Chapter 9
The Kiss That Cost Them
Mia should have moved away.
She didn't.
Dante was still standing close enough that she could feel the warmth of him when he breathed. He looked like a man who had said the dangerous thing out loud and was now waiting to see whether it would ruin him.
"You can't say that," she whispered.
"I already did."
"You know what I mean."
He did. That was the problem.
The river moved outside the window. Somewhere down the hall, a guard shifted his weight and the floor made a soft sound. It was all too quiet, and the quiet made the space between them feel inevitable.
"Mia," Dante said, and this time her name sounded like a decision.
She lifted her chin. "What?"
He did not answer with words.
His hand came up slow, giving her time to stop him, and settled at the side of her face with such restraint that the touch itself felt like permission. His thumb rested near her jaw. He waited.
Mia felt the next heartbeat in her throat.
Then she closed the distance.
The kiss was not gentle, exactly. It was careful in the way all dangerous things are careful at the start. Dante made a sound under his breath that felt more like a surrender than a victory, and the hand at her face tightened just enough to tell her he was holding back something bigger than the kiss itself.
She should have stopped there.
She didn't.
Mia's fingers caught the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, a single desperate motion that made the line between fear and want disappear for one reckless second. Dante went still against her, then kissed her again, deeper this time, as if the first kiss had only convinced him that he was already in trouble.
The room narrowed until there was only breath, pressure, and the impossible fact of him.
When they separated, it was by a fraction.
Neither of them looked at the other immediately.
Mia steadied herself with one hand on the bed, her pulse loud enough to shame her. Dante's forehead dipped once, almost touching hers, and stopped.
"That," she said, voice unsteady, "was a very bad idea."
"I know."
His answer was rough. Honest. No defense.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Almost.
Then Dante's phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again, longer this time.
He finally pulled away, checked the screen, and his expression changed.
Enzo was calling.
Dante answered on the second ring. "Talk."
She watched his face while he listened. The room changed around the silence.
He ended the call and looked at her with an expression that told her the kiss had not even finished ruining their lives.
"What?" she asked.
His jaw tightened once.
"They found Owen," he said. "Or the closest thing to found that still leaves room for someone to be lying."