‎Dante didn't leave.

‎Elijah wasn't sure whether that pissed him off or thrilled him.

‎The mafia boss had made himself very comfortable in Elijah's penthouse, occupying space like he belonged there. He stood near the bar, pouring himself another glass of whiskey as if this were his home.

‎Elijah exhaled sharply, loosening his tie as he sat on the couch. "So, what's your plan, Moretti? Lurk in my apartment until I give in to whatever delusion you have about owning me?"

‎Dante chuckled, unbothered. "I told you, tesoro, you don't have a choice. Romano put a hit on you, which means you're under my protection." He took a slow sip of his drink, watching Elijah with dark amusement. "Unless you'd rather take your chances?"

‎Elijah leaned back, his smirk sharp. "You really think I'm afraid of some mafia thug?"

‎Dante's eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "No." He set his glass down and stalked forward, the air shifting between them. "I think you like playing with danger."

‎Elijah didn't move as Dante closed the space between them, stopping just short of pressing their bodies together. The heat, the tension, it was suffocating.

‎Elijah arched a brow. "And you think you are dangerous?"

‎Dante smirked. "Oh, I know I am."

‎For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The unspoken challenge crackled between them, electric and undeniable. Dante's gaze dropped, just for a second, to Elijah's lips.

‎Elijah noticed.

‎And instead of pulling away, he tilted his chin slightly, his own smirk deepening. "You're standing awfully close, Moretti."

‎Dante chuckled, voice low. "And you haven't told me to move."

‎Elijah should have. He should have shoved Dante back, should have drawn a line between them.

‎But instead, he let the silence stretch.

‎Dante exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers grazing the edge of Elijah's sleeve, just barely there; a test, a tease. "Careful, tesoro." His voice dropped, dark and full of promise. "Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you want something from me."

‎Elijah's pulse kicked up, but he refused to give Dante the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, he leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against Dante's jaw.

‎"You're so sure of yourself, aren't you?" Elijah murmured.

‎Dante's smirk widened. "I have every reason to be."

‎Elijah exhaled sharply, then just to be difficult reached up and straightened Dante's already-perfect collar, his fingers brushing against warm skin for the briefest second.

‎Dante's eyes darkened, his breath hitching just slightly before he let out a slow, quiet chuckle.

‎"Oh, tesoro," he murmured. "I am going to ruin you."

‎Elijah's smirk was all challenge. "We'll see who ruins who."

‎Dante's fingers curled around Elijah's wrist, holding him in place, the grip firm but teasing. "I love that you think you have a chance."

‎Elijah tilted his head, watching him closely. "And I love that you think you're in control."

‎The tension snapped.

‎Dante moved first; swift, decisive. One moment they were trading words, the next, Elijah was pressed against the couch, Dante's weight caging him in.

‎The heat between them was intoxicating.

‎Elijah barely had a second to react before Dante's lips ghosted against his jaw, just barely there, a warning and a taunt all at once.

‎"Last chance," Dante murmured. "Tell me to stop."

‎Elijah's fingers curled into Dante's shirt, his smirk slow and sinful.

‎"I never back down from a fight, Moretti."

‎Dante growled low in his throat, and then....

‎The first gunshot shattered the moment.

‎Both men snapped to attention, instincts kicking in immediately.

‎Dante pulled his gun in a flash, moving swiftly as he yanked Elijah down, shielding him without hesitation.

‎Elijah cursed, adrenaline spiking. "Is that..."

‎"Romano's men," Dante muttered, eyes cold and sharp. "Looks like we don't have time to play anymore, tesoro."

‎Elijah exhaled sharply, heart pounding not from fear.

‎But from the realization that he might actually like this game.

‎And worse?

‎So did Dante.

‎The second gunshot shattered the silence, closer this time.

‎Dante reacted instantly, grabbing Elijah and shoving him toward the floor behind the couch just as another bullet whizzed past. The glass windows behind them cracked but didn't shatter.

‎"Elijah, stay down," Dante ordered, his voice sharp.

