

He tears his mouth from mine with a rough groan.

"If we don’t go now, I’m going to tear that dress off you right here. But I want to show you off tonight. I want everyone to see my beautiful wife.”

The way he says it sends those butterflies soaring again.

“Then lead the way,” I say with a giddy smile.

He leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, “But know that later that dress is coming off with my teeth, and I'm going to take my time ruining you. By sunrise you won't remember your own name. Just mine screamed into your pillow so many times the whole building will know who you belong to."

42

DANTE

I’ve never felt as happy as I do when we arrive at The Lioncourt Hotel for the gala. Tonight it is packed with more than six hundred guests, all dressed in black tie, angling to get something out of being here. Connections. Notoriety. Validation.

The ballroom hums with chatter and obscene wealth when we walk in.

I know every face here, but tonight I don’t focus on a single one of them because Sunny is on my arm, looking like every man’s fantasy, and every head in the room turns when she passes.

A woman near the bar leans into her husband, murmuring something behind her champagne flute. A socialite further along gives my wife a slow, appraising once-over, then whispers to her friend beside her. People turn to watch us move through the crowd, and I can read the room. They want to know who she is, where she came from.

I found her in a contract to pay off a gambling debt.

And that thought now burns in my chest. An ember that I’m afraid will catch light and destroy what is growing.

We move through the room, and I introduce her to everyone who stops to greet us. My wife, Sunny Di Zaro. She shakes hands and smiles, and she's warm in a way these people aren't used to. I watch them respond to her like plants turning toward the sun.

The orchestra starts a slow waltz, and I take her hand.

"Dance with me."

She smiles. "You dance?"

I lean in and rasp, "I do many things you haven't discovered yet."

I lead her onto the dance floor and pull her close, wrapping her fingers in mine as we start to move.

"Do people always watch you?" she asks.

“Always. Because I’m so handsome and powerful.”

“Not to mention modest.”