"Tease Me One More Time..." the Mafia Boss Said—She Had No Idea Who He Was

The armored SUV tore through the midnight streets of Athens toward a private airstrip, its tires screaming around every corner.

Inside the rear compartment, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Dante leaned back against the headrest, his shirt tore open, revealing his muscular, bronze chest slick with sweat. A bullet had grazed his left shoulder, tearing a jagged, bloody furrow through the flesh.

"Hold still!" Emily ordered, her voice shaking as she pressed a thick wad of sterile gauze against his wound.

Dante hissed through his teeth, his dark eyes locking onto hers. Even bleeding and wounded, his presence was commanding. "I'm fine, little mouse. It’s just a scratch."

"A scratch?!" she shouted, tears of pure adrenaline pricking her eyes as she applied pressure to stop the bleeding. "You were shot! Someone tried to blow your head off!"

"It’s an occupational hazard," Dante grunted, his hand reaching up to grab her wrist. His touch was burning hot against her skin. "Why are your hands shaking, Emily? Are you afraid for yourself... or are you afraid for me?"

Emily stopped, looking down at his dark eyes. The blood on her hands was warm, real, and terrifying. She realized with a sickening jolt that the thought of Dante dying in that alley had terrified her far more than the thought of her own capture.

"Don't be arrogant," she whispered, leaning over him to wrap a clean elastic bandage around his chest and shoulder. "If you die, I'm stuck in Greece with a bunch of murderers."

Dante pulled her down by her waist until her face was inches from his. The pain in his shoulder seemed completely forgotten as his gaze dropped to her lips.

"Liar," he murmured softly.

Twenty minutes later, they were airborne aboard Dante’s private jet, flying back to the fortress in Santorini.

In the master cabin at the rear of the plane, Dante sat on the edge of the king-sized bed while Emily finished securing the surgical dressing on his shoulder. The dim, warm ambient lighting created an intimate, secluded world inside the clouds.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Dante asked softly, watching her deft hands work.

"My mom was a nurse," Emily said quietly, pinning the bandage in place. "Before my dad vanished, she used to teach me basic first aid. I guess... I always hoped I’d never have to use it on a mafia boss."

She stepped back, intending to clean her hands, but Dante reached out with his uninjured arm, wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her between his knees.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice deep and rough.

Emily felt her breath catch. Standing between his thighs, surrounded by his heat, her heart pounded against her ribs. "Dante... we shouldn't—"

"Look at me, Emily," he commanded softly.

She looked down into his dark, intense eyes.

"Four years ago, when my father died, I swore I would never let anyone close enough to hurt me," Dante whispered, his fingers tracing a delicate path up her hip, over her ribcage, to the small of her back. "I brought you into my world to use you as a weapon against Volkov. But tonight... when that bullet flew, my only thought was keeping you alive."

Emily felt a tear slip down her cheek. "Dante, this world... it’s crazy. It's violent. I don't belong here."

"I know," he breathed, leaning forward until his forehead rested against hers. "You belong in the sun. But I am selfish, little mouse. And I don't think I can ever let you go now."

He closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was explosive. It was hungry, desperate, and filled with months of built-up tension, danger, and undeniable passion. Emily let out a soft sigh, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his dark, thick hair. Dante pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, claiming her mouth with an possessive dominance that consumed her entire soul.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Emily noticed a metallic shine inside the small velvet pouch lying on Dante’s bedside table—the pouch she had carried in her apron pocket from Ohio.

"What is that?" Dante asked, his eyes catching the light.

Emily reached into the pouch and pulled out an old silver locket her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She had brought it to Santorini as a keepsake.

Dante took the locket, examining the heavy, antique silver casing. His sharp eyes caught a tiny, unnatural seam along the inner hinge. He pressed his thumb firmly against the base.

Click.

The locket’s false back popped open, revealing a tiny, ultra-thin micro-drive hidden inside the silver casing.