‎Elijah scoffed, straightening his cuffs like he wasn't currently ducking from gunfire. "You're not the boss of me, Moretti."

‎Dante shot him a look, unimpressed. "We're literally under attack, tesoro. Maybe save the attitude for later?"

‎Before Elijah could retort, Dante fired back toward the intruders, his movements fluid and precise. The sharp, controlled way he handled a gun sent a jolt through Elijah's stomach, dangerous, efficient, and annoyingly hot.

‎Elijah reached into his own jacket, pulling out his compact pistol.

‎Dante caught the movement and quirked a brow. "You carry?"

‎Elijah smirked. "What kind of businessman doesn't?"

‎Dante chuckled low, clearly pleased, but they had no time for distractions. Footsteps echoed in the hall outside, and then...

‎BOOM!

‎The door to Elijah's penthouse blasted open, sending debris flying.

‎Dante grabbed Elijah by the waist and yanked him down just in time to avoid the impact. Their bodies collided, Dante's firm grip pressing Elijah against him.

‎Elijah felt a sharp rush of heat coil low in his stomach. "If you wanted me this close, Moretti, you could've just asked."

‎Dante exhaled a low growl, his breath warm against Elijah's ear. "You're insufferable."

‎Elijah grinned. "And yet, you still can't keep your hands off me."

‎Before Dante could bite back, the first intruder stepped through the smoke. A tall, heavily armed man, one of Romano's.

‎Dante moved like a shadow, swift and merciless. Two shots, one to the chest, one to the head. The man dropped.

‎Elijah arched a brow. "Efficient."

‎Dante shot him a smirk. "Impressed?"

‎Elijah rolled his eyes. "Moderately."

‎More men stormed in. Dante and Elijah moved in sync, ducking behind furniture, returning fire. The room filled with the acrid scent of gunpowder, the sharp sounds of bullets hitting walls.

‎One of the men lunged at Elijah. He twisted, catching the attacker's arm and slamming an elbow into his ribs before driving a bullet into his shoulder. The man collapsed with a grunt.

‎Dante whistled. "Not bad, Sinclair."

‎Elijah smirked. "What, expecting me to be a damsel in distress?"

‎Dante's brown eyes gleamed. "No. But I was hoping you'd be this fun."

‎The last attacker dropped with a thud, and then silence.

‎Elijah stood, brushing dust off his suit while Dante surveyed the damage.

‎"Well," Elijah sighed. "There goes my security deposit."

‎Dante laughed, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

‎Elijah turned to face him, pulse still racing, a mix of adrenaline and something far more dangerous. "And yet, you still won't leave me alone."

‎Dante smirked. "What can I say? You're entertaining."

‎Elijah stepped closer, the tension between them thick, electric. "And what now, Moretti?" His voice dropped slightly. "Are you going to keep protecting me?"

‎Dante's gaze darkened. "I told you, tesoro. You're mine now."

‎Elijah tilted his head, lips curling in amusement. "That so?"

‎Dante moved fast, one hand wrapping around Elijah's tie, yanking him forward until their faces were just inches apart.

‎"Yes," Dante murmured, his voice low and thick. "And I always take care of what's mine."

‎The heat between them snapped, and this time, neither of them moved away.

‎Dante's lips brushed against Elijah's, barely there, teasing. Testing.

‎Elijah's breath hitched. He hated how much he wanted this, hated how Dante always had the upper hand.

‎So, he decided to even the playing field.

‎With a slow, deliberate motion, Elijah reached up, gripping Dante's tie in return. Then, with one sharp tug...

‎He kissed him.

‎Dante groaned, deep and satisfied, as he immediately took control. His hand tangled in Elijah's hair, his lips claiming, devouring. It was rough, hot, and dangerously addictive.

‎Elijah gasped against his mouth, fingers tightening around Dante's suit. He should stop, he should push away,

‎But he didn't.

‎Instead, he let himself drown.

‎Because, for the first time in a long time...

‎Losing control felt too damn good.