Wrongfully His | Dark Mafia Romance

~23~

A/N

this is a big one.. be ready. i know some of u guys like smut but this story has depth and feeling too.

please vote and comment

enjoy!~

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Dante's pov~

The club was alive—music pulsing through the walls, lights flashing, bodies moving like they were under a spell. My spell. One of my many kingdoms, another reminder that power wasn't only in guns or blood, but in owning the places where men lost control.

I sat in the VIP section, glass of brandy in hand, watching the crowd through the haze of smoke and neon. For a while, it was business as usual. Then, he showed up.

Czech. I could smell it on him before he even opened his mouth. Anger radiated off his face, like he had walked straight out of a vendetta.

"De Luca," he spat, stepping into my space. "You think you can destroy my shipments and walk away untouched?"

I raised my glass, not even blinking. "Clearly, I can. You're here yelling while your men are six feet under."

His face twisted, eyes bloodshot with rage. He slammed his fist on the table, making the bottle rattle. "You'll regret it. Every last one of you Russians will regret it."

I let out a quiet laugh. "I've heard that line before. Spoiler: it doesn't end well for the one holding the grudge."

He reached under his jacket. I already knew what was coming.

The gun came up fast, but my instincts were faster. He fired once. Pain seared through my left waist, hot and sharp, but I didn't stop moving. My hand shot forward, twisting his wrist. His second shot went wide, burying itself in the ceiling. My other hand closed around his weapon, wresting it free.

By the time his mouth opened to curse me, I had already pressed the barrel to his chest.

"Wrong place. Wrong man," I growled—and pulled the trigger.

The bang echoed through the bass-heavy club. His body dropped, lifeless, hitting the floor like dead weight. I didn't flinch. Just tossed the gun aside and adjusted my suit, though warm blood still seeped down my side.

I motioned to my men. "Clean it up. Make him disappear. I don't want this shit traced back here."

"Yes, boss."

I left before the body cooled.

The drive home was hell. Each bump in the road sent pain spiking through my side, but I gritted my teeth. I'd been shot before. This was nothing new. But one thought annoyed me more than the wound itself—Carmela.

If she saw me like this...

When I pushed through the front door, all I wanted was silence. But fate, of course, had other plans.

I heard soft footsteps on the stairs. Carmela, in her silk nightgown, hair loose, came down with that sleepy grace of hers. She was probably just after a glass of water.

Instead, her eyes locked on me.

Her face paled instantly. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered against the floor.

"Dante," she gasped, rushing to me. "You're—oh my God, you're bleeding!"

She touched my side, hands trembling. Her worry was raw, written all over her face, and it twisted something inside me I didn't want to admit.

"I'm fine," I said shortly. My voice was clipped, controlled. I wasn't about to spill the details. "It's nothing."

Her eyes flashed, wet with panic. "Nothing? You're bleeding through your shirt!"