Page 68 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
But then something shifts in his expression. The anger does not disappear, but it transforms into something else—something darker and more focused and infinitely more dangerous.
"You want to play games," he says softly, and the change in his tone makes my pulse jump. "Fine. We will play games."
Luca's foot freezes against my leg.
"Dante—" I start.
"Finish your dinner," Dante interrupts, his voice calm now, controlled, which somehow makes it more threatening. "Both of you. And do not say another word unless I give you permission."
The command in his voice is absolute, undeniable, and I feel it settle over me like a weight.
Luca apparently feels it too, because he picks up his fork without argument.
We eat in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the clink of silverware against plates and the quiet footsteps of the chef moving in and out with new courses. The tension at the table has shifted entirely—no longer Dante's frustrated stress, but something electric and charged that makes every breath feel deliberate.
I am acutely aware of every movement Dante makes. The way he cuts his food with precise, controlled motions. The way his eyes track me when I reach for my wine glass. The way his jaw is still tight but his shoulders have relaxed slightly, like he has found his footing again, like he has regained control of the situation.
"Luca," Dante says finally, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Yes?" Luca's voice is carefully neutral.
"Put your hand on Rosalina's thigh."
I nearly choke on my wine.
Luca goes very still beside me. "Dante?—"
"Did I ask for commentary?" Dante's eyes are locked on me now, dark and intense. "Put your hand on her thigh. Now."
I feel Luca's hand settle on my leg, warm through the thin fabric of my dress, and my breath catches.
"Higher," Dante says.
Luca's hand slides up, fingers spanning the width of my thigh, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep my composure.
"You wanted to play," Dante says, his voice soft and dangerous. "So we will play. But you need to understand something, Flower. I am always in control. Even when you think you are winning, I am the one deciding how this game ends."
His gaze shifts to Luca. "Make her squirm."
"Dante—" I start, but the word dies when Luca's fingers trace a pattern on my inner thigh, light and teasing, and my legs press together instinctively.
"No," Dante says sharply. "Keep your legs apart, Rosalina."
I force myself to relax, to open my legs slightly, and Luca takes immediate advantage, his hand sliding higher, fingers brushing the edge of my underwear through my dress.
"Good girl," Dante murmurs, and the praise sends heat flooding through me. "Now. Gabriel. Move her chair closer to Luca."
Gabriel stands without a word, moving around the table to where I am sitting. He grips the back of my chair and pulls it closer to Luca's in one smooth motion, eliminating the space between us.
Luca's hand has better access now, and he uses it, fingers tracing higher, teasing, while I try desperately to maintain some semblance of composure.
"Look at me," Dante commands, and my eyes snap to his. "Do not look away. I want to see your face when he touches you."
Luca's fingers find the edge of my underwear, slipping beneath the fabric, and I gasp, my hands gripping the table hard enough that my knuckles go white.
"There she is," Dante says softly, a satisfied smile curving his mouth. "There is the girl who thought she could tease me at my own dinner table."
"Dante—" I gasp out his name as Luca's fingers find exactly the right spot, moving in slow, deliberate circles. "Please?—"
