Page 27 of Dante

I can hear myself breathing. Fast and shallow. My hands have come up to grip his lapels without my permission.

“You’re acting like a woman who wants to be fucked,” he says, piercing me again with those cold black eyes.

I’m breathing too hard and fast to speak.

And even if I could, what’s the right answer? Admit the truth and have him call me a whore?

“I bet you want me to take you right here on my desk. Begging to be fucked while my soldiers count cash one floor down.”

His fingers slide higher under the hem. The back of his knuckles brush the silk between my thighs.

I’m soaked through. He must feel it.

Then his hand pulls slowly back out from under the hem. He smooths the dress down over my thigh and steps away.

He turns and walks back to his desk and picks up his phone.

“Thomas. My office. Now.”

He sets the phone down.

I’m still against the wall.

The hem of my dress is still warm where his hand had been. My clit’s already twitching.

A moment later, a man knocks at the door and Dante grants him admission.

“Yes, boss?” the man says, entering. I quickly regain control as I look at him.

He’s a few years older than me, maybe mid-twenties, the clean-cut type in a well-fitting suit.

He has a cowlick on the back of his head that gives him a boyish demeanor. It feels out of place in this den of sharks.

“Please take Mrs. Ricci home. To the penthouse,” Dante commands, already moving on to the next task.

“Got it, boss.”

“Gina, this is Thomas. He’ll drive you home. I’ll see you tonight.”

I nod and follow Thomas out. As we pass through the lounge, I see the staff looking at me, whispering behind their hands.

One girl smirks as she catches my eye.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ricci,” she says. The other girls cackle.

I don’t bother to answer.

I’m just glad when the heavy doors open and fresh air hits my face.

The wig suddenly feels unbearable. Heavy. Itching at my temples. I’d tear it off, pins and all, except that Thomas would witness it.

I’d been so sure. So sure that this wig was the voodoo magic that would make Dante love me.

That if I looked enough like Mary, he’d finally “see me.” Right. Dante saw me all right. He looked at me and was disgusted.

The plan I’d built my whole hope on was gone in thirty seconds.

“The car’s this way,” Thomas says, indicating a long black limousine exactly like Silvio’s